He's an asshole.
He is rapist, frivolous and debauched.
But I love him.
Love to the core, love to the flesh and blood.
Every pore screams this humble love.
I can't control myself.
I'm a waste.
I can't even control my own feelings, and I can't control him, so why are I still alive?
So I decided to commit suicide.
Without any unexpected or tragic luck, I succeeded.
Of course, I killed him before committing suicide.
He was wearing a bright red wedding dress and fell into a pool of red blood.
I suddenly felt like my heart was on edge and my whole body was trembling.
But he smiled.
A bright red flower bloomed on his face.
You see, he loves torturing me so much.
The more pain I feel, the happier he becomes.
He's an asshole.
He just loves to see me being led by such disgusting feelings.
I hate him.
…
"I love you."
His red lips parted.
My ears were itchy, so I took them out.
I heard those three words.
But I know this is his trick.
He is about to die and yet he comes to provoke me.
He really is a bastard.
But I'm going to die too.
He couldn't get it.
Conception: