Please Forget Me When The Storm Ends

Jimelle's POV

The door slammed shut, and my boyfriend, Tristan Zabel’s footsteps quickly faded down the hallway.

I clutched my cramping stomach and slowly crouched beside the shoe rack beside the door.

My forehead was beaded in cold sweat as I fumbled around for two painkillers and swallowed them.

It did not help. My stomach convulsed in pain.

Gritting my teeth, I put on my shoes and called a ride to the ER.

The nurse took my blood pressure and then sent me to the infusion room.

Once they got the IV in, I leaned back and closed my eyes.

Just then, I heard hurried footsteps. A man shouted, “Doctor, please hurry! She’s bleeding!”

That voice was all too familiar.

I slowly opened my eyes and looked through the gap in the glass divider between the infusion bays.

There was Tristan, with his arm around Cassandra White, holding her up as he burst into the emergency room.

Cassandra leaned against him. There was a tiny scrape on her calf that was barely bleeding.

“Tristan, it hurts so bad! Am I going to die?” Cassandra asked in a quivering voice as she teared up.

He reached out and wiped the tears from the corner of her eye.

“Don’t say that! It’s just a scratch. You’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

He took off his jacket and carefully draped it over her shoulders.

My chest tightened for a moment, but the feeling quickly faded.

Two hours earlier, he had seen me drenched in cold sweat and had asked why I looked so pale.

Cassandra had only scraped a little skin, but he acted as if it was a catastrophe.

After tending to her wound, Tristan helped her onto the hallway bench.

They were sitting diagonally from me on the other side of a frosted glass divider.

Cassandra fiddled with something in her hand. It was my car key.

It was a handmade leather keychain attached to the keys.

I had spent a month stitching it together and had engraved our initials, J&T, on it.

Tristan had once said this keychain was my special thing, and that nobody else could touch it.

But Cassandra was carelessly picking at the engraved letters.

Cassandra said with a pout, “Tristan, this keychain is so ugly! The leather’s all worn and peeling.”

Tristan glanced at it and said, “Yeah, it’s pretty worn out. If you don’t like it, I’ll take it off tomorrow. I’ll get a Stellalou one. You like that one, don’t you?”

“Really? Thanks, Tristan! You’re always so good to me.”

Cassandra leaned into him.

Tristan tensed up, then adjusted himself to block the breeze.

That made the thirteenth strike.

I pulled out my phone, opened the camera, and calmly recorded the scene.

After saving the video, I opened the chat with Albert Lance. He was the HR representative from the overseas headquarters.

[Mr. Lance, my visa is all set. My flight leaves at 4 p.m. I’ll be at headquarters the day after.]

Albert promptly replied, [Great! Looking forward to having you, Jimelle. Have you wrapped up all your resignation procedures there?]

[I’m finishing up the final handover tomorrow morning. There won’t be any loose ends.]

After I sent the texts, I locked my phone screen.

The IV fluid had just run out, and the nurse came over to remove the needle.

I pressed the cotton swab against my hand, stood up, and left the emergency hall through the other exit.

The night breeze was chilly.

I pulled my thin jacket tighter and did not look back at Tristan and Cassandra.

I crossed out the last strike on my countdown.

‘Tristan, you’re almost out of time,’ I thought.