Please Forget Me - Chapter 122

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The line between restraint and temptation felt dangerously thin. As I watched, listened to, and felt Johann’s actions on my hand, I doubted my ability to maintain that boundary.

Gathering what little rationality I had left, I tried to continue our earlier conversation.

“…Anyway, since nail clippers are expensive, don’t buy some, ah, huh…”

My breathy voice betrayed me, clearly showing how flustered I was. To make matters worse, when Johann’s tongue began to trace the patterns on my palm, I couldn’t help but let out a moan.

His lips moved to my wrist, creating a path that sent waves of heat through my thin skin. A surge of embarrassment hit me when I realized I was breathlessly gasping as if I was being stimulated.

I tried to close my mouth, but Johann’s lips were already trailing up my wrist, and when our eyes met, I bit my lower lip instinctively.

In that instant, his lips quickly moved to my own, instead of lingering on my wrist.

“Mmm…”

Rather than just brushing against my lips, he seemed to devour them. His large hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me closer as I became completely engulfed by him. The kiss deepened and lengthened, a long-awaited release that we had been denied due to the plague.

As our lips bruised and our tongues grew heavy, it felt like my vision was spinning before everything began to fade into darkness. Finally, we reluctantly parted. Johann let out a shaky breath and finally responded to my half-finished plea.

“Hah, that won’t happen. I’m happy right now.”

So Johann felt the same way.

“The rest…”

He cleared his throat before finishing his thought.

“We’ll do it tonight.”

The scissors resumed trimming my nails. I found myself eagerly anticipating the night.

For the first time, I was looking forward to evening roll call, knowing that once it was over, we could continue without needing to wait any longer. Excited by the prospect of experiencing ecstasy again, I began to chatter mindlessly, as I always did around Johann.

“There are things my body instinctively remembers, even if I don’t recall them. Like when I cared for you or played the violin. But why can’t I trim my nails? It’s such an easy task that any adult should be able to do. Does that mean I couldn’t do it even before I lost my memory? Did you always trim them for me? Wait… who took care of my nails before I met you?”

“I’m happy just like this.”

As I chattered away, Johann responded with a slight smile, but then he suddenly made an unexpected remark. His whisper was so soft it almost felt like he was talking to himself.

“Or maybe I just don’t have the knack for it…”

I expected him to laugh at my last comment, but his lips drooped instead. Was he too focused on trimming my pinky nail, so small that he couldn’t hear me?

After finishing the small task, Johann’s lips finally moved again, but instead of a smile, he asked a surprising question.

“Do you remember anything from the past?”

I do. Now there are so many I can’t count on one hand.

Ever since I began to retrieve my memories, it felt like picking up coins while walking—every now and then, I would stumble upon new fragments of recollections. Though they don’t connect and often seem unrelated.

If I had to find a common thread, it would be that they all involve moments of surprise or anxiety.

There’s the memory of a woman who resembles my grandmother slapping my cheek when I was little, the gruesome sight of a soldier’s death, the threat from a military officer, and memories that include Johann.

These are all fleeting moments, but still, I am uncovering my memories.

“I don’t remember. Not at all.”

But I lied. Johann’s expression looked disappointed, but he didn’t seem particularly upset. Instead, I felt reassured by the relief in his eyes, as if my lie was the right choice.

If I mention that I’m recovering my memories, he might worry that I could eventually remember his infidelity, which could push us apart again.

‘I’ll keep this as my little game.’

Each time I find a fragment of memory, I look at the small picture drawn on it, trying to guess the rest of the image, much like putting together a puzzle. Of course, I only felt this way for the first time today.

‘I found a piece of the moment when we first met.’

I had imagined countless scenarios about our first meeting, but it surprised me that it took place on a battlefield, something I had never considered.

‘Johann must have been a soldier too?’

Though he wasn’t in uniform, the location being a field hospital made it clear he was a soldier. Was he a patient? He seemed fine, though. But was this memory from years ago? After that, how did we end up in this remote mountain area after so many twists and turns?

From that small fragment of memory, I began to weave a long story that connects to the present, fitting in the other tales I had learned about us.

Could it be that I helped fabricate Johann’s tuberculosis history? Perhaps as a war nurse, I couldn’t bear to watch the death of the man I loved, so I assisted him in his desertion.