Twisted Ties of Love

"Is this why you came to see me today?" Within a span of few seconds, Nathaniel had regained his composure. His previous irritation was replaced with a cold, unfeeling gaze that resembled a grave lost in the darkness of the night.

Izabella didn't say much else. She passed a file through the visiting room window, "These are things Bell left behind."

At the mention of Bell, Nathaniel quickly grabbed the file, his grip tightening with each passing second.

Visitation hours were short, leaving Izabella with little time for reminiscing. Besides, there was nothing much to reminisce about with Nathaniel, a man she considered scum, who deserved his fate.

"Don't cry while going through these. I wouldn't want Bell's belongings tainted by your tears. However," Izabella paused, smirking before continuing, "you can cry louder on the day of your execution, as loud as you can, so Bell can hear you from the grave!"

Nathaniel's cries needed to be loud enough to reach Bell, who has been dead for too long to hear. Wail until his throat was sore, cry out all his repentance, regrets, and self-blame.

Izabella stood up, dusting off non-existent dirt from her dress. As she was leaving, she noticed something odd about Nathaniel's leg. Was it healed?

She didn't ponder on it further. Regardless of its condition, he couldn't escape his impending execution two weeks from now.

Before she left, Izabella nonchalantly commented, "It's a sunny day outside."

Locked up in prison, Nathaniel hadn't taken a step outside. He couldn't see the sky, let alone feel the warmth of the sun. Even the fiercest sunlight couldn't warm his cold-hearted soul. "I'm leaving," Izabella announced.

Trembling, Nathaniel got up from his chair. Each step he took echoed in the silence; the sound wasn't from his handcuffs if you listened carefully.

Returning to his cell, a single room with only a bed and a chair, Nathaniel sat down and opened the file. The first document he saw was Bell's medical report.

-Severe depression, suicidal tendencies, immediate hospitalization required.

So Bell really did have depression, severe depression. Izabella hadn't lied to mock him.

He knew all about this illness. His mother had suffered from it, ultimately taking her own life by slashing her wrists in a cold bathtub.

His mother endured for five years before succumbing to her illness. Bell didn't even last two years.

According to Izabella, Bell died from a drug overdose in a room filled with gas.

No one likes pain, and Bell was no exception. Even a harsh word from him would send her trembling with fear.

How could someone so frail and tender swallow so many sleeping pills, turn on the gas, and calmly lay on her bed, waiting for death? Nathaniel, with a hollow, weary look in his eyes, took out the papers from the file. The handwriting was unmistakably Bell's, neat and beautiful. In Bell's handwritten tales, there was a Mr. Krueger.

Nathaniel read through each word, each sentence, feeling as if his soul was sinking deeper and deeper into a quagmire with each passing line.

-Today is the ninth day since I left Mr. Krueger. He taught me how to live, and how it feels to wish I were dead. The sky is so blue, the sun so warm. I thought I would be free once I left, but this world doesn't even have a place for me. How can there be any freedom? I bought a small 50-square-meter apartment. It feels so empty, not the apartment, but my heart.

-On the 52nd day since I left Mr. Krueger, I still think about him from time to time. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy. He doesn't love me, but I still hold onto this one-sided love. The fingers he broke still hurt even after healing, just like my deeply ingrained love for him. The pain intensifies every time it rains.

-Today marks a hundred days since I left Mr. Krueger. Time really flies. I haven't dreamed of you for a long time. They say that if you dream of someone three times, it means you're not meant to be. I've dreamed of you more than sixty times. Does that mean we won't even meet in death? I don't know why, but I suddenly feel sad.

-On the 120th day, Mr. Krueger, I think I've caused some trouble. They say it's my fault, but I don't understand what I did wrong. I didn't seduce the director, didn't destroy anyone's relationship, didn't two-time anyone, didn't slander anyone. I tried explaining, but they didn't believe me. You were right, someone as useless as me doesn't belong here.

-I'm afraid of loneliness. When I'm alone, I start overthinking. My heavy memories weigh me down, making it hard to breathe. The doctor says I have depression. I asked the doctor if this illness could kill me. He shook his head. If it can't kill me, then why did he look so sad for me? I'm not afraid of death. I'm just afraid of pain. I think my memory is starting to fail me since my depression got worse. I keep forgetting things, but there's one thing I'll never forget, a man named Nathaniel. He was my savior, but he eventually abandoned me. Why did Mr. Krueger abandon me? Perhaps I wasn't good enough, or I did something wrong, or I upset him. That's why he handed me off to another man. When I was little, my mom would always threaten to abandon me if I misbehaved. So, it was my fault, wasn't it?

-300 days since I left Mr. Krueger. I saw someone calling me crazy today. I wanted to argue, but then I remembered the diagnosis the doctor gave me. The words 'mental patient' were so clear, I couldn't refute it. I wanted to cry, but tears wouldn't come. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I suddenly want to leave you, Mr. Krueger. Mr. Krueger, would you be happy if my death could bring Ms. Salotti back? May your wishes come true, may all your dreams come true, may the one you yearn walk into your life one day.

June 1st was Bell's birthday. On that day, she left her last words on Twitter, just one word.

"Goodbye", she bid the world farewell, but all she received were hundreds of thousands of insults in the comments, not a single "Happy Birthday".

She took out all the sleeping pills she had been saving up, swallowed them, turned on the gas, dressed in her favorite white dress and lay on her bed. On her phone, she had left a note.

"I hope my organs can be donated to those in need after my death. Thank you to the kind soul who will find my body. There's money under the pillow, please take it." Nathaniel read through it, page by page. His eyes welled up with tears that fell onto the paper, smudging the words. His heart ached deeply.

Even though it was still daylight, he couldn't see anything.

He pressed the letter against his chest, as if he wished to blend the words with his heart and momentarily fill the void.

He had never known such pain before, not even when he had his leg amputated below the knee and had to bear a prosthetic. The pain brought tears to his eyes. "Bell, it's not Izabella that I want, it's you. Can't you come back?"

Bell wasn't anyone's replacement. Her hands weren't meant to play the violin in imitation of someone else, they were meant to write stories. Sadly, he understood this too late.

The most painful thing in the world was when he thought of Bell, and suddenly she was gone from his world, and he had no way to find her. The prosthetic leg dug into his flesh, drawing blood and causing him to shudder in pain.

Nathaniel read Bell's words over and

over again, until he knew them by heart. For 13 days, he lived in a daze. Nights were the hardest, he clung to the letter as if he was holding onto Belt herself.

Sometimes, he felt as if there was someone standing by his bedside, gently watching over him, but every time he opened his eyes, he was alone.

They say that a ghost takes on the form of how they died.

Nathaniel didn't want to die a cripple, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to catch up with Bell.

He had both his legs amputated and replaced with prosthetics. With advanced medical technology, nothing was impossible.

On the day of his execution, Nathaniel wept. Not because he was afraid of death, but because he wanted to let Bell hear his remorse.

He placed Bell's letters on his chest,

bowed his head and cried. As he cried louder and louder, it was as if he was a child who had lost the most precious thing in the world.

Memories of the past played like old photographs in his mind.

Some were painful, some were happy, but all were the most precious moments of his life, which he would never forget.

"Mr. Krueger, my name is Bell."

"Mr. Krueger, thank you for bringing me home."

"Mr. Krueger, I learned a lot today. I can play 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' on the violin now, would you like to hear it?"

"Mr. Krueger, what would you like to eat today?"

"Mr. Krueger, I'm clean, I'm not dirty."Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

"So, I was just a substitute."

"Mr. Krueger, what's given cannot be taken back."

"Mr. Krueger, I'm leaving. Goodbye."

Bell, in her clean white dress, seemed to suddenly appear before him. She stood in front of him, a gentle breeze on her face, her smile sweet. She reached out her hand to him. "Mr. Krueger, welcome home."

"Alright, let's go home."

"Bang!"