I Would’ve Died for You, but You Killed Me

Randolf’s POV

“Randolf!”

“We already ordered! You want us to get stuck with the bill and look like humiliating idiots at this restaurant?!”

“If you keep acting like this, don’t bother playing the piano at our birthday party the day after tomorrow!”

“Jeremy can play too—he’s way better than you!”

“Then go ask him. I won’t be coming to the party.”

“Randolf! You—”

I locked my phone and ignored the series of video calls coming up.

Leaning against the hospital wall, I stared blankly at the gray sky outside.

Maybe it’s because my two childhood friends have gotten so used to me supporting them that my efforts have become something they take for granted.

Ever since they convinced themselves it was Jeremy who saved them during that incident, they’ve been endlessly grateful to him.

When they found out he was struggling financially, they started supporting him.

I refused, so they stole my bank card.

Under Jeremy’s manipulation, they even had the nerve to take out high-interest loans!

When I confronted them, they just reasoned out, “Why are you so mad at Jeremy? We’re just helping a poor student. It’s called being kind!”

I’ve done everything I could for them, even saving them from the brink of disaster one last time.

There was a time when I felt torn.

Both Browers twins—Nella, the older one, and Allen, the younger—confessed their feelings to me.

I was always caught in the middle, afraid that choosing one would hurt the other.

I kept overthinking.

But now, I no longer need to agonize over whether to marry the elder sister or the younger one.

I choose neither!

I didn’t sleep well that night.

A faint pain in my chest kept troubling me as if the shards of the broken knife were shifting inside.

When I got up in the morning, my face was devoid of color, pale to the point of looking sickly.

I quickly boiled some water and lay down on my cold bed, trying to warm myself up.

Then, I heard banging at the door.

“Hey, open the door!”

“Randolf! Open the door for us!”

Nella and Allen were back.

“Randolf, what’s the meaning of this? Why did you change the lock?”

They sounded irritated, upset that I’d replaced the locks overnight.

I didn’t want to face them, but they wouldn’t stop yelling. So, dragging my tired body, I went to open the door.

When the door swung open, Nella and Allen stood there, glaring at me impatiently.

“Randolf!”

“Do you even know how we—”

Halfway through their words, their eyes fell on my bandaged hand, and their expressions froze in disbelief.

“Randolf, your hand—”

“—what happened?!”

They rushed over, suddenly looking concerned.

I just replied flatly, “It’s broken—courtesy of the debt collectors after you.”

“That’s impossible!”

They shook their heads in unison, refusing to believe me.

“Jeremy guaranteed it. The loans we took out were legit!”

“Stop trying to act like the victim here. If you’d just paid it off like a normal person, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Do you really have to play this sympathy card? Is everything about competing with Jeremy? Honestly, you’re really exhausting!”

I just stayed silent.

In the past, I did make a fuss when I found out they were tangled up with Jeremy.

After all, I was the one who shielded them so they wouldn't get stabbed by some stalker, not him.

But like I said, that was in the past.

Suddenly, Nella stepped closer, grabbing my uninjured left hand.

She traced a delicate finger across my palm, her gaze intense.

“Randolf, tomorrow is our birthday party. Stop being so stubborn.”

“Come spend it with us, okay?”

It was a little secret Grandma once used to comfort us as kids.

When we were young and had nightmares, she would lightly trace her finger over our palms, saying it would keep us safe.