Forcing Me Out Like This Is Cruel
My first time using a crutch to walk properly.
The range I’d been able to cover before was, honestly, just getting out to the front door at best. Even that had been crawling on all fours until Celesty bought me the crutch and let me go a bit farther.
At the hospital I’d been carried in, the people carrying me hadn’t bothered to bring a crutch, either.
Downstairs Neighbor Aunt had still managed to carry me the rest of the way home, though, and I’d made it back in relative comfort.
Anyway, using the crutch properly, I wasn’t as tired as I’d expected. The weight felt heavier than I thought, but not unbearable.
If I had to point out the one thing that actually hurt, it was my armpits.
Objectively, I was already rail-thin and missing one foot; even without comparing it to my old body, that much weight being supported by the crutch still strained my shoulders.
Trying to shift the weight onto my hands instead made my grip ache worse, and that was harder to ignore.
Still, it wasn’t the kind of pain I couldn’t bear.
Father had beaten me bloody often enough for me to get used to this level of discomfort.
I stood on one foot, placed the two crutch tips forward, shifted my center of gravity, then used the new foot as a pivot to push the crutch ahead.
Tap. Click. Tap. Click.
The rhythm carried me down the cool apartment hallway until sunlight spilled across the entrance in no time at all.
“Uh, student. Are you sure you’re okay by yourself?”
The security guard had come running out when I started down the stairs, but my body was light or maybe I’d always had decent balance.
I made it onto the asphalt without any real trouble.
I hadn’t needed help right then.
Still, I planned to greet him later, so I gave him a deep bow.
“I’m fine. Thank you for worrying. Oh, and for stopping the weird person who broke in.”
“No, that’s nothing. I should be sorry. If I’d done my job better, the student wouldn’t have gotten hurt…”
The police arrived the moment I called, but because the guard was already there, it only ended with one punch.
If it had been just me and the attacker, he would have knocked me down and stomped my foot exactly the way Father did.
But somehow the guard was the one beating himself up.
“You can’t hit a completely innocent person. You’ve already done everything you can, so you don’t need to apologize.”
“Hoo, hearing you say that makes me feel better. Stay safe.”
I tried to comfort him, but his face still looked dark, like he thought it was just polite words.
I was going to have to treat him to a whole box of chicken later.
I’d stop by the pharmacy on the way back from the market.
I crossed the walkway through the apartment complex and into the little park it had built.
Two men and a woman were already heading toward me from the playground.
They weren’t dressed like a couple on a date; the formality felt out of place.
Even someone who didn’t care about fashion could sense something off about them wearing suits to a playground.
So of course my mind went straight to the people I’d seen around campus.
When the afternoon rush hit the college area, there were always guys and girls dressed like that—smiling politely, saying the ancestors were watching, and approaching with questions.
The really nasty ones didn’t bother with politeness.
They’d ask for directions, then pretend they hadn’t heard when you gave clear instructions.
Or they’d drag you to a café under the pretense of “a free drink” and try to convert you.
Or they’d use “survey time” to sneak in a tract while pretending to ask for opinions.
Those were the real fake religions—the multi-level scam outfits nobody could mistake.
Because of people like that, even asking for directions had become exhausting.
My eyes had turned cold looking at them.
They were just crossing paths with me, nothing more.
But these two were staring straight at me and walking straight toward me, like they were trying to sell me something.
“Excuse me, could you possibly—”
Just as I’d expected, the man and woman cut straight to the chase.
It was weird they’d come into a quiet apartment complex instead of the crowded college area, but I already knew they were scammers.
I didn’t see any point in making small talk.
“I don’t believe in any religion.”
I answered flatly and veered slightly away, trying to slip past them.
But the two of them kept following, relentless.
“Ah, we’re not scammers or anything. We’re journalists doing a story. There was a beating incident here recently, right? We’re researching it.”
“You must know something. You live in this building—are you the victim?”
Oh. They weren’t scammers. They were