Downstairs stood a girl in a white sundress.
She looked up at Reginald with reddened eyes, her face full of grief.
"So I guess we're not watching the World Cup after all, are we? Then I'll go first."
The girl ran off, eyes brimming, and for a moment Reginald tensed as if to call her back, but in the end no sound left his throat.
"Wait here for me a second."
After two minutes of hesitation, Reginald set me down at the door and chased after her.
He ran so fast he never noticed his phone slip out of his pocket.
I wheeled my chair over, picked it up, and meant to bring it to him.
Only to catch Reginald and the girl arguing at the corner.
"Didn't we agree? That once you got back, you'd tell her the truth, and end things clean?"
"You have your own life. You shouldn't be dragged down by her forever."
Reginald fell silent.
The girl bit her lip and watched him, tears spilling over.
"Say something. Didn't you tell me you had feelings for me?"
"You said Priscilla Fox was an independent person, that you were willing to take this step for me."
"If you don't say it now, are you really going to let her tie you down for the rest of your life?"
"Reginald, I know how exhausted you are right now. You're on the edge of falling apart."
"Better a short pain than a long one…"
But he kept his head down, silent for a long while, before choking out a single line.
"I'm sorry. I can't abandon Priscilla."
"The way she is now, she can't survive without me. May McClain, it's me who isn't good enough for you."
Fat tears rolled down the girl's face. Her heart was clearly shattered, and she ran off in disappointment.
Reginald watched her figure disappear, and still he didn't leave.
He slammed a fist against the wall, a smothered sob catching in his throat.
What a fool.
You're in that much pain, so why won't you just throw me away?
Back then, when I saved you, all I ever wanted was for you to be okay.
That night, Reginald wheeled my chair back to the little courtyard in his hometown.
"Let's stay here a couple of days. There's no gas line in the old house."
Reginald was afraid I'd try again, that I'd turn on the gas and end my life.
For dinner he cooked a couple of extra dishes. I barely touched a bite, and he hardly picked up his chopsticks either.
He just kept pouring glass after glass of liquor down his throat.
Ever since I'd turned on the gas and failed to die,
he hadn't said a single word of blame to me.
But the pain and the misery seeped out of him, from the very marrow of his bones.
And it left a bitter ache in me too.
Watching him suffer, I suddenly spoke.
"Reginald."
"Don't worry about me anymore. Just leave me behind."
Reginald froze for a moment.
The next second he shot me a sour look and glared as he said,
"I'd love to leave you behind."
"But every time I think about how you lost your leg because of me, I can't bring myself to do it."
He raked his fingers through his hair in agitation.
"So many times, I've wondered—why wasn't I the one hit in that accident?"
"If I were the one who'd lost a leg,"
"maybe I wouldn't be this miserable now."
I seemed to turn that last sentence over and over, sinking into thought.
Miserable?
That first year, whenever Reginald looked at my severed leg, his eyes would redden every time.
"Priscilla, I've wronged you. I owe you."
"If you hadn't rushed in to save me,"
"the one lying here today, without both legs, would've been me."
"I can never repay what I owe you, not in this lifetime. I'll take care of you forever."
But the moment he said those words, I turned him down.
