“Suzune, you are beautiful.”
“But someday, you will come to know men.”
Dad, what are you saying?
“So, your father…”
“…will teach you about men.”
What I remembered was a memory from three months ago.
I want to erase this dingy memory right now, but my brain won’t let me forget this memory as if it scoffs at my earnest wish.
It is an ugly event.
A hell that seemed to embody all the ugliness of human beings in this world.
Yes, it was…
It is the memory of the event that caused my phobia for men.
I was r***d by my own father.
It was an attempt, to be exact.
It was a merciless, violent, and merciless r**e of “my mind”.
Even though my body was safe, my mind was violated. So I don’t think that the expression “r***d” is necessarily a misnomer.
My own father had eyes like an animal in search of prey.
And beyond the glint in his eyes was my pure blood.
That night I learned that my father was a monster who was capable of consuming his own child, whom he had created with his own seed, as a sexual object.
If I had known that, I would have felt no compunction in hating and despising him so much.
The way he behaved like a beast hunting its prey, salivating and seeking his daughter’s body with all his heart, was far removed from that of an intelligent human being.
My own father was directly touching my sensitive zone, but my heart was so broken that I did not have the option of “resisting,” and I simply waited for the time to pass.
The only emotion that was stirring in my heart at that time was definitely despair, and all my heart was dominated by that feeling of despair.
However, my mother’s accidental return to the house before the outbreak of violence stopped my father, and I was saved, albeit briefly, and my physical purity was protected as a result.
But that was only a consequence. I saw myself as someone who had lost my maidenhood because I did nothing to resist, and the fact that I did not “resist” someone I hated so much and wanted to kill so badly continued to torment me.
Moreover, my father explained to her how he had come to this point.
“Suzune seduced me.”
and made false arguments to my mother.
I don’t think there is a mother in the world who would trust my father, but my mother was different.
She trusted my father. She trusted that trashy person who didn’t even deserve to be called a human being.
And she passed it on to my sister and made me out to be the bad person. I was the only one in the family who was not protected.
But I knew that my mother and sister would take my father’s side. I knew it.
My mother and sister hated me.
…My face…I was too good-looking.
I could walk down the street and no one would look back at me.
I have no intention of bragging about it, but I was confessed to by men many times in elementary school.
After entering junior high school, I even had someone confess to me every day.
It was not only the girls in my class who disliked me because of my good looks and my ability to captivate the hearts of many men.
My mother hated my face more than anything.
She used to be a model and married my father, a photographer.
As a former model, she must have had absolute confidence in her own appearance.
And that confidence was never shattered until I was born… It was me, not any other rival model, who shattered her pride.
One night, I overheard my mother talking on the phone with someone.
My mother certainly said this with hatred in her voice.
[I really hate her face. My daughter shouldn’t be…more beautiful than me! I really hate her, I want to kill her, I hate her so much I want to kill her…]
Hatred from the mother’s heart.
I, who was 13 years old at the time, who was exposed to that hatred, was neither sobbing nor despairing.
I was immersed in a sense of superiority.
I am beautiful.
I am really beautiful, I thought to myself, for making my mother, who was so beautiful, say that much.
After that incident, I became absolutely confident in my own appearance, and before I knew it, I began to spend my days looking down on everyone in sight and feeling superior to them, believing that there was no one better looking than me.
However, my days of feeling superior were not long, and after my father attempted to rape me, I began to hate this face that I had been so proud of.
It is because I realized ‘something’.
Every man who looks at my face is trying to f**k me in their brain.
Every woman who looks at my face is killing me in my brain
My father, who has the same blood in half of my body, lusted after my face, and my mother, who has the same blood in the other half of my body, envied my face.
Beauty is either consumed as an object of sexual desire, or it is the object of jealousy and is violently shunned.
I realized that I had only two choices.
My father, whose half of my body has the same blood, lusted after my face.
My mother, whose other half has the same blood, was terribly jealous of my face.
I’ve been thinking about that for a long time. I want to stop thinking about it, but I can’t, my brain inhibits me from doing so.
It may be close to paranoia.
But that’s my consideration of the actual damage.
I can’t guarantee that I’m 100% right, but I can’t guarantee that I’m 100% wrong either.
“I hate it, hate it, hate it.”
I would spend sleepless nights, getting a knife out of the kitchen in the middle of the night to tear this face to shreds, and then I would get scared… and then I would end up putting the knife back, unable to do anything about it.
“Why do you people hate me when you gave birth to me with this face!”
I lamented. But reality is cruel.
I chose to go to the same high school as my sister because it was closer to home, but it turned out to be a fatal mistake.
It was obvious to everyone that I looked down on my classmates at school, and my story quickly spread as “the best story ever” because the other girls disliked me so much.
The speed at which the rumor spread was beyond mach and I was instantly
“The pervert who seduces her father.”
“She’s a little s**t who pretends to be innocent, but she’s really a little s**t.
“She has 8,000 years of experience.”
I was labeled as such.
And I received countless confessions from various boys that were not from a romantic point of view.
“You’re a s*t, no? Then have sx with me!”
“Is it true that you’ll let me lose my vlrglnlty?”
I received dozens of such hellish confessions in a single day. Some of them forced me down.
Scary, scary, scary, scary.
Invariably, everyone who attacked me had the eyes of a beast, like my father’s, who had flown away from human reason.
In mid-September, when I was getting tired of this life, I proposed to my parents that I would like to transfer to a high school far away from home.
My mother and sister wanted me to disappear, so the conversation went smoothly, and a month later, I was able to leave this house and this town.
But I was not aware of it.
After this incident.
I began to have a terrible fear of men, and before I knew it, I had developed a phobia for men.
And it wasn’t just a phobia for men, it was a phobia for the worst, that when I looked at a man’s face, it was painted black, and at the same time, I felt nauseous.
By the time I realized it, it was too late, I had been reduced to a “defective product.
Even though I changed my environment, I was still bound by my father’s and my trauma’s curse.
I would have to live in fear of men for the rest of my life…
The fact that I would have to live with my father’s curse holding my body from behind for the rest of my life was more distressing than the fact that I had developed a phobia for men.
Although I had transferred to a new school, I did not fit in well with the class.
“I wonder if I have no choice but to die.”
That’s what I began to think one day then
he came to my new school.
His name was Yuran Kimisaki, and even though his gender was male, somehow I could recognize his face even with my own eyes.
At first, it was curiosity.
I approached him because I wondered why he, Yuran Kimisaki, could be visible to my eyes.
It may be more accurate to say that I was tickled with the desire for knowledge.
I approached him not out of any romantic interest or anything like that, I just wanted to know.
But as I continued to exchange text messages with him.
I began to see more and more of his kindness, his out of the ordinary, and his endearing qualities.
And I began to detest myself for looking at him as some sort of laboratory animal.
I know myself that what I have for him now must be something that cannot be explained by the word mere desire for knowledge, but then again, I don’t know what feelings I have for him.
But a few weeks ago at lunchtime, when I saw him tending to the flowers in the school’s flowerbed, which he had just transferred to and had no feelings for yet, I felt my heart stirring like a meadow in the wind.
What was this feeling?
I wanted to know.
Not out of a desire for knowledge, but because it was something I needed to know…or …… needed to know, in order to be able to face him properly from now on.
I opened my phone with a slightly unsteady hand and opened the LINE app.
At the top of the talk screen is his icon.
With a familiar hand, I pressed his icon and opened a chat with him.
The text didn’t get lost.
I didn’t want him to see through my wavering heart, and I wanted to see him as I always do.
“Do you want to hang out tomorrow?”
The reply came.
At that moment I had a painful feeling in my chest. Was I happy that he replied so quickly, or was I happy that we could play tomorrow?
I don’t know, but it felt like my heart was burning, burning, but comfortable. I don’t know, but it felt like my heart was burning, burning, and yet comforting.
“I’m looking forward to… tomorrow…”
I realized that my mouth was moving.
The reason why the mother stopped Suzune from being r***d by her father was not because she wanted to protect Suzune.
But because her pride as a woman would be severely hurt if her husband, whom she loved, were to have relations with her daughter, whom she hated.
That is the reason.
Both Suzune’s parents are self-centered jerks.