Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 47

After pouring out the words that had been locked inside me for so long, I felt utterly drained. Perhaps it was the blood loss, or maybe just exhaustion—my head felt hazy and light.

Vivian brought another white cloth and tightly wrapped it around the wound I had clawed open.

What could she be thinking right now?

I shouldn’t occupy such an important place in Vivian’s life.

She must think I’m a nuisance.

I thrashed around again, trying to free myself from the bed.

No matter how much I struggled to escape and end this life, there was no way out.

Biting my tongue wouldn’t kill me; it’s practically impossible.

Even if I severed something, Vivian would rush over, press another cloth against the wound, and keep me alive until Evan arrived to patch me up.

There was no way out.

Yes, no way.

I couldn’t escape.

My body remained physically present, but my mind was deteriorating, rotting away.

Yes, that’s it.

I am a diseased person.

I am a petty, wretched person.

I am someone who fails to win others’ affection.

Didn’t someone say that humans are born good, but corrupted by their environment?

What an infuriating statement.

Such moralistic propaganda, disguised as storytelling, deserves to be burned to ashes.

At least there’s none of that nonsense here—thank goodness.

Humans aren’t rational beings.

If I were rational, I wouldn’t have humiliated myself in front of Vivian.

I would’ve hidden my unstable mental state and dealt with it alone in this room, solving it by myself somehow.

If I were rational, I wouldn’t have provoked Lydia and slapped her, knowing full well it would only intensify her bullying.

I was in so much pain. At first, it was the agony of losing love that drove me to recklessly swallow any poison I could find in an attempt to die.

To deny that, I’d have to assume I wasn’t human.

Then again, maybe I’m not. Without even the basic freedom to die, I’m no better than livestock.

A strange version of myself has taken root in my head.

One who knows everything—about me, about this world, about the people around me.

I cried first at the realization that I was a person without any value. My heart ached at Evan’s indifference toward me. And when I realized the world wanted to bury me, I gave up everything and shut myself away.

Occasionally, when I tried to deny my own existence, that version of me would resist, rearing its head.

I didn’t like it, so I’d slash my arms, curse myself, and scrape away at my skin and flesh, trying to carve out that version of myself.

In this novel, I’m supposedly the villain.

All I did was manage objects and accumulate wealth, yet I’m called evil by people imposing the morality of another world onto me.

If, during an era when humans ate other humans, I argued that cannibalism was wrong, I’d be the abnormal one there.

Here, in a world where people of darker skin aren’t considered human, I am deemed normal for treating them as such.

But to the one looking down from above—the single god Vivian believes in—I must undoubtedly be evil.

Then again, Vivian associates with someone shocking—a half-blood, if you can believe it. A member of the knights, no less. Surely, by their standards, I must be the villain.

I lived in fear of dying, clinging to life. I feared losing love, so I chose death to escape it.

Now, all of us are like debris, drifting aimlessly, having lost what we wanted most right before our eyes.

Drifting through this prison of time.

In novels I’ve read, being trapped in time is treated as an opportunity—a chance to train and grow stronger.

Why can’t I do that?

Simple. My body is too frail and sickly to withstand any training.

The only weapon I have is a gun, and even that’s useless against those who wield magic or melee weapons.

The only people I can kill are the likes of Lydia—those bound by blood, schemes, baseness, and ambition.

But even killing them would be meaningless.

Just as my own existence is.

So why not let me die?

Why does this keep happening to me?

Some brilliant mage, damn them, probably placed a so-called “blessing” on me.

“Erica, Erica.”

Someone called my name.

Shaking my body to wake me—it makes me nauseous.

“Come on, pull yourself together.”

“…Evan?”

When I opened my eyes, Evan was standing in front of me.

Behind him, Vivian was watching with a worried expression, glancing at me nervously.

“Why are you here?”

“Vivian called me.”

“Of course she did.”

“I won’t ask why you’re like this.”

“Why not?”

“This morning, I heard bits and pieces of what happened.”

“…”

If you already know, there’s no need to talk about it.

Don’t try to console me.

Don’t pretend to understand.

“So, what? Did you think everything would end if you just died?”

Evan sounded angry as he questioned me, his expression furrowed and resembling Vivian’s tearful one from earlier.

There was a time when I did think that—when I believed everything would end with my death. My delayed response must have given it away.

“…No.”

My lips barely moved, trembling slightly as though I might speak, but I ultimately closed my mouth.

How could I explain that I didn’t cut my arms to die? That I only did it because I hated the way that girl—this lady—mocked me, and I wanted to punish her a little?

If he asked about the gun, what could I even say?

No matter how you look at it, I’d only come across as someone trying to kill herself.

“You know, we’ve grown a little distant lately, but aren’t we friends?

You said you didn’t like me, and yet… maybe I had a bad feeling back then—like I knew this might happen.”

If you think of me as a friend…

“Then why didn’t you just leave me alone?

Why didn’t you let me be, instead of pushing me away and… shoving me aside?”

I bowed my head and whispered in a voice so small it could barely be heard.

“No… it’s nothing.”

Loving everyone, especially expressing love to someone you’re romantically interested in, is an easy thing to do.

But offering even a sip of water to something familiar, decaying from thirst by your side—or helping it come to terms with giving up—now that is difficult.

It’s familiar, so you think it’s okay to behave this way.

“Evan, what do you mean by a feeling?”

“When I came looking for you yesterday, I didn’t know… It was overwhelming, and I felt a little confused.

For some reason, I even felt sad. But after a night’s sleep, it’s all sorted out.”

“…I see.”

Maybe Evan’s feelings, that brief experience of sadness, were carried over from a time when I had already died.

It sounds absurd, but then again, every time I die, I come back, rewinding through time.

“Well, let’s continue this conversation over some tea. Now that Erica’s up.”

“Alright.”

Vivian interjected, shifting the mood.

I nodded, and Evan gave his response.

Vivian dragged a table to the foot of the bed where I was sitting and placed a large bowl in the center, dumping what looked like freshly baked cookies into it.

Ah, so that explains the smell of baked goods wafting through the room earlier. Rather than using a separate oven or hearth, Vivian had baked the cookies with magic.

“We’ve got coffee, too.”

“Pour two cups, Vivian,” Evan said.

Vivian poured two cups of coffee into mugs, and Evan conjured ice into the third mug with a faint cracking sound. He handed me the iced coffee.

“You like it cold, don’t you?”

“Did I? Yeah, I did.”

I took the cup and sipped coffee for the first time in ages.

Both Evan and Vivian seemed cautious, as if unsure what to say to me.

The only sounds in the room were the faint clinking of cups and the crunch of cookies.

Evan sat, lost in thought, sipping his coffee. Vivian, after staring at him for a long while, interlocked her fingers, then started picking at her cuticle absentmindedly.

She pulled too hard, peeling the skin near her nail, and a sliver of blood appeared.

Vivian wiped the blood away carelessly and blew lightly on her finger, acting as if nothing had happened.

Then she casually threw out a question to me.

“Hey, Erica, wouldn’t it be better for you to stay in my room for a while?”

“Why do you think that?”

“I can’t leave you alone. It makes me uneasy.”

“Well, Vivian, you know I don’t like you very much. And I have no intention of staying with you…”

“If you won’t stay with Vivian, then I’ll drag you to my room.”

Evan cut in as I was trying to decline.

“Are you serious?”

“Why not? Is it so reasonable that your entire family fell apart overnight?”

“Why bring up my family?”

“Just look at yourself, Erica. Just look.”

At his words, I turned to the mirror.

I looked fine.

There wasn’t anything visibly wrong.

I looked a little pale and had some bloodstains on my uniform, but that was all.

“I can’t leave you alone. So that’s that.

I’m not asking for your permission—I’m deciding. You’re either staying in my room all day or sticking to Vivian like glue.”

“Well, both sound awful.”

Hearing Evan’s ultimatum, I thought of nothing but escaping.

As always, I didn’t think about the consequences. I gave myself over to emotion and started something doomed to fail.

I got up, feeling a bit dizzy, and flipped the table over. Then, like a startled cat, I dashed for the front door.

Of course, the door was locked.

Despair filled me as I felt their hands grab me.