Please Forget Me - Chapter 295

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

“Forgive my bluntness, but to be honest, I thought the rumors about you never dying were just propaganda, something the government made up to boost the soldiers’ morale. But you really are… immortal.”

You looked at me as if I were some kind of god. It made me feel ashamed.

“So it seems. I don’t know why I won’t die either…”

I murmured it almost to myself and turned away from you, only for your eyes to widen as you suddenly grabbed my arm. I froze on the spot, startled like a soldier caught in an ambush.

“You may not die, Father, but you’re not invulnerable.”

Only then did I notice the bullet graze along my upper arm.

“My goodness. You didn’t even realize you were injured?”

When you’re in a battlefield where artillery never stops and enemies surge in from all sides, it’s common for your senses to go numb. That I hadn’t noticed even after returning was probably just my own dullness.

“Come this way. I’ll treat it.”

There were surely patients in far more urgent need, but I kept that thought to myself.

“Can you take off your jacket? Good. Then I’ll tear the sleeve of your shirt. Ah… the wound isn’t deep, but it’ll be uncomfortable until it heals.”

You were skilled, confident. You really would have made an excellent doctor.

“We need to clean and disinfect it first so it doesn’t fester.”

Your hand touched my bare skin. At that moment, I found myself regretting that the bullet hadn’t flown just a hand’s width closer.

If it had, I could have died holding your hand.

I had served God while believing there was no God. But the day I met you and Rupert again, I began to think that perhaps God did exist after all.

Even so, I couldn’t begin to understand His intentions.

That day, feeling your touch for the first time, I twisted God’s will to suit my own desires. Perhaps the reason I hadn’t died all this time was because God intended me to die beside you.

‘If you held my hand at the very end, I think I’d be happy. Would I die without loneliness, then?’

I imagined myself dying under your gaze. There could be no happier death.

Would you grieve for me?

Either way, after I died, you would reach for the chain around my neck to remove my identification tags. When you noticed there were two chains and realized one of them was the necklace you’d lost long ago what expression would cross your face?

It was an utterly selfish fantasy.

I wouldn’t simply disappear along with my pain. I would be leaving it behind. For you, who still had a long life ahead. What sin had an angel like you committed to deserve such cruelty?

“All done. I’ll give you bandages and ointment, change them daily for a while. And if it starts to fester, come see me.”

I felt ashamed for having harbored such dark thoughts while you treated me with such care.

“And here, painkillers. Take them quickly, before anyone sees.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine. Please give them to the other soldiers.”

Field hospitals are always short on medicine. When I refused, you told me to wait and disappeared, only to return with your arms full of something.

“Then at least take these.”

You handed me six packs of cigarettes. Every box was crushed, stained with blood and mud. They had clearly come from the pockets of fallen soldiers.

On the battlefield, that’s normal. Things the dead no longer need become the possessions of those who must keep living.

You must have been used to that.

But at the time, I didn’t smoke. I usually gave my rations to soldiers who attended Mass. Foolishly, I refused the cigarettes you offered out of habit.

“Oh… in that case…”

You shoved the cigarettes into your skirt pocket, straightened your clothes, and left. I regretted it immediately. But then you returned again, this time carrying several canteens in both arms.

“You drink water, at least, right?”

Without thinking, I laughed. You laughed with me.

What was in the canteens wasn’t water. Before sending troops into the trenches, they’re issued alcohol. Soldiers carry it to steel themselves against fear.

“I’ll drink gratefully.”

This time, I didn’t refuse. I had a feeling that tonight, for the first time, I might actually enjoy being drunk.