Chapter 39 Prison Diary 3

I've been sleeping longer lately.

I'm constantly sleepy and lacking energy, and my sense of time has become blurry.

I don't know what day it is now. Bruce doesn't want a clock in my room, thinking it would put pressure on me, but I have to say, he's overthinking it; it won't have any effect.

I'm calm.

I picked up a ball of paper from the floor, unrolled it, and smoothed out the wrinkles with my hands. Then I folded a paper crane and watched it dance between my fingers.

He still comes every day, but I also find ways to entertain myself.

My latest hobby is tinkering with new and interesting gadgets.

I love art. Despite being stuck in this boring room with nothing to do every day, I'm still committed to cultivating my creativity.

I remember it was yesterday—or maybe it was just after I woke up from my last nap—that I started studying the texture of paper and the sound it makes when it breaks.

It's an interesting experiment I've been obsessed with lately. When the paper is torn into strips, it vibrates slightly, and the fibers break, making a unique, pleasant sound.

I love this sound; it's like a gentle ASMR. Usually, after hearing it, I feel a sense of relaxation.

Initially, I wanted to read the book, but the sheer volume of text hurt my eyes, and the constant clashing in my head made me feel irritated.

First, I wanted to calm it down, so I took it apart. Then, I wanted to make it more vibrant, so I folded it into bizarre little animals. Then, I wanted to make it more beautiful, so I made holes in it.

It's a bit like window paper-cuts in Eastern culture. Although I don't have a window or scissors, I had to use my fingernails to pry it open—but I think my efforts paid off, and it looks much more beautiful now.

Sometimes, I wonder if what Bruce said could be true.

I originally didn't want to consider this possibility, but life here is so tedious, so dull that some dusty memories began to surface in my mind, like if you were sitting on a deserted island and a torn boot appeared in the sea, you'd pick it up and take a look.

He said there was something wrong with the candy, that someone had laced it with psychotropic drugs to control me

...control me.

That's an interesting way of putting it. He seemed to compare me to a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode without anyone watching.

If what he said was true, then what?

Who would do such a thing to me?

Honestly, I can't imagine it. My social connections are limited. I have no family, and the few colleagues I'm close to only interact with work-related matters. My few friends wouldn't do anything to me; they wouldn't have to.

The person I interact with the most is my boyfriend—

no, ex-boyfriend.

I broke up with him unilaterally.

The funniest thing is, I still live in his house after we broke up... I hope he gets tired of me soon and kicks me out.

Lately, I've been experiencing auditory hallucinations again.

But this time, I'm not frightened. Instead, the shrill laughter has become a spice of life. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever communicate with him.

When he laughs, I can't help but laugh too. What is he laughing at? I don't know.

What am I laughing at, I can't put my finger on.

...

When the sound of metal scraping against metal rang out, I immediately realized it was visiting time again.

I rolled over in bed, ignoring him.

A voice, like a throat cancer, boomed in the back of my head:

"Put on some clothes."

The voice froze me for a moment, and I turned my head.

He was wearing armor!

Pitch black, constructed from double-layer reinforced titanium alloy and polyester, it perfectly fitted his body. His face was obscured by the helmet, revealing only his voluptuous chin. He sported two bat ears, like a beast lurking in the night.

He looked stunning—

and in that moment, I suppressed my previous thoughts of breaking up with him.

Oh my god, it's a bat.

If he is willing to keep wearing this suit to see me, I think I would be willing to talk to him more...

The nocturnal animal observed me silently, and I was staring at his armor in a daze.

"Put on your clothes."

He repeated it again.

Only then did I realize what he was talking about. He was not standing there empty-handed, but holding a set of pajamas in his hands.

Maybe he couldn't stand his prisoners walking around naked.

Under his gaze, I sat up slowly, reached out to take the pajamas in his hand, and turned it over after getting it. It

was gray, soft, and long.

"I don't want to wear it." I said, "I want the purple one I had before."