The Silent Dream
The off-white mat had little daisy patterns printed on it. I'd chosen it specially last week, thinking it would look pretty when Morgan Carter and I made mooncakes together.
Morgan Carter walked in carrying two large bags of groceries, followed by five or six friends whose lively chatter quickly filled the once quiet house.
He came over, set the bags filled with flour and red bean paste on the kitchen counter, and reached out to ruffle my hair. "Tina, let me introduce you: this is Shirley Lincoln, along with Eric, Cindy, and the others."
I smiled and nodded, my gaze settling on Shirley Lincoln.
She wore a black cropped jacket, her hair dyed light brown. A casual smile played on her lips, but when she looked at me, there was a faint, almost imperceptible look of scrutiny in her eyes.
"I've heard Morgan say for a long time that his girlfriend is beautiful, and seeing her today, she really lives up to the hype," Shirley Lincoln walked over, reaching out to shake my hand.
But just as her fingertips were about to touch mine, she pulled back and instead picked up a grape from the table and popped it into her mouth.
I didn't pay attention to her little move and turned around to pour drinks for everyone.
Morgan followed me quietly and whispered, "Shirley's my childhood friend."
I looked back at him, saw the apology in his eyes, and smiled, shaking my head. "It's okay."
At that time, I had no idea that this so-called 'straightforward' childhood friend would push me into the abyss.
As everyone gathered around the table making mooncakes, Shirley suddenly clapped her hands, capturing everyone's attention.
"Just making mooncakes is too boring. Let's play a game, shall we?"
She held a piece of kneaded dough, her eyes sparkling. "Let's call it the coin game. We hide a coin inside one mooncake, and whoever bites into it has to face everyone's punishment. How does that sound?"
Eric was the first to chime in, "Sounds fun! I'll go first and hide the coin!"
Shirley stopped him with a smile and said, "Let me do it, so you guys don't cheat and then accuse me of favoring Morgan."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a one dollar coin, waving it in front of everyone before heading into the kitchen, saying she wanted to find a spot where no one could see her place it.
I sat beside Morgan, helping him shape the mooncake dough into rounds, and casually asked, "The punishment won't be too harsh, right?"
Morgan held my hand, his tone relaxed: "We're all friends. At worst, you'll have to meow like a cat or drink a glass of lemon juice. Don't worry."
I nodded without giving it much thought, just treating it as a normal joke between friends.
Now that I think about it, I really was so naive back then.
Once the mooncakes were baked, they were arranged one by one on a white porcelain plate, steaming and filling the entire living room with their sweet aroma.
Shirley Lincoln brought the plate to the center of the dining table and said, "All the mooncakes are the same, so just take whichever one you want."
Everyone began picking up mooncakes one by one. I glanced around and reached for the one closest to me.
The mooncakes were still warm, and when I bit into one, the sweet red bean paste blended perfectly with the fragrant dough—it was delicious.
But with the second bite, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my mouth, like something was scraping across my tongue and throat.
It was broken glass!
Panic swept through me, and I instinctively wanted to spit out what was in my mouth, my hands already covering my mouth.
At that moment, Shirley suddenly came over and grabbed my wrist tightly.
She was surprisingly strong. I winced in pain and tried to struggle, but she held me down even tighter.
"It’s just a joke." Her voice went up, deliberately loud so everyone could hear, "You get a lucky bite but still want to secretly spit it out? That's just no fun at all, huh?"
With her other hand, she covered my mouth, pressing her fingertip on my lips, sticky from kneading the dough, making me feel sick.
Glass shards were still stuck in my throat. I wanted to cough, but no sound came out—only muffled 'ooh ooh' noises—then tears flooded my eyes.
I blinked hard and looked at Morgan Carter sitting beside me, reaching out to grab the hem of his shirt, trying to get help.
But Morgan looked away from me. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, with a faint, almost imperceptible smile at the corner of his mouth.
That smile felt like an icy blade, stabbing straight into my heart, hurting even more than shards of glass stuck in my throat.
"Morgan, look at her," Shirley Lincoln said to him, her tone teasingly sweet. "Can't she just play fair? We agreed—if you lose, you accept the punishment. No cheating."
Morgan nodded. When he looked at me, there wasn't a trace of concern—only impatience. "Tina, stop messing around. You have to accept the consequences when you lose."
I sneered inwardly. Didn't he see the tears in my eyes? Didn't he hear the strangled sound in my throat?
Eric and Cindy gathered around too. Eric smiled and said, "Tina, stop pretending. It's just a punishment; we're not going to eat you."
Cindy went straight to get a rope and said, "Tie her to the chair first so she won't struggle."
I struggled, trying to avoid Cindy's hands, but she and Eric held me down together. I had no strength to fight back.
The rope wrapped around my wrists and ankles, loop after loop, tightly bound to the wooden chair's armrests. The pressure made my skin sting, and soon a red mark spread across it.
Morgan just sat beside me, watching silently the entire time.
When Shirley asked him, "Aren't you upset about this?" he simply shook his head and said, "It's just a game."
Shirley smiled with satisfaction. She picked up a pair of scissors from the coffee table—ones I had just bought yesterday to cut baking paper, with very sharp blades.
She stepped in front of me, the tips of the scissors aimed at my collar, her eyes filled with malice: "Today, let's see if you're really as 'perfect' as you pretend to be."
I tried to escape, but my body was tied up. I could only watch helplessly as the scissors sliced through the fabric.
With a sharp 'shhh,' the neckline of my shirt was cut open, tearing all the way down to my chest and revealing the pale underwear underneath.
Laughter from the boys echoed around me. Eric even whistled and said, "I didn't expect Tina Scott to have such a great figure."
I was so embarrassed my face burned bright red. I buried my head even lower, tears dripping down onto my knees, cold and chilling.
"Still pretending to be shy?"
Shirley Lincoln reached out and grabbed my hair.
Her fingers tangled in the ends, and when she pulled hard, I heard my hair snap and felt a sharp pain in my scalp.
"Look, her hair is so long, maybe she's wearing hair extensions," she said, holding up the strands she'd pulled out to show everyone. "Girls are always into these fake things, thinking they can hold onto a guy's heart this way."
I lifted my head, glaring at Shirley Lincoln with eyes full of anger, but she didn't care. Instead, she leaned in close and whispered just loud enough for us to hear, "Morgan Carter hasn't loved you for a long time. He loves me. You're just a spare."
The metallic taste of blood in my throat grew stronger. I felt warm liquid trickle from the corner of my mouth, dripping down my chin and staining the pale fabric of my clothes red.
Shirley Lincoln was still going on, calling me 'fake' and 'pretending to be gentle,' but I couldn't hear her clearly anymore. My vision started to fade, and my head was spinning.
Finally, I couldn't hold it in and suddenly spat out a mouthful of fresh blood, splattering on the white tablecloth like a grotesque flower.
The laughter around me stopped immediately, and everyone froze. Even Eric and Cindy's smiles stiffened on their faces.
That's when Morgan Carter panicked. He abruptly stood up, hurried over to me, crouched down beside me, and asked in a trembling voice, “Tina, what's wrong? Don't scare me!”
I looked at his panicked face, and one thought crossed my mind: It's way too late to be panicking now.
I tried to speak, but it felt like something was stuck in my throat.
All I could manage was a hoarse gasp before everything went dark and I completely lost consciousness.
When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed. The room was quiet except for the steady, monotonous dripping sound of the IV.
My hand was being held, and when I turned my head, I saw it was Morgan Carter.
He was leaning over the bedside, his eyes red as if he hadn't slept in days, with stubble on his chin, looking completely worn out.
I tried to pull my hand back—just a slight movement—but it still startled him awake.
He looked up and saw I was awake, immediately smiling, though it was forced: "Tina, you're finally awake! You've been unconscious for a whole day—I was so worried."
He reached out to touch my face, but I dodged away, my heart filling with disappointment towards him.
I opened my mouth to speak, but only hoarse breaths came out—I couldn't make out what I was saying.
My heart sank suddenly, a chilling sense of dread rising inside me.
I reached up to touch my throat; my fingertips felt a thin layer of gauze beneath which a dull pain throbbed.
Morgan Carter's smile faded. After hesitating for a long time, he quietly said, "Tina, the doctor... the doctor said your vocal cords are severely damaged. From now on... you might not be able to sing anymore."
The words, "not being able to sing anymore," struck my heart like a heavy hammer.
I suddenly sat up, wanting to question him, but all that came out was a choking sound. The IV needle was pulled out, and blood oozed from the back of my hand, staining the white bed sheets red.
I've studied vocal music. Since I first discovered bel canto at fifteen, I've dreamed of studying abroad at a music conservatory overseas.
There's a selection contest next month, and if I win, I'll get a study abroad spot. For this contest, I've been practicing singing in the music room at five every morning, staying up late into the night rearranging scores, and I didn't even go home for the Spring Festival—I've just been at school practicing nonstop.
I've pinned all my hopes on this contest, and now someone's telling me I can't sing anymore.
Isn't this basically a death sentence for me?
Morgan Carter held me down, not letting me move. He was so strong I couldn't break free at all.
"Tina, don't get upset," his voice was gentle, but to me, it sounded unbearably harsh. "If singing isn't an option, there's still another path. We'll get married after graduation, I'll work and support you, you cook at home and take care of the kids—it's not a bad life, right?"
I looked at him, tears streaming down again. "Do you know how important singing is to me?"
I forced out a few unclear words from my throat. Though not clear, I knew he would understand.
Morgan Carter turned away, avoiding my eyes. After a few seconds of silence, he said, "But now that it's come to this, getting upset won't help."
"It's Shirley Lincoln! She's the one who hurt me!" I pointed toward the door, begging him to go after Shirley and call the police.
But Morgan frowned, his tone suddenly cold: "Tina Scott, don't make a fuss! It was just an accident, and Shirley didn't do it on purpose."
"An accident?" I looked at him, suddenly feeling completely unfamiliar. "Turning the coin into broken glass—is that an accident? Covering my mouth—is that an accident? Cutting my clothes and pulling my hair—is that an accident too?"
Morgan Carter didn't answer; he just stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to me.
I stared at his back, and suddenly a thought came to me: Did he know all along?
That thought sent a chill through me. I struggled to get out of bed, but Morgan turned around and held me down.
"What are you trying to do?" His eyes were wary.
"I'm calling the police," I managed to say again, my voice hoarse but resolute.
Morgan Carter's face changed instantly. He quickly walked to the bedside, grabbed my phone, and smashed it on the floor.
With a sharp crack, the phone's screen shattered like a spiderweb, and fragments even scattered into the corner of the wall.
"Tina Scott, have you had enough of this drama?" He stared at me coldly. "It was just a game accident. Is calling the police really necessary? What would people think if this got out?"
I looked at him, tears streaming harder. "My vocal cords are ruined, my dream is destroyed, and all you care about is what others think?"
Morgan Carter turned away, stayed silent for a long time, then suddenly looked at me and said, "Tina Scott, you're too selfish."
"You only think about your study abroad and your dreams. Have you ever thought about me?"
His voice was filled with hurt, "I don't want to be apart from you. I want to marry you soon and live a stable life. Is that wrong?"
"I never thought about being apart from you!" I almost shouted, the sharp pain in my throat making me frown. "I can come back every holiday. I even thought we'd get engaged right after the contest ends and marry once I return from studying abroad! I've told you all this!"
Morgan Carter hesitated for a moment, as if he had forgotten about all this. He opened his mouth and said, "But I don't want to wait. I don't want a long-distance relationship. Isn't it better like this now?"
"Really?" I looked at him and suddenly found it ridiculous. "Your idea of better is asking me to give up my dreams just to live the life you want?"
Morgan didn't answer. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, opened the gallery, and handed it to me.
I looked down, and my heart instantly went cold.
On the screen were photos of me and him in bed. I had no idea when he took them. The angles were intrusive, and some were very private.
I reached out to grab the phone, but he stepped back and shoved it into his pocket.
"If you dare call the police, these photos will be posted on the school forum and sent to your parents," he said calmly, but the threat was unmistakable. "Everyone will say you have bad morals and are deliberately framing Shirley Lincoln. Your reputation will be completely destroyed."
I looked at him, unable to believe those words were really coming out of his mouth.
We've been together for eight years, since freshman year, and I always thought he was a gentle and considerate person. I never expected him to threaten me like this.
"And your dad," Morgan Carter added, knowing my dad has heart problems—my weak spot. "Your dad's health has never been good. If he finds out about this mess you've gotten into and sees these photos, won't it shock him? If something happens afterward, you'll regret it too late."
I froze on the spot, fingers gripping the bed sheets so tightly my nails nearly dug into my skin.
Dad had just undergone heart bypass surgery last year. The doctor said he couldn't be stressed. I've been very careful, not daring to let him worry.
Morgan Carter actually used my dad to threaten me—how could he be so cruel?
"Tina, stop it," Morgan came over and tried to hug me. "Once you're discharged, we'll go buy the rings. After graduation, we'll get married, okay?"
I dodged his hands, looked into his eyes, and said each word clearly: "Break up."
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