I felt myself being supported and lifted up. They took me into some type of car. It feels like it could probably be an ambulance. I laid down and slept at ease.
When I woke up again, I was already in the hospital. The ward was dark with only the small bedside lamp turned on. The other objects in the ward seemed to be shrouded in a mist and were hidden in the dark. I leaned against the faint yellow light that was emanating from the small lamp and saw a man lying on the side of my bed—it was my editor friend B.
He seemed to have been waiting beside me.
When I got up and supported myself with the bed board, he looked like he was woken up. I saw him raise his head and smile as he looked at me, “Are you okay?”
I glanced at the obvious dark circles under his eyes.
“I’m okay.” I replied, “What day is it?”
“Thursday. Before dawn.” he lifted his watch to look, “3 am.”
So I slept for two days. That’s a long time.
“…Your husband’s body was sent over to the police for autopsy.” He stated, “His parents know about it now.”
“This ah…” I muttered.
“His father couldn’t stand the stimulation and jumped from the sixth floor. Couldn’t be saved. His mother couldn’t bear the death and the stabbed the childhood sweetheart with a knife. It didn’t go through. She was restrained.” He continued.
“How is she?” I asked.
My editor friend B smiled at me. Under the dim light, his smile exuded a strange feeling which made my heart palpitate for a moment. “What would you want her to do?” He asked, “It’s time for this good play to draw its curtains.”
“What are you saying?” I pretended to ask in anger, “I naturally hope for my husband’s mother to be well.” Gone. I added the second part of the sentence in my heart.
“I wasn’t joking.” He laughed abruptly, “She seemed to be out of her mind. Since her attempted murder failed, she had been continuously saying, ‘Go to hell’ and such to the childhood sweetheart. She doesn’t even respond to what others try to say. If you’re interested, we can check her in to a mental hospital.”
“Oh,” I shrugged. “What about the childhood sweetheart?”
My editor friend B was silent for a moment before replying, “He seemed to have temporarily lost his ability to speak but who knows if he even could recover someday. Currently when he sees people, he drools.”
He drools. It was like a dog, I thought. Imagining that, I can only think of a dog.
“Would you like to see him?” Editor friend B asked, “He’s just outside.”
YOU ARE READING
The Slag Gong Wants to Kill Me
Random! NOT MY WORK ! ! NOT MY TRANSLATION ! ! SOME MACHINE TRANSLATED CHAPTERS WILL BE EDITED BY ME ! ! FOR OFFLINE PURPOSES ONLY ! Author: 跑酷天才 Status: 44 Chapters I think my husband wants to kill me. Whether it's forgetting to turn off the gas or findi...
