Chapter Sixty-Six: Unable to Control

He did not stop; instead, he bit down on my lips. “What will you offer to beg me?”

Every woman has countless sensitive places on her body, yet the most sensitive spot is always the same for every woman.

Luo Ange was exceptionally perverse—he discovered my weakness almost instantly.

He exploited it, making me cry out in vain, my pleas unanswered by heaven or earth.

Such humiliating positions always remind me of last year, when Xia Qi, Li Wanqiu, and I took the most popular sexual health course in Kang University’s history. The professor, a man with flowing long hair, said that humans’ preference for such positions was purely animalistic.

Luo Ange was a beast. To call him a pig would be to overestimate his kindness.

When I was young, my father taught me close combat. My mother opposed it, believing I ought to learn ballet or folk dance like Yi Huayang. My father insisted my bones were too hard, that if I tried dancing, I’d break something every day.

But now, I realize I can be soft after all.

Luo Ange pressed himself atop me, his fingertips kneading my shoulders again and again, making it impossible to breathe—I could only cry.

A long, long time passed before he finally got up and carried me to the bathroom to bathe.

Back in bed, he didn’t utter a single word. Seeing me curled up on one side, he came closer, wrapped his arms around me, rubbing his face against my back. “Still angry?”

I did not answer. My tears flowed in torrents.

He rolled me over, saw my tears, sighed, and lowered his head. His burning lips wandered across my face, drinking up every tear.

New tears welled up, and he held me tight. “I lose control the moment I touch you. Next time, I’ll be gentler.”

I stared at the ceiling, gazing and gazing, seeing countless monsters and demons. Their bloody mouths lunged at me, tearing at my nerves, devouring me.

After what felt like forever, so long the air seemed to solidify, I finally opened my mouth. “Luo Ange, why?”

Shaking, I sat up and slapped him. I hadn’t noticed, but my nails left a bloody scratch across his face.

I was utterly out of control. I hated him. Hated that he ruined everything. Hated that he made me filthy. Hated that he was a demon.

He lay there, not fighting back, not speaking, only watching me. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I saw something like pain in his gaze.

Exhausted from hitting him and from crying, I hugged my knees and buried my face, like an ostrich hiding from the world.

In truth, some things are simply gone, and no amount of lamenting will bring them back. Life must go on.

But why does Luo Ange keep throwing me into the stinking mud, why cast me into the lowest hell again and again?

Is it all because of Mu Ying?

I traded the most precious thing a girl can give—was that not enough?

Am I truly so worthless? Is my dignity worth nothing? Do I not have a heart?

Does my heart not ache?

Why must he treat me like this? Why must he treat me like this? Why must he treat me like this?

Luo Ange lifted my head, startling me. His face was marked by five or six deep scratches, a bloodied mess, strangely terrifying.

I never realized I had struck him so hard, never thought he’d end up like this.

Looking at him, my heart was in turmoil. We were people from separate worlds, parallel lines never meant to meet—how did we end up here?

Why must he turn me into what I most despise?

Was it my fault?