Evidence five
The sister at the front desk sent me a collection of annual cat videos one after another. In the past few days, my phone is either showing the VC indicator curve or making all kinds of strange cat meows.
At the closing meeting on Saturday, the speeches on stage were unbelievably dry.
I sat in the back row, quietly clicked on the latest video, put my phone on my suit pants and watched it.
Soon I realized a problem.
The cats in the video are always accompanied by sweet, greasy or coquettish meows when interacting with people. When they are angry, they will stare at round eyes, raise their tails and make a "ha" sound. Like my sister-in-law, she kept babbling.
My cat seems to have rarely heard him meow or seen him show extreme emotions since I picked him up.
Even when I was caught biting the wire and poking his head with my finger; when I sent him to take a bath and was pressed by the assistant on the table to blow air; when I was hungry and found that there was no cat food in the bowl, my cat also Cherish words like gold, and keep silent.
Only when I arrive home from a business trip in the middle of the night and put my luggage in the hallway in the dark, will my cat turn out of the house and walk around my legs like auspicious clouds with fluttering steps, overflowing from my throat. A well-behaved voice, like one or two sighs thrown in the dark night, slowly oscillated with the temperature at the feet. My cat is thinking of me in my house.
When I first met my ex-boyfriend, he was also reticent. As if nothing around him aroused his interest, sometimes I felt like I was talking to a wall.
The girl at the front table said that I was too noisy, and it seemed that he was very calm beside him. I said no, my tablemate was just waiting for a fateful person, and that person was me.
The front table has a look of shame on you.
I was bored for a few days, and couldn't hold back any longer: "Hey, my deskmate, talk to me, you don't need any money for chatting." My deskmate raised my hand to finish a solution, clicked the colon, sighed, and turned the pen. Say, "What are you talking about?"
I was overjoyed, thinking that this guy was really enlightened, but what he said about chatting with me was to selectively make four tones of "um" according to what I said when I asked him what he thought after I made a long speech.
For a while, I secretly called him "Four um" in my heart.
"Are you weird," I said, but I knew he was actually listening carefully, "By the way... Look at the same table, the person next door is dressed like a guinea fowl today..."
My deskmate said "Huh?" for a moment, and the corner of his mouth drew a stiff arc. He turned his head to look at it, then turned back, and said to me in a serious tone, "You can't say that to others."
My tablemate is a real gentleman.
Later, after we got to know each other clearly, my conversation at the same table gradually increased. But most of the time I was talking and he was listening.
Maybe it was broken by me. My tablemate occasionally made some bold moves, such as rubbing my hair, pinching my face, secretly catching my hand under the table, and interlocking my fingers, Or in a self-study class where everyone sleeps in clothes, bowing their heads and giving me a quick and precise peck on my knuckles.
It wasn't until that day when my deskmate asked for leave to go home, disappeared for three days and didn't come back.
For the entire month that followed, he became reticent again, even more reticent than ever.
I asked my roommate countless times what was wrong, and he just rubbed my hair and shook his head without saying a word.
I looked sideways at his blurred face hidden in the mist of the morning run, feeling vaguely uneasy, and then recalled the scene I saw when I went to his house earlier. What can I do for him.
This person at my table has a hard time prying his teeth on things he doesn't want to talk about.
He always likes to keep things in his heart and swallow the difficulties into his stomach. He has put away all the floating emotions in his daily life, and replaced them with a frown that can't be opened and healed. knot.
This is really bad.
The relationship between us is also quite frustrating. Even if I wanted to give him a hug, I had to pick the time like a guerrilla, choose the location, hang a heart, and listen to all directions, so that I can't say what I want and can only unite The concern rubbed into the hug was shoved to him.
When I finally took my deskmate out and pressed him into my arms, it was like flipping a switch, and his weight was all on me in an instant.
I stroked his back.
The body at the same table trembled, and the voice was choked with broken sobs, speaking intermittently. I discerned carefully, those sentences with weak volume quickly dispersed and escaped in the dark, I only had time to grab a few words like "incurable..." "sister..." "debt..." "father..." .
"If I..." My tablemate choked up again, "If..."
I patted his back lightly: "What if?"
My roommate hugged me even tighter, so tight that I could hardly breathe.
In the end, he still didn't say a word, buried his face in my neck again and rubbed his face again, and said like a child, "I'm going to make a lot of money in the future."
My fingers wandered along the shape of the butterfly bone at the same table: "Okay, I also want to make a lot of money, and then I won't be afraid of anything."
Years later, every time I think back on this scene, I always regret why I didn't ask any more questions.
I walked out of the elevator in a trance, pressed my fingerprints to enter the door, and picked up the cat that came up to me and held it in my arms.
Think about how long it has been since you talked as cheerfully as you used to
You may not be able to say what you want to say, but you have to force yourself to say what you don't want to say. I told myself this is life, this is the norm, survival of the fittest.
But I still hate it.
I scratched my cat's chin lightly:
"You can get mad at me,"
"If you are unhappy, you have to express it, it's okay,"
"I won't leave you."
I now reasonably suspect that my cat is my ex-boyfriend.
Evidence five:
My cat talks very little, my cat still has things on her mind