My Silly Little Boyfriend

The faint light scattered across the floor, flickering in and out, and it felt like an eternity before he finally calmed down. A quiet sob slipped from his throat.

He bit his lip, trying his best to control himself, his teeth nearly drawing blood. The sound of the rain eased, and the lights in the house flickered, casting a little bit of light into the room.

It wasn't until much later, when I thought back to this moment, that I realized something. Every time he looked at me with those eyes full of guilt, I could never bring myself to blame him for what happened.

-

"Your bite is something else, kid!"

The living room light was bright, and outside, the night was pitch black. Ben was sitting cross-legged obediently across from me as I used iodine to disinfect the cuts on my skin.

To be honest, his bite was well-placed, and it was clear he had a neat set of teeth. But even with that thought, the anger inside me still boiled over.

I reached out and pinched his jaw.

He let me do it, but his eyes were full of confusion and panic. His face was soft, and the feel of it was better than I expected.

I pinched his face and he opened his mouth slightly, as if uncomfortable with the situation. He reached up to touch my wrist but didn't dare to slap my hand away.

I let go.

"How'd you break the vase? Did your hands shake again, just like the last time when you handed me coffee? I saw you drawing, and your hands didn't shake..."

He pressed his lips together for a moment and inched closer to me. His eyes held countless little sparks of light, innocent, yet shining with a quiet glow.

"Jen, you're so pretty."

I froze.

Even if he called me pretty, that didn't mean I'd let him off the hook so easily!

-

Ben was actually quite afraid of the dark.

After he made strange noises several times in the living room and then looked at me with those pitiful eyes, I finally gave in.

We ended up sharing the same bed.

To be fair, his mentality was still like that of a four or five-year-old child.

He slept curled up in a little ball, sometimes even stealing my blanket.

And not only did he take the blanket, but his sleeping posture was a disaster.

In the first few days, I woke up to find myself tangled up with a man over six feet tall, like he was an octopus, nearly tossing him out of the bed.

Afterward, I resigned myself to waking up to his soft breathing, slipping out of his arm to start the day.

It turned out that getting used to something could be a terrifying thing.

Before I met him, my life was a complete mess, and everything was falling apart.

But after meeting him, I started having expectations.

Like on my way home from work, I'd pick up his favorite fruit cake.

When I passed by a store, I'd wonder if he had run out of painting supplies.

During that time, I actually began to feel happy.

When I smeared whipped cream on the tip of his nose, and he looked at me, helpless, I laughed so hard.

I laughed so much that I even surprised myself.

-

But such is life.

Smooth sailing was always a fleeting fantasy for me.

At some point, rumors started circulating at work that I was the daughter of a mistress.

At first, it was just a few coworkers whispering to each other behind closed doors.

But soon, even in the cafeteria, people would point at me.

It wasn't hard to figure out who was behind it—my "wonderful" stepmother.

She had already spread lies about me more than once.

Back in high school, right before my college entrance exams, she had even showed up at the school gate with a banner calling me the child of a mistress.

In fact, she was the mistress, and my father had married her less than a week after we buried my mother.

Yet she insisted on pinning that label on me.

I thought about defending myself, about clearing my name.

But when she and my father appeared, walking hand in hand, looking like a picture-perfect couple, everything I said seemed like an empty lie, and all I received were judgmental stares from others.

That afternoon, the manager called me into her office.

She was a woman in her forties or fifties, strict with everyone, but she had taken me under her wing at this company.

The air conditioning in her office was cranked up high.

I shut the glass door behind me. When our eyes met, I could see a hint of helplessness behind the thin lenses of her glasses.

"Pack your things this afternoon, then go to finance to get your last paycheck," she said.

I had expected to be fired, but I didn't think it would come so suddenly.

I opened my mouth to ask her why, but the words got stuck.

Why? What had I done wrong? I had worked so hard. Was it really because of those unfounded rumors that all my efforts in the workplace were erased?

I had already tried explaining, but nothing had changed.

This job meant a lot to me—it was hard to come by. That was why my hands trembled as I fought the bitterness rising within me.

Finally, I gathered my courage, biting my lip before meeting her gaze. "Can you tell me why?"

She simply tapped the pen on her desk, speaking each word slowly, carefully.

"You're not capable enough. That's all."

Not capable enough?

How was I not capable enough when I had been promoted to team leader after only six months?

Almost every one of my proposals was approved, and I had the largest bonus at the end of the year, so how was I not capable enough?

I took a deep breath.

If that was her reasoning, there was nothing more to be said. But I knew that wasn't the real reason.

When I left her office, perhaps in my frustration, I yanked the door open too hard. The ornament hanging on the door slammed into the glass and swayed.

She sighed behind me.

"Jennifer, your father must be quite powerful, huh?"

I froze.

I opened my mouth, but I couldn't find any words to say.

So it was happening again.

My stepmother was trying to ruin me.

And my father was fully supporting her.

-

On my way home, I leaned against the bus window, holding my bag and staring out, lost in thought.

It looked like it was going to rain. Dark clouds filled the sky, and the wind whistled through the open window.

People rushed by as the bus pulled up at the next stop.

A father and his daughter boarded together.

"Daddy, when can I have that cake?" the little girl asked, her head tilted upward, looking up at the man beside her.

The man smiled down at her and gently tapped her nose.

"We'll sneak a little, but don't let your mom catch us, you little glutton."

I watched them, and the ache in my heart grew.

After my stepmother came into our lives, she forbade anyone from celebrating my birthday.

She wouldn't let my father buy me a cake or do anything special for me.

So, since then, I hadn't had a single birthday celebration.

-

Dragging myself home, exhausted, I began to plan for what the future might look like.

I no longer had a job, and the financial situation at home was suddenly becoming tight.

I could hardly support myself, let alone take care of a grown man.

So when I opened the door and found the place in complete disarray, I realized something.

Such is life. After kicking you down, it comes back and smacks you again.

I didn't know what had happened to the place. Broken glass, overturned flowerpots with dirt scattered everywhere, or flour all over the floor—it all looked like chaos.

I scanned the room, but I couldn't find the person I was looking for.

Ben. Gone.

A blankness hit my mind for a moment, and then panic started to rise.

I rushed from room to room, searching every corner. A tall man like Ben couldn't possibly hide in such a small apartment, right?

I even opened the kitchen cabinets, looking everywhere.

Finally, my eyes fell on the sketchbook lying on the floor.

There, drawn crookedly on the page, was a picture of a cake.