Chapter 4

Leonard, whose mind was still foggy, jolted as if he'd been shocked, snapping partway back to his senses. He abruptly reached out, gripped Lola's head, and pushed her away.

His voice cracked out of tune:

"Cut it out."

The air went still for a moment.

Lola stayed on her knees, her face flushing red, then going pale.

With a trace of sullen, unwilling resentment, she gave herself a way out.

"I was just helping you sniff out where the smell was coming from. If you don't want it, fine—no good deed goes unpunished."

Leonard didn't call her out.

He looked away.

"Where's the guest room?"

Lola pointed to the second bedroom, her nails digging into her palms.

Late that night.

Leonard shot bolt upright in bed.

His back was drenched in cold sweat.

He was gasping for breath.

His heart pounded violently in his chest.

He'd dreamed that the girl he loved was dead, and no matter how he called out to her, no matter how he kissed her, she would never open her eyes again, never carry a living person's warmth again.

And that river of blood in his dream—so red that even now a bloody haze seemed to hang over his eyes, and he couldn't focus.

Leonard leaned back against the headboard and breathed deeply to settle himself.

At last the wave of palpitations passed.

He turned his head and glanced out the window.

Three-thirty in the morning. Still early.

Thinking that the girl at the hotel must be fast asleep by now, Leonard forced down the urge to go straight back and lay down again.

But he couldn't shut his eyes anymore.

One thought turned over and over in his mind.

The moment it got light, he'd go straight back.

While he waited for dawn, Leonard typed on his phone for two hours.

A thousand-word little essay.

A love letter he'd written.

He wrote:

Qingqing, the first time I saw you, you were on the fourth floor of the school library, in the seat by the window. After that, every time I went to the library, I'd catch myself looking over there. If you were there, I was so happy; if you weren't, I could feel down all day.

From school uniforms to a wedding dress—that was the promise I once made you. Now I want to add one more line to that promise: from wedding dress to the grave. Qingqing, my love for you follows you through life and death.

Today is our 521st day together, and the day we finally belong to each other completely. Yet right now I'm filled with dread. I already have you—so why do I feel like I'm about to lose you? You'll laugh at me, I know. Wait for me. I'll be right there in front of you soon.

...

Leonard solemnly saved his most fervent love into his notes app.

He read it over twice more.

Only then did he set the phone on the sink and turn on the shower.

He wanted to go see his girl clean and fresh.

Hot water poured down over his head.

A faint stinging came from somewhere on his back.

Not sharp, but impossible to ignore.

Leonard froze for a second, then remembered.

Yesterday, at the hotel.

Qingqing curled beneath him, biting her lip, brow furrowed, her eyes red from the pain—yet she still let him keep going, her fingers unconsciously clutching at his back, leaving these scratches.

And after that?

After that, Lola suddenly crawled out from under the bed.

Qingqing screamed and, humiliated, shrank into the corner, her whole body visibly trembling.

Remembering that scene.

Leonard felt a sudden stab of pain in his chest.

He slapped himself hard across the face in front of the mirror.

How could he have lost his head like that, agreeing to let Lola hide under the bed?

He really had been out of his mind.

Actually believing Lola's garbage about being a "human lie detector," thinking it could prove her innocence and love to Qingqing.

The belated regret nearly drowned him.

Leonard felt like he was about to suffocate. If he never saw Qingqing again, he had no doubt he really would suffocate to death.

Leonard didn't bother to dry his hair.

With his head still dripping wet, he took the stairs two at a time and rushed down.