When Samuel asked me to deliver ultra-thin condoms again, my mom saw it. She paused and said, "I'll deliver it for you." "I had you when I was forty. No amount of love is too much. I can't bear to see you wronged, so I'll deliver it for you." At that moment, I decided to give up on Samuel. Later, everyone was surprised I no longer revolved around Samuel. Some asked me why. I stayed silent for a long time, only pressing my lips together. "My mom would be heartbroken." Samuel forgot to bring ultra-thins to his hotel room again. By the time the message reached me, it was already eleven at night. And I happened to be in the shower, so my mom saw the message. When I came out, the air felt particularly stagnant. The message on the phone on the coffee table was glaring. [Mia likes strawberry-flavored ones. Get them to me within half an hour.] My mom didn't know many words. But he had sent a voice message. Probably still resentful that I had stolen Mia's client last time, his message now was particularly explicit. The air grew heavy. Mom hung her head, lost in thought. After a long silence, she said to me: "If this is the boy you like, then I'll deliver it for you." "I had you when I was forty. No amount of love is too much. I can't bear to see you wronged, so I'll deliver it for you." The light in the room was dim, but the white hair on her head was particularly conspicuous. I started liking Samuel in high school. I followed him to a university in Northbridge. Later, I joined his family's company and got a high-paying job. He treated me well—gave me birthday gifts, paid me a high salary. When I first started and got bullied during business negotiations, the person came to apologize to me the next day. Some people were jealous and made snide remarks to my face: "Connections sure make a difference. Someone's going to be Mrs. Samuel." I half believed it myself. Many people came and went around him. When he needed something, I'd deliver things to him. When he didn't, I'd take money and handle everything for him one by one. Only Mia lasted the longest. Samuel liked her so much he wanted to marry her. Following him all these years, I'd suffered plenty. But at this moment, I suddenly felt it was all rather pointless. "I've decided to give up on him," I told my mom. As I said this, I blocked Samuel. His call came through the next second. His tone was particularly casual: "What's this about? If you're going to throw a tantrum, now's not the time. I need these right now." "Oh, and when you come, apologize to Mia in person." The apology was because I had closed a big deal, but Mia claimed that was her client. The girl cried, and Samuel lost all reason. He docked two months of my salary, fired my entire department, and transferred me to a different position. Six months of hard work on my project went down the drain. When I confronted him about it, he laughed lightly. "You got your job through connections anyway. What's there to regret?" "As for those people, what good projects could they do following you? If they had real talent, they wouldn't be working on your projects." It had been several days, but thinking about it still left me breathless, my heart twisting in pain. Humiliating and mortifying. I lowered my eyes and replied: "I won't apologize to her. If she's really that upset, just fire me." He was silent for a moment on the other end, then laughed casually, displeasure evident in his tone. "Fine, as long as you can let it go." I didn't know if he meant the job or him. I'd been chasing after Samuel for ten years. Anyone with eyes could see I liked him desperately. He was a transfer student who came back from Northbridge in our senior year of high school. Northbridge didn't allow day students to take the college entrance exam, so he returned. Elegant, distinguished. That was everyone's first impression of him. That year was also when I was at my most pathetic. My face was covered in acne. I was withdrawn and unlikeable. My family was poor, and we rented a dark apartment where the laundry never saw sunlight. My clothes always had a fishy smell, and no one in class liked me. But he volunteered to be my deskmate. Perhaps out of pity or sympathy, he would always help me with problems I couldn't figure out no matter how hard I tried, then say: "I think you're really smart." When people gossiped about me, he would hand me an earbud. It wasn't music playing—it was a niche radio program where a comedy performer was saying in a shocking voice: "People like that deserve to be struck by lightning! Don't you all just die!" He would also load two thousand dollars onto my meal card when I was chugging cold water to save five dollars on food. Then he'd say casually: "It's just the price of one outfit for me. Pay me back when you're earning money." At first, I was anxious and uneasy. I felt I didn't deserve this kindness. Later, I comforted myself that perhaps my luck had been so terrible, so bad, that fate arranged for Samuel to save me. After that, we talked about everything.
The year I graduated from college, I was looking for work. At the time, a saying circulated online: good jobs only flow through connections and bloodlines. Unable to suppress my frustration, I mentioned it to him once. He just stayed silent for a while, then raised his eyebrows slightly and adjusted his collar. "I'm your connection. You can work with me." He was my best friend. Naturally, I liked him. I was too ashamed to say it out loud. But perhaps I was too obvious, or perhaps he was naturally perceptive and could see through people's hearts. One night, he called me. "Emergency. I just fell for a girl at first sight, but I don't have what I need. Can you bring it to me?" My mind went blank with a buzzing sound. My throat went dry, and I couldn't speak. After a long silence, I asked him: "Why me?" He laughed lightly: "You're my best friend. If you don't help me, who will?" Finally, he asked seriously: "You'll come, right?" In the adult world, some things only need to be hinted at. By saying this, he was telling me to put away my feelings. If I had cursed him out and hung up then, we would never have crossed that line. We would have remained just friends forever. But for some reason, I still went. It was pouring rain that day. The drainage system was overwhelmed, and water rose almost to my calves. Perhaps it was my body's self-defense mechanism—I forgot how I awkwardly handed him the item under Samuel's ambiguous gaze. I also forgot how I left that hotel. I only remember the woman in the room asking curiously: "Who's that?" Samuel scoffed lightly: "Just an ordinary employee." "Ah, working people really have it rough." The subway had stopped running, and the rain was too heavy to catch a cab. I didn't have my ID, so I couldn't get a hotel room. I could only stumble through the flooded streets toward home. The wind in Northbridge cut across my face like a dull knife. My whole body was numb. From the hotel to home, I walked for three hours. After I got back, I developed a high fever. Later, I got otitis media. That same day, my mom called me. She said she wanted to come keep me company. On the other end of the phone, I also heard Samuel's voice. As frivolous and certain as always. "You'll come, right?" I didn't respond. I just hung up. I wouldn't go. I would never go again. Outside, rain was pouring down. My ear started hurting again. The pain spread quickly, even my scalp throbbed viciously. I instinctively pressed my temples. Mom stood there, looking somewhat at a loss. These past few years, she hadn't been happy in Northbridge. She always did things cautiously. She always felt guilty for not being able to help my career, so while I was supporting her, she somehow learned to read my moods and act accordingly. It was completely backwards. I forced myself to sit up and act unconcerned: "Don't worry about me. He's not someone I like—he's purely a capitalist boss." "You know how it is in the city—it's cutthroat. Some of my friends even have to babysit their boss's kids after work." She didn't respond, and her expression didn't relax. I knew she didn't believe me. After all, I'd climbed so high in this city over the years. Even the leadership had to give me some respect and wouldn't give me attitude. But I really didn't have the energy to explain anything more. When I was in school, I used to tell her everything—what I ate, what I drank, what happened at school. But during these years of single-mindedly chasing Samuel, she and I gradually grew distant, like there was a wall between us. Separated by an invisible distance, I couldn't open my heart to her. I didn't know what to say to her. I just said softly: "Mom, really don't worry about me. I've wanted to quit for a while now." "It's late. Let's both go to bed." I turned around, but behind me came a nearly choked voice. "But I can't help but worry." "I went to your company to find you. That time, I saw him bullying you." My head hurt more and more. I couldn't spare the mental energy to think about which time it was. "I went to him. I wanted him to treat you better. But he told me that you got into the company through connections anyway, that you'd already achieved more than most people could reach, that suffering a little was a privilege, and that at least you were smart." "But having me as a mother—it's really unlucky."
Resigning required following proper procedures. When I got to the company, I discovered my workstation had already been taken by Mia. When she saw me, she smiled with a sense of entitlement: "I only shed two tears, and Samuel gave me your position. He said I'm his favorite canary." I wasn't angry. I asked calmly, "Doesn't Samuel only want you? Aren't you two getting married? Why are you still calling yourself a canary?" "What? Are you so used to being a mistress?" "Don't you dare look down on me!" Hearing this, she seemed to have hit a sore spot. Her young face contorted strangely. "You don't even know what Samuel says about you, do you? He said your motives are impure, your abilities are lacking, and he's wanted to get rid of you for ages!" "You don't need to feel it's unfair. After all, the capable rise to the top." "Whether in the office or in bed." Originally, she was keeping her voice down, but her anger got the better of her, and her voice grew louder and louder. That "in bed" came out in an almost shrill voice. The Samuel Corporation was intensely competitive. Most people were so busy they couldn't even drink water all day. But at this moment, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to us. Sticky, suffocating. She sensed everyone's gaze and her whole face flushed red. It reminded me of when Samuel first took a liking to her—she was just as startled and flustered then. Her schemes were shallow, her methods of provocation brainless. I often wondered when Samuel would have me give her the breakup money. Samuel wasn't patient. He liked novelty and never lacked girlfriends. Every visible part of his body was covered in women's kiss marks. Maybe this time was true love. Even now, I still didn't understand why Samuel liked her so much. Mia gritted her teeth but didn't dare say anything more. She grabbed the thermos from the desk, intending to throw it at my face. But she forgot she was wearing high heels and a pencil skirt. In earlier years, when Samuel hadn't yet secured his position in the company, I often attended business dinners for him. I wore either high-slit dresses or pencil skirts, always in stiletto heels. I hated it, so when I gained some authority, I immediately changed the dress code—formal occasions required pantsuits, and casual wear was fine for daily work. So her movements were slow. The skirt prevented her from taking big steps. I almost effortlessly snatched the thermos from her. Then I swung it forcefully toward her face. When it was five centimeters from her face, I stopped. Looking at her terrified eyes, I smiled. "Sorry, this is my thermos." "Jennifer, I didn't know you had it in you." Behind me came a scoff. I turned around to meet Samuel's slightly mocking gaze. Mia seemed to snap out of it. Tears fell quickly. "She's too arrogant. She was going to hit me." "Why are you crying? Want me to let you hit her back?" Mia's tears turned to smiles. She walked up to me aggressively, ready to slap me. But I remained perfectly calm. I didn't know what I represented to Samuel. I figured he must be so pickled in love that he shamelessly used me as a tool to please Mia. So this time, the thermos didn't hit Mia. It hit Samuel's face. Mia urgently covered Samuel's face and said sharply: "Are you crazy?" Chaos erupted around us. Looking at Samuel's disbelieving eyes, I said: "If you want to call the police, I'll cooperate. Injury assessment—I'll pay the medical bills." "This job—I quit."
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