My husband has Bipolar Disorder. Every time he beats me, he guiltily transfers $10,000. I never resist. I silently accept the money, covering the bruises with foundation. My best friend calls me cheap, urging me to divorce. I count the balance in my account, a sneer curling my lips. "Don't rush, the pig isn't fat enough yet." Until one day, he punched me in the stomach, and I miscarried. Chapter 1 "Venmo received: $10,000." The mechanical female voice echoed in the empty living room, sounding particularly harsh. I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, a bit metallic, like the taste of rust. Lucas sat on the sofa opposite, head in hands, fingers buried in regret. His hair was messy, grabbed by himself during his madness just now. "Sorry... Honey, sorry... I couldn't control myself..." His voice carried a sob, trembling like a withered leaf in the wind. I didn't speak. Just silently climbed up from the floor. My knee hit the corner of the coffee table just now, piercing pain. Probably bruised. I walked to the mirror in the entryway. Left cheek swollen. Five finger marks clearly visible, red turning purple. Lucas didn't hold back this slap. He really wanted to kill me, or rather, the "him" during the episode wanted to kill me. I picked up the concealer, covering it layer by layer. The foundation liquid was cold, touching the burning wound, this temperature difference sobered me up a little. Heavy footsteps came from behind. He hugged me from behind, burying his head in my neck. Tears dropped into my collar pata pata, burning me to a shiver. "Honey, hit me, scold me... I'm really not human..." "It's okay." I looked at myself in the mirror, pulling a perfect, tolerant, even saint-like smile. "I know you are sick. I don't blame you." Lucas cried even harder, like a child who made a mistake. He took out his phone again. "Venmo received: $10,000." Plus the one just now, twenty thousand. This slap, twenty thousand dollars. Quite worth it. My monthly salary is only eight thousand, enduring the boss's bad breath and clients' difficulties. But at home, taking a beating, just enduring a few minutes of pain, equals three months of my salary. This account, however calculated, is a bargain. Lucas is a Trust Fund Baby, family owns factories, money is just a number to him. To me, it's life. Chapter 2 Lucas fell asleep. Beating people is also physical work, especially beating hysterically like him. I covered him with the quilt, looking at that face which still seemed a bit gloomy in sleep. If not for the episodes, Lucas actually looks quite good. High brow bone, straight nose, a pair of seemingly affectionate peach blossom eyes. Who would have thought, under this skin, hides a beast? I closed the bedroom door, walked to the balcony, and lit a cigarette. I don't smoke much, only one when it hurts too much to sleep. Phone lit up. WeChat from best friend Sarah. "Still alive?" I took a screenshot of the bank balance and sent it over. Silence on the other end for a while, then a long voice message. "Nicole are you sick in the head? Do you have masochistic tendencies? Twenty thousand bought you? Do you know domestic violence has only zero and countless times? One day he beats you to death, will you spend these millions in hell?" Sarah scolded fiercely, but I knew she meant well. She is the only one who knows Lucas beats me. I blew out a smoke ring, watching the smoke dissipate in the night. Typed reply: "Soon." "What soon?" "The pig is almost fat enough." Sarah sent a string of ellipses, probably thinking I was hopeless. Of course I'm not crazy. I am very sober. More sober than anyone. I touched my belly. It was flat, soft, without any sign of life. But I need it to have one. Lucas's Bipolar Disorder is getting worse. Used to be throwing things, then pushing, now using fists. Frequency changed from once a month to once a week. I know, that critical point is coming. Once crossing that line, I might really die. But I can't leave now. The current Lucas, although guilty, is not enough. His guilt value hasn't reached the amount I want. I want more than these twenty or thirty thousand pocket money. I want his everything. Or, his life. Chapter 3 Preparation work is almost done. That blood bag was bought online, special for movie effects, realistic texture, even with a disgusting b****y smell. As for that "fetus." Obtained through some special channels. Very small, only palm-sized, an unformed lump of flesh, heart-stopping to look at. I hid it in the bottom freezer drawer, wrapped in three layers of black plastic bags. Every time I open the fridge for milk, I feel that lump staring at me with cold air. This is crazy, I know. But to hunt a beast, the hunter must be crazier than the beast. This Friday is Lucas's birthday. According to custom, he will drink some wine. Alcohol is taboo for Bipolar Disorder, especially mixed with medication. But I still prepared the best red wine for him, Screaming Eagle, costing a small half of my savings from a year of beatings. Investment, always has costs. At 7 PM, Lucas came back. He looked in a good mood, carrying an Hermès bag. "Wifey, happy birthday." I froze: "Today is your birthday." Lucas smiled, walked over and kissed my forehead: "I know, but I want to give you a gift. As long as you are happy, I am happy." At that moment, I was even a bit dazed. Ignoring those violent nights, Lucas is really a perfect husband. Rich, romantic, gentle. Pity, he's a lunatic. I opened the gift, a limited edition Birkin bag. "Like it?" He looked at me expectantly. "Like it." I nodded smiling, "Let's eat, I made your favorite Sweet and Sour Ribs." On the table, candlelights flickered. Lucas drank one glass, two glasses, three glasses. His eyes began to blur, cheeks flushed, voice louder. I knew, the drug effect started. Not the alcohol, but the "seasoning" I added to the wine. It's a neuro drug that amplifies emotions and induces rage. Lucas has been taking Lithium Carbonate prescribed by the doctor recently, but I swapped the pills. Swapped for vitamin tablets that look exactly the same. And the real strong medicine, is all in this wine. "Nicole..." Lucas suddenly smashed the wine glass on the table heavily. Red wine splashed on the white tablecloth, like an exploding blood flower. "Do you look down on me?" His eyes changed. That familiar, violent, murderous look returned. Show time. Chapter 4 I pretended to be panicked, shrinking back. "Hubby, what's wrong? How could I look down on you?" "You just look down on me! You think I'm a lunatic! You think I live off my family!" Lucas stood up abruptly, knocking over the chair. He walked around the table, approaching me step by step. I didn't retreat but advanced, protecting my belly desperately. This action stimulated him greatly. "What's in your belly? Huh? Is it a bastard!" This step I didn't expect. His paranoia flared up worse than I imagined. But it fits my plan perfectly. "Lucas! Are you crazy? This is your child! I'm three months pregnant!" I screamed, voice shrill. "My child? Hahahaha! I can't have children at all! I'm sick! I'm a lunatic! How can a lunatic have children!" Lucas roared, like a wild boar losing reason. He rushed over, grabbed my hair, and smashed me against the wall. Bang! Very painful. But I endured. I fell to the ground, curling into a ball. "Don't hit me... please... don't hit the child..." I cried out, voice getting weaker. But this didn't awaken his conscience, instead acted like a catalyst, making him crazier. "Die! All die!" Lucas raised his foot, kicking my belly viciously. Once. Twice. I felt the illusion of broken ribs. But I must wait for that hardest hit. Now! I pressed the blood bag hidden in my clothes fiercely. Warm, viscous liquid gushed out instantly, soaking my dress, flowing down my thighs all over the floor. Bright red blood, spreading on white tiles, shocking to the eye. I let out the last scream, then pushed the prepared "fetus" out from under my skirt. It mixed in the blood pool, a small lump, purple-black, hideous and terrifying. The world went quiet. Lucas stopped moving. He panted heavily, eyes staring dead at the pool of blood on the floor, and that lump of flesh in the blood. His pupils shrank violently, whole person like struck by lightning, frozen in place. I also "fainted." But the moment before closing my eyes, I saw the expression of extreme collapse on Lucas's face. That was fear. Pure fear. Not because he hit me, but because—he killed someone. Chapter 5 When I woke up, I was lying on the bed in the bedroom. The sheets were new, but I was still wearing that blood-stained dress, even the blood stains had dried and hardened. Lucas didn't dare change my clothes. Nor dared send me to the hospital. He was afraid. He was currently huddled in the corner of the room, like a frightened mouse, hugging his knees and shivering. The room was filled with a heavy smell of blood, and the smell of urine. Seems he peed himself in fear. I moved my fingers, letting out a weak moan. Lucas looked up sharply, eyeballs full of red blood streaks. "Wifey... you woke up... you didn't die... great..." He crawled over, wanting to touch me but daring not, hand trembling in mid-air. "Child..." I spoke weakly, tears flowing from the corner of my eyes. "Where is my child..." Lucas's face instantly pale as paper. He pointed to the bathroom, voice shaking uncontrollably: "In... inside... I... I don't know what to do..." "Lucas, you killed him." I looked into his eyes, saying word by word. "That was your own flesh and blood, a boy, I already named him... but you killed him." "Ah!!!" Lucas covered his ears, letting out a beast-like wail. "I didn't mean to! I really didn't mean to! I didn't know... I didn't know you were pregnant..." "I'm calling the police." I struggled to reach for the phone on the bedside table. Lucas pounced like crazy, snatching the phone, smashing it hard against the wall. Phone screen shattered, like a spider web. "No police! No police! Police mean I'm done! I'll go to jail! I'm mentally ill, but I don't want to be locked in a mental hospital for life! Nicole, please, don't call the police!" He knelt by the bed, kowtowing to me frantically. Thud thud thud. Forehead broke quickly, blood flowing all over his face, but he seemed not to feel pain. I saw the timing was about right. The torture of this night, plus the side effects of drugs, his psychological defense had completely collapsed. The current him is a lump of mud for me to knead. "No police is fine." I looked at him coldly, tone suddenly becoming calm, eerily calm. "But you have to pay the price." Lucas looked up, face covered in blood and dirt, eyes dull: "What price? How much do you want? One million? Five million? Ten million? I'll give you all! As long as no police!" I shook my head. "I don't want money." I propped myself up, enduring the severe pain (it really hurt this time, he hit too hard), pulling out a document from under the pillow. This was prepared long ago. "Sign it." Lucas took the document with trembling hands. By the dim light, he saw the title clearly. [Voluntary Organ Donation and Full Body Disposal Power of Attorney Agreement]. Beneficiary/Executor: Nicole. "What is... this?" Lucas looked at me blankly. "This is your indulgence ticket." I leaned close to him, whispering in his ear, voice like a devil's whisper. "You killed my child, that's a life of yours. Since you don't want to go to jail, give your life to me for safekeeping." "As long as you sign, this agreement takes effect. In the future, whether you live or die, your heart, your liver, your kidneys, even your corneas, are under my control." "If you dare touch me again one day, or when I want you to die..." I extended a finger, gently sliding across his carotid artery. "I'll take you apart, sell pieces one by one, to sacrifice to our child." Lucas shivered. This is actually a threatening document with no legal effect, even absurd. But in the eyes of a lunatic on the verge of mental collapse, deeply mired in guilt of killing his son, and poisoned by drugs, this is a judgment from hell. And his only straw to clutch at. "I sign... I sign..." Lucas grabbed the pen, hand shaking like Parkinson's, crookedly signed his name. Last stroke fell. I smiled. This time, not a saint's smile. It's a hunter's smile. Pig, finally in the cage.
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