My stutter kept me in a car repair shop for five years. The only person who truly listened to me was my girlfriend of five years, Anna, who lived with me in the run-down city block. To deliver a smooth speech at our wedding, I practiced talking every day with a pebble under my tongue. The day I finally stopped stuttering, I was waxing a car, my mind consumed with images of my wedding to Anna. Suddenly, an arrogant male voice cut through my thoughts: "Hey Stutter Boy, is my car fixed?" It was the owner, here to pick up his car. I gave a strained smile and handed him the keys. As he raised his hand, the diamond watch on his wrist glinted, hurting my eyes. He tossed a stack of hundred-dollar bills on the ground, glancing at me. "Keep the change. My wife's coming to pick me up." As I bent to pick up the money, a pair of familiar white stilettos entered my field of vision. "Honey, that half-million dollar limited edition sports watch you mentioned, they have it in stock today." I instinctively looked up. The moment my eyes met hers, the banknotes scattered from my fingertips. It was Anna, who always claimed to be allergic to motor oil, and had never once set foot in the auto repair shop where I worked. 1 Anna's gaze lingered on me for barely a second before shifting back to the young man. "There, there, darling. Your wife will get you a year-long membership here." Dean, with his arms around her, chuckled. "Honey, he's such a stutterer. He sounds so silly and clumsy when he talks." Anna giggled, ruffling the boy's hair. "No one's as witty as my baby. You're the biggest chatterbox." He leaned down and kissed Anna's forehead, then looked at me with a smirk. "Stutter Boy, why are you always so grimy? Guess you're only good for dealing with car parts." My fists clenched tightly, my throat bobbed twice, but I said nothing. Compared to him, I certainly looked grimy. To earn enough for a down payment as quickly as possible, I worked from six in the morning until midnight every day. The broken-down cars in the shop were tough to fix, and I often got scratched and bruised by metal parts, always gritting my teeth to get the job done. Marrying Anna was my most steadfast goal for the past five years. In the five years we'd been together, I only had two pairs of worn-out work clothes to rotate, so I naturally looked rough. "I—" I had just started to question Anna, when her hand slamming a bank card onto the counter interrupted me. "My husband says you're silly when you talk, so just keep quiet." "There's ten thousand in this card. From now on, you're responsible for servicing his car." Through the blurry vision in front of me, I thought I saw Anna from when we first got together. Back then, I was so self-conscious I dared not enter stores, afraid people would disdain me for my stutter. She was the one who encouraged me, often patiently listening to me practice speaking for an hour or two, never once showing impatience. Because of her, I found the courage to get a job, and first understood what it felt like to be cherished. But now, she said I was silly when I talked, telling me to keep quiet. I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and nodded. The raw wound under my tongue, chafed by the pebble, throbbed faintly, but it was nothing compared to the dull ache in my heart. Dean looked at his custom shirt, stained with motor oil, frowning and pouting. "Honey, look, this car got oil all over me." "This shirt is a new limited edition, cost tens of thousands, and now I can't even wear it." Anna smiled, leaning in to rub his neck, her voice full of indulgence. "It's okay. You're handsome no matter what you wear. I'll buy you new ones." The boy pouted, then, wrapping his arm around Anna, he headed out. I stood rooted to the spot, uncontrollably shivering. For five years, before going home, I would shower and change clothes at the shop, terrified of carrying even a hint of gasoline smell. All because Anna said she was allergic to motor oil. A year ago, I was so tired I missed a tiny oil stain on my cuff. Anna saw it and immediately her face fell, she grabbed my blanket, took it to the sofa, then closed the bedroom door. That night, I curled up on the sofa and slept, the next day, I spiked a 104-degree fever. I looked at my faded, twenty-dollar work clothes, and suddenly forced a bitter smile. Laughing at my own foolishness, my own naivety. Turns out, Anna wasn't allergic to motor oil, she was allergic to me. And in her eyes, I only deserved to wear twenty-dollar clothes. My phone rang. It was a message from Anna. The message was short, just like every other reply from her. [Don't overthink it. I'll explain tonight when I get back. Dean is only eighteen, you'd best not say too much in front of him.] Something inside me snapped. Anna, who at 22 told me she'd always listen to me. Anna, who at 24 said she'd marry no one but me. Anna, who at 26 held me and said I was the love of her life. The Anna I knew, she was dead. 2 I dragged my heavy feet out of the shop gate, for the first time, not staying to work overtime. The previously clear sky suddenly opened up with a heavy rain, the icy water drenching me to the bone. I had no umbrella. As I walked home through the downpour, a honk sounded behind me. A Bentley pulled up beside me, the window slowly rolling down. It was Anna. She looked at me, her expression somewhat complicated. "Where are you going? I can give you a ride." I opened my mouth, about to speak, when Dean, in the passenger seat, stopped her. "Honey, just give him an umbrella." "Look how dirty he is. What if he messes up our car?" I watched her wavering gaze, saying nothing, like waiting for a verdict whose outcome I already knew. A black umbrella extended from the car, then splat, fell into the mud. Anna turned, placing a kiss on Dean's forehead. "I'll listen to my husband. Your wife will take you to buy a watch." I watched the receding car, my hands trembling as I pulled out my old phone, typing word by word. [Anna, let's break up.] A sharp screech of brakes suddenly tore through the air. "Look out!" I was violently struck, my body lunging forward and falling to the ground. Warm blood trickled from my forehead, seeping through my lips into my mouth, the metallic taste spreading in my throat. An older woman climbed down from a three-wheeled vehicle, looking at me frantically. "You can't blame me for this. Blame yourself for being an idiot and not getting out of the way." She tossed fifty dollars onto me. "Fifty bucks is enough, right? Don't be so young and try to fake an accident in the middle of the road. You might shorten your life." I lay helplessly in the mud, passersby cast curious glances, but no one came to help me. I felt like I was back five years ago, being ostracized by everyone in my class. After the accident, I frantically searched my phone contacts, unable to find a single person to ask for help. Five years ago, Anna walked up to me and extended her hand. I looked up at her, meeting a familiar smile. I gently placed my hand in hers, and she pulled hard. I thought she had pulled me out of the mire. That umbrella not far away, mud splattered, leaving mottled marks on its black surface. I was like that umbrella, easily tossed from her car window, covered in mud. I’ve forgotten how I managed to pick myself up and walk home. I only remember Anna returning home at dawn that day, reeking of perfume. She saw my state and scoffed. “Found out I have money, so you’re using a pity play to get sympathy?” “Arthur Bradbury, I never knew you were so scheming.” I said nothing, simply throwing the car service card heavily onto the table in front of her. Anna picked it up, her delicate brows arching. “Arthur, ten thousand dollars would take you three months to earn.” “You should be grateful for what I give you.” “After all, without me, you would have died in that car crash five years ago.” Seeing the wound on my forehead, her tone softened slightly. “The past five years were just a test for you, Arthur. Congratulations, you passed.” “I’m actually the eldest daughter of the Sterling family in the capital, and I’ll be the future CEO of Sterling Corp.” She stepped forward, wanting to put an arm around my shoulder, but her fingers had barely touched my jacket when I avoided her touch. “Dean is just my arranged marriage partner, and you, you’re my lover.” I turned my head away, my voice a little hoarse from the injury, and with a slight stutter. “You mean, Dean will be your public husband?” Anna hesitated, then nodded. “Husband is just a title. As long as you know in your heart that I only love you, that’s enough.” I looked directly into her eyes and said, “What if I say, I want that title?” 3 Anna's face instantly drained of color, and she sharply pulled her hand back. I stumbled slightly, then regained my footing, but she merely looked down at me from her superior height. "Arthur Bradbury, you're a stutterer, with no money, no power, no family. Don't dream of things that don't belong to you." "I can give you my love, but my husband can only be Dean." I tightened my fingers, my nails digging deep into my palm, a sharp pain spreading from my arm throughout my body. I looked at Anna. Her face was still the same, yet I felt like I was looking at a complete stranger. I knew, she was no longer the Anna who would massage my shoulders after I finished fixing a car. She was the high and mighty Ms. Sterling, and I was merely a plaything for her to experience life while pretending to be poor. Anna's phone suddenly rang. She answered it, a gentle smile spreading across her face. "Dean, I'll be right back. Don't be afraid, your wife will protect you forever." She hung up the phone. Her gaze turned to me, becoming impatient again. "Stop messing around. Dean has nightmares if I leave him at night. You sleep alone tonight." The door closed. I sat alone in the empty room all night, not shedding a single tear. The next day, I still put on my faded work clothes, and forced myself to the auto repair shop. Dean was already there, a modified off-road motorcycle parked at his feet. He saw me, a triumphant smirk on his face. "Hey Stutter Boy, I've brought you a big job, specially." He kicked the motorcycle's tire, his tone provocative. "Take this bike apart and put it back together for me. Finish it, and I'll give you ten grand!" I looked at the illegally modified motorcycle, its wiring completely messed up, and took a step back. "This bike is dangerous. I won't fix it." But the shop manager, at that moment, fawned over Dean, pushing me forward. "Mr. Dean, don't listen to this stutterer's nonsense. We'll definitely take this job." He lowered his voice, threatening me in my ear. "If you don't take this job, you can forget about this month's salary." This month's salary would complete the down payment for the house. I gritted my teeth and nodded. Dean grinned triumphantly, and as he passed me, he whispered, "I know you've been with Anna for five years. But you, a stuttering mechanic, do you really deserve her?" I said nothing, took the tools, and walked over to the motorcycle. Just as I was about to inspect the wiring, the motorcycle's battery suddenly short-circuited, sparking. The blast of air instantly knocked me off my feet, and flying metal shards savagely embedded themselves in my arm. Excruciating pain hit me. My vision went black, and I fell unconscious. In the last second before my consciousness faded, I saw Anna rushing in. When I awoke, the hospital's stark white assaulted my eyes. Anna's voice, clearly annoyed, came from outside the door. "You only told me you were playing a joke on Arthur, but now you've hurt him so badly." "The doctor says the scar on his arm won't go away, Dean. You've gone too far." Dean complained indignantly. "I was just jealous. Sister Anna is mine!" "Why does he get to be with you for so long!" "We're getting engaged soon. I just wanted to teach him a lesson, so he wouldn't dare cling to you anymore!" Silence fell outside for a moment, followed by Anna's helpless sigh. Expressionless, I pulled out my phone and called my sister. "Sis, I want to come home." My sister's familiar voice came from the other end. "It's good that you've come to your senses. Wait there, I'll be right there to pick you up."
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