White Moonlight Rescue System [Quick Transmigration]

For as long as I can remember people have called my mother a lunatic, incidentally called me a little lunatic, and both the new babysitter and the next-door neighbor have been terrified of both of us.

My mother is a painter. What she likes most is to stay in the attic and paint. She often stays there without sleep or food, like a madman.

After finishing the painting, he would scream again, tear up the drawing paper like crazy, throw it on the ground and step on it, and after a while, he would pick up the drawing paper and hold it in his arms, crying and confessing constantly. with.

The bright and rich colors on the drawing paper make people feel depressed and want to vomit.

Occasionally, when my mother is not sick, she will hold me in her arms, sing me a lullaby, and call me "good boy" kindly

I want to be her good boy.

So I am willing to learn to paint according to her wish. Even though I feel nauseous every time I pick up a paintbrush, I can't wait to tear up the paper like her, but I still have to look obedient on the surface.

When I was eight years old, I raised a dog. I named him Toby. Toby is a German Shepherd. It can be said that he accompanied me throughout my childhood. I like to take Toby for a walk at dusk. It was the time when the neighbors went out for a walk, and they always had pity on their faces when they saw me.

"Poor boy, to have such a crazy mother."

"That kid also has a gloomy personality, so he's also a lunatic, right?"

"Hey, who can say clearly about this kind of thing."

"......"

I led Toby and walked quickly past them with his head bowed. Even though they deliberately lowered their voices, they still entered my ears without saying a word.

I stopped and lowered my head until I reached a corner where no one was around. Toby would lick my hand to comfort me at this time. Looking at Toby's wet black eyes, I suppressed the dark emotions in my heart.

But I didn't expect that such a good Toby would leave me one day. I buried his mutilated body under the yard, and my mother patted my head with rare comfort.

I lowered my head and remained silent.

When I was 11 years old, my mother became more and more ill, and she began to attack people around her indiscriminately, including doctors, including me.

She would pick up all the things that could be smashed around me and throw them on me, yelling frantically to tell me to get lost, and even nearly drowned me in the bathtub once, I will never forget her eyes, the deep hatred in them made me People startled.

But I know that hate is not directed at me, but at another man, whom I don't like to call my father.

I only saw her the day before my mother died. She was painting in the attic, and the sunlight shone in through the colorful glass, which was as sacred as a church.

The mother was wearing a long white dress, with long black hair hanging over her shoulders, and her dark eyes were staring straight at the painting under her hand, with a serious and solemn expression.

I was happy for her brief peace and decided to make her something delicious to celebrate.

But when I came to ask her to open the door, I saw scarlet liquid winding to my feet, blood mixed with red paint, and the whole room was filled with a disgusting smell.

The mother lay barefoot on the white drawing paper, and there were deep bone wounds on her thin white wrists.There was blood gushing out, winding on the white paper, drawing a strange pattern.

I stiffly walked in front of her, looked at the body that had lost its temperature, and remained silent.

After an unknown amount of time, I finally started to move. I lay down slowly and lay on the drawing paper with my mother. Her body was already stiff, and there were corpse spots spreading on her original fair skin. I still hugged her. live.

Because the only thing we can embrace in this world is each other.

As time passed, my mother began to smell bad. I closed my eyes, and I could feel the feeling of empty stomach gradually attacking, and then my stomach began to have cramps, and I gradually lost consciousness.

When screams sounded in my ears, I opened my eyes in a daze, and the terrified face of the auntie nanny came into view.

I met the man at my mother's funeral.

He called himself my father, and he transferred me to a high school, where I met the only light in my life.

This vulgar description made me sick, but I couldn't find any other adjectives to describe him.

He broke into my life unscrupulously and pulled me out of the dark quagmire.

I have a withdrawn personality, and others always shy away from my gloomy personality, but he is different, willing to be friends with people like me.

He was also one of the people who bullied me at the beginning, but for some reason he chose to save me.

I told myself over and over again not to believe in other people's kindness, but when I saw his smile, I completely forgot everything, wishing I could hand everything over to him.

For him, I started to pick up the paintbrush that I hadn’t used for a long time, and gave him the only thing I was good at, hoping that he would like it. Although he didn’t respond to me once, I still felt extremely satisfied.

The only thing that makes me dissatisfied is that there are too many people around him and it is an eyesore.

If only we had each other, it would be fine. Once this idea arises, it will grow crazily. I am jealous of the boys around him who are shoulder to shoulder with him, the girls who have a crush on him, and how gentle he is to everyone.

"Squad leader."

He poked my back with the tip of the pen from behind, and I was a little afraid to turn my head, afraid that he would see my frightening expression at this time.

"Squad leader."

He raised his voice and called again, and I could hear the smile in his tone.

I could only turn my head slowly, he smiled happily, revealing the dimples at the corners of his mouth.

"...what's the matter?" I lowered my head and whispered, he was always so dazzling, which made me feel inferior involuntarily.

"It's okay, I just called you." He smiled and showed his white teeth, as if he was very curious about my reaction.

I just hummed softly, then turned my head away, and when I heard his doubtful murmur, the corners of my mouth involuntarily raised.

It would be nice if only this was the case all the time.

But God will not make it easy for me. Once he sees that I have obtained happiness, he will take it back immediately.

The man who claimed to be my father found out about my sexual orientation, and went to my school quietly to go through the transfer procedures. I wanted to go back to the classroom like crazy, but was forced to take me to the car by the bodyguards.

The man told me with a complicated expression that he would take me to a doctor.

The place of treatment was a private psychiatric hospital, and the man told the doctor there to change my liking for men and make me look like a normal person.

Everything there is as absurd as a dream, there are women who like to eat their own hair, and there are men who fantasize that they are dogs. Doctors in white coats call them to eat regularly, with the expression on their faces as if calling animals.

0912, is my number.

I am still withdrawn, and I often like to lean against the window and look outside. The cold bars on the window are used to prevent them from jumping out of the window. I tried to stick my head out, but it was useless. I looked and looked, but I didn’t see that person The figure, too, how could he know that I am here, he doesn't know anything.

The doctor began his treatment to fulfill the promise he had made to the man.

They tied me to an electric bed and injected muscle relaxants into my body to prevent my muscles from twitching and straining my bones.

They forced me to recall his appearance, and as soon as I recalled it once, they would turn on the electric current and stimulate my nerve brain to arouse my disgust and fear of him.

I opened my mouth wide to make a sound, my eyes began to sore, and slightly hot liquid flowed from the eye sockets.

The doctor glanced at me, then continued his actions in silence.

The hypnotist induced memories in my ears again, and I seemed to see him again.

He had a smile on his face, dimples at the corners of his mouth, slightly raised chestnut hair, one hand in his pocket, leaning on his bicycle as if he was waiting for someone.

He saw me and held out his hand to me.

Great joy welled up in my heart, and just as I was about to step over, I felt a burst of electricity, the tingling sensation stimulated my nerves, and the pain distorted my face, but because of the effect of the medicine, I couldn't move at all.

I don't know how long this kind of treatment will last, but the doctor told the man that it won't be successful until I get psychosexual nausea when I mention the man's name.

I was afraid that there would be a day when I thought about suicide more than once. I frantically cut countless wounds on my wrist with a stolen knife, but I was saved in the end.

I sometimes recall the days when I was with him in high school in my dreams, and when I woke up, I was surrounded by great panic and pain, and some dark seeds in my heart wanted to break out of the ground.

I engraved his name under the hospital bed, followed by two words—lover.

I'm afraid I'll forget him and even hate him.

If I can see him again, I will definitely not be cowardly anymore, and I will firmly control him in my hands.

No one can take him away.

I want to see him cry for me.

I want to see him laughing for me.

I want us to belong only to each other.

Until the dead.

The author has something to say: Hey, thank you for the mine that is "wonderful than words" ~

Everyone seems to be looking forward to the little black house, ahem, the little black house breaks the law, as a law-abiding good citizen, this is not acceptable [cover your face] As for who it is in the last chapter, the comment has already mentioned that name oh~