The Best Actor in the Vase of Meiyu

Chapter 1391 Obsessed
Johnny was depressed, aggrieved and angry.

It was like a glass of absinthe. It was bitter and strong, hard to swallow, almost burning my throat, and my internal organs were all on fire.

On Monday, they moved closer.

On Tuesday, they made contact.

On Wednesday, they couldn’t help themselves.

On Thursday, she turned away and closed her heart, convicting him but refusing to respond.

He put on his prison uniform, with zebra prints around his shoulders.

He was put in iron shackles that were wrapped around his feet.

He tried to struggle, but to no avail; he tried to escape, but there was nowhere to escape to. He was locked in her prison without even a chance to appeal.

Wrong!

The frustration that words cannot accurately describe almost exploded in my chest.

His entire brain was a mess, chaotic and hot. The world was on fire. He didn't care about the audience. His emotions evolved into notes and songs, and were vented unrestrainedly. He had to make his own voice heard.

Then, in a daze, he found the figure in the crowd, the figure that fascinated him but made him helpless. He stared at her intently, and every word of the lyrics was like a question and appeal, pouring out towards June Carter like a storm, setting off a huge wave.

June Carter looked a little flustered.

Johnny damn Cash. It's Johnny damn Cash again.

Under the watchful eyes of the public, Johnny's actions will inevitably cause rumors to spread. Johnny can not care or completely ignore them, but the final price must be borne by her; and what about Vivian, what should Vivian do?
Everything is her fault.

June Carter hated herself. She shouldn't have been impulsive. It was all wrong.

The frustration and grievance made June Carter lower her eyes and hurriedly cover herself up. Embarrassment and awkwardness appeared on her face. She hated herself for letting herself fall into this mud again.

Johnny was disappointed——

June Carter avoided looking.

He couldn't even look into her eyes clearly. His questions, his accusations, and his shouts all hit the wall, powerless and bitter, just like before.

He didn't understand June Carter, never had.

So, are you angry? Are you depressed? Are you frustrated?

Maybe, both.

But he had no way of telling the difference. His dizzy brain was filled with cotton wool, the whole world was spinning at high speed, his internal organs were burning wantonly, but his blood vessels were icy cold. He felt as if he could explode at any time and turn into a puddle of mud.

Then, his mind broke free from the reins, his body was free from control, and the next step was -

Start spinning.

"La la la, la la la."

Just like Sister Maria in "The Sound of Music", she spun and jumped on the hillside full of flowers and greenery, and her tap dancing feet galloped freely on the stage floor.

Everyone was shocked and stared in amazement at the tall and handsome figure taking clumsy steps. For a moment, they could not tell whether it was tap dance or drunken boxing. The disorganized footsteps flew out due to the inertia of centrifugal force and were about to disappear from the stage.

The whole place was silent.

The audience looked at the absurd and chaotic scene before their eyes. They even forgot to high-five or cheer. They were so stunned that they temporarily lost the ability to react.

Perhaps Anson was the only one who was an exception. Spinning, jumping, with his eyes closed.

With a turn, Anson came back with his guitar in his arms, dancing to the tango tune, his steps following the ups and downs of the swing music, crossing from one side of the stage to the other, completely ignoring other people's eyes and immersed in his own world.

My drowsy head suddenly felt hot, and thousands of troops were running wildly in different directions. There was a roar in my mind, and a brutal force overturned all my rationality.

He refuses rules, he refuses to obey, he refuses to be bound. He just wants to live freely and unrestrainedly, or perhaps he just wants to be happy.

But since when did being happy become so difficult?
Does that mean he is not entitled to happiness?

People simply and roughly convicted him, bound him unreasonably with labels and shackles, and were unwilling to give him the chance to speak. They had even sent him to hell before he opened his mouth to defend himself. They just needed a scapegoat, an object to vent their anger. When they couldn't find his father's whereabouts, they blindly stabbed the innocent and helpless him with the sharp knife.

Invisible shackles bound his hands and feet, and the hatred poured out like an overwhelming force, leaving him with no way to escape and no way to breathe.

but……

In fact, he is also a victim.

Because of his father's sin, he, as a child, does not deserve happiness? Because he betrayed his faith, was not loyal to his marriage, and fell in love with a woman sincerely, he does not deserve happiness?
Because his father hurt so many people, would his happiness become a sin? Because his brother died because of him, he must bear the shackles for the rest of his life?

Thoughts, intertwined.

Sometimes he is Anson, sometimes he is Johnny, sometimes he is in his past life and sometimes he is in this life. Chaotic fragments of memory are intertwined and entangled together. The boundary between reality and illusion has long disappeared. Anson is Johnny and Johnny is Anson. Emotions are ignited and a surging power erupts from the depths of the soul.

Gushing out!

Guilt. Anger. Frustration. Annoyance. Depression. Struggle. Suffering. Pain.

All kinds of things, all burning wildly and mightily.

After his father's outburst, he had been restraining himself and controlling himself, even daring not to laugh, fearing that his smile might add salt to the wounds of the victims; he was unable to repay his father's debts, nor could he make up for the harm done to him, the only thing he could do was punish himself.

He dared not sleep peacefully, dared not smile, dared not enjoy happiness, dared not be happy easily. Only by letting himself live in pain, this seemed to be the only way to alleviate the pain of the victims.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

When those people came to his door, the victims, the creditors, the friends of his father, he could not say or do anything. He even dared not cry, fearing that his tears would be seen as a grievance in the eyes of the other party.

Yes, he doesn't even have the qualifications to feel wronged.

He held his breath and apologized over and over again, trapped in layer upon layer of invisible shackles and caught in an endless cycle.

but.

……Why?
Why couldn't he even breathe? Why couldn't he even smile? Why did his life stop moving forever?

No, he refused.

The more painful it is, the more you need to sing out loud; the more tormented it is, the more you need to dance wildly; the darker it is, the more you need to seize every minute and enjoy life to the fullest.

Trapped and struggling, burning and exploding, buzzing in his brain, he struggled to break free from his restraints, let go of his hands and feet in the boundless hellfire, followed the devil's dance steps, and ran and spun wildly.

Drum beats, not enough——

Not enough strength, not enough rhythm.

Apparently, the drummer seemed to be stunned by the scene before him, so much so that his drumming movements were restrained, and the weakening of the drumbeats was particularly noticeable in the swing music.

Johnny stumbled forward and roared, "Come on, man!"

(End of this chapter)