Pressure Doesn’t Work on Me

I was born looking out for number one.

I never waste energy agonizing over things.

If someone mistreats me, I turn on them immediately.

When I was little, my parents played favorites and bought only my older sister a cake for Children’s Day.

I flipped the table and smashed the cake to pieces: “Who the hell are you trying to fool?”

“If you couldn’t afford two kids, why didn’t you get sterilized?”

In high school, when my younger cousin snatched my toy and my aunt told me to indulge him because he was little, I didn’t hold back for a second.

I kicked him so hard he howled: “I didn’t give birth to him, so why should I spoil him?”

After a few incidents like that, nobody around me dared start trouble.

As an adult, I got engaged to my childhood sweetheart, Zhou Linchuan.

But the day before our wedding, I discovered he was having an affair with my best friend.

“Lin Yu,” he said, lounging against the sofa, his tone careless, “honestly, I really did like you before.”

“But after being with you, I’ve realized you’re just too selfish.”

“You’d drive any man crazy.”

“Sometimes you really ought to take a good, hard look at yourself.”

Pressure didn’t work on me in the slightest.

I climbed on top of him and slapped him hard several times: “You knew I was a selfish bitch and still had the fucking nerve to cheat on me!”