12
I slept for a long time.
When I woke up again, it was already the early hours of the morning.
The night was cool, and the entire city had fallen silent.
Lucas sent me a message to let me know he had arrived safely in England.
I didn’t reply.
I couldn’t fall asleep again, so I sat on the bed hugging my knees.
It’s actually not that bad.
I never wanted him to know about my illness anyway. Now that he’s gone abroad, he won’t know when I die.
In my daze, I recalled many things from the past.
When I was little, I had a weak constitution and was prone to allergies. I also had rhinitis and couldn’t stand dust, so whenever it was my turn for classroom duty, he would come to our class to sweep the floor and clean the blackboard for me.
In winter, when I fell down in the snow, he put his gloves on my hands and carried me home on his back.
When I had a cold and a sore throat and couldn’t eat, with no adults at home, he cooked porridge and blew on each spoonful to cool it before feeding me.
And that time during the car accident, if he hadn’t shielded me, I probably would have died.
Every time he was unkind to me, it would be offset by all the good things he had done for me before.
Day by day, year by year, one thing after another, the offsets accumulated and grew.
I still liked him very much.
3:02 PM
<
Because some memories would take many bad deeds to be offset.
And many of the good things he did for me could never be offset.
Barefoot, I entered Lucas’s study.
He rarely allowed me in here.
In a dusty corner of the bookshelf, I found a sketchbook.
That’s right, Lucas used to love drawing.
Besides various sketches, I came across a sentence.
“I know Vivian is pitiful without a mother, but I don’t like her.”
The handwriting was a bit childish, written by Lucas when he was young.
I hesitated for a moment.
Then continued flipping through.
“After she came to our home, Mom and Dad only had eyes for her.
When we’re in the car, because she gets carsick, Mom always holds her.
She doesn’t like the foods I like.
So Mom and Dad only make what she likes.
When I got sick, no one even noticed.”
My heart clenched.
So after I appeared, his parents had neglected him so much.
He was just a child then too.
Having his parents‘ attention and love stolen by an unrelated person who suddenly appeared, how could he be magnanimous?
The diary entries gradually increased.
“She picked up a rain–soaked kitten but couldn’t keep it alive. She cried and hiccupped.
I hugged her and she immediately hugged me back.
Her tears and snot got on me, it was messy.”
“Mom and Dad forgot my birthday, but she didn’t. She even went around the whole class to tell everyone, and got the teacher and classmates to sing me happy birthday.
I didn’t look up the whole time, it was so embarrassing.”
“I don’t let her call me brother, but she doesn’t listen.
I’m not her brother.
Does being her brother mean I have to give in to her in everything?
That’s what my parents say.
“Does she call every guy ‘brother‘?”
Most of the book was drawings, he only wrote entries for important events.
3:02 PM
<
“Today I heard her tell the kitten’s grave: If I don’t please him, I’m afraid Uncle and Aunt will send me away.
At that moment,
I felt quite sad.”
My eyes stung a little.
When I was young, I really hoped that Uncle, Aunt and I could be a family.
My feelings for Lucas were also mixed with this obsession.
I wanted a family so badly.
But this doesn’t mean I didn’t truly love him.
After Lucas became an adult, he rarely kept a diary.
On the last page, there was only one sentence: “She seemed to think I was drunk. Silly girl, men can’t perform when drunk.”
The old pages were stuck together. I tore open the second to last page and found another entry: “Zoe is quite similar to me. I find many similarities in her, even the flaws in our souls are the same.
Maybe I can make her my girlfriend.”
I was stunned for a moment.
So in the end, he realized Zoe was his soulmate.
It turns out the childhood in my memories was different from his.
It turns out I had hindered him so much.
I picked up a pen and wrote a few words on the back of the sketchbook: I’m sorry.
