The Final Portrait

Chris and I were coursemates during university. Back when he was going through tough times, I stayed by his side and helped him through it. In the course of it, he opened himself to me, and we ended up together.

After graduation, we ended up in the criminal investigation team together. He became a police, while I worked as a portrait artist, assisting with investigation.

Half a year ago was the first time I joined a joint capture operation. Chris' father, Mr. Garrett, was the captain back then. However, our target found out about our plans beforehand, and the entire building was rigged with timed explosives.

The moment the explosion happened, Mr. Garrett protected me with his body. The explosion took the lives of everyone in the first team except for me, who had gotten gravely injured, but was still alive.

By the time Chris came with the second team, I had already passed out. When I woke up, I was laying in the hospital, and I had forgotten all about the murderer along with everything that happened on that day due to a heavy injury to my brain.

Once Chris found out about this, he went mad with anger, rushing into the hospital and pinning me to the electroshock bed by the wrist. "Dad wouldn't have died because of you, so how dare you forget? Everyone's going to die in vain because of you, Misty! You're the real murderer here!"

But, I tried to retort, I did everything I could!

After Mr. Garrett died, I chose to be subjected to electroshock therapy every day, all while eating medicine by the batch. Every time I closed my eyes, I'd dream of Mr. Garrett staring at me, covered in blood as he called me the one who murdered him.

I think I might have gotten ill. All the time, I heard Mr. Garrett call my name, and the words he said to me in the past seemed to echo in my ears.

Back when Chris and I just started university, Mr. Garrett would tell Chris to invite me home for dinner whenever there were any holidays.

I had lost my parents at a young age, so the moment I ate Mr. Garrett's pasta for the first time, I almost cried. Back then, I lowered my head to hide my embarrassment, but I was overjoyed.

Now, I looked dumbfoundedly at the plate of pasta that Mr. Garrett was giving me, yet when I reached to accept it, my hands were empty.

I tried asking Chris for help, too.

That night, I had stood outside the dorms in the pouring rain. I cried, saying that I had become sick, and that I felt so terrible that I wanted to die.

Chris only thought I was lying, and his expression didn't change in the slightest. "If that's quite enough, get lost. Did you think I'd forgive you just because you made yourself look like a filthy mutt? If you want to die, find somewhere I won't see you."

My entire body was drenched with rainwater, and my hair stuck to my face. My dress was dirtied with mud from when I fell on the way here.

I couldn't stop the tears flowing down my cheeks as I reached to grab his hands tightly. "I'm… I'm not lying… Please believe me…"

I was like a lost child, blindly trying to seek support.

Perhaps, all I needed was a hug, even if it was a lie. Just one little gesture would be enough to give me the courage to live on.

In the end, he only stared at me coldly, like I was a corpse. "I don't want to stay with the person who murdered my father. You disgust me."

Then, he shook my hand off and turned to slam the door in my face, without sparing another glance.

I didn't know where I could go, so I aimlessly walked on the street. At one point, I sobbed as I leaned on a lamppost, hitting my head over and over again.

"Why can't I remember anything?! God, why did you let me live?!"

I sat on the ground weakly, tilting my head back as the rain washed my face.

"I'm so tired… Dad, Mom, you're watching from Heaven right? Did I do something wrong? I-I didn't mean to, but I think I did…

"Why wasn't I the one who died? Can't I be the one who's dead instead? Please, let them come back!"

I clutched my head and sobbed uncontrollably, my stomach twisting as I felt the bile in my throat.

I cried until I was completely exhausted, and I wandered around in the rain, before finally lying down on an empty street, waiting for release.

I didn't expect there to be a good Samaritan who sent me to the hospital.

After ensuring my safety, the doctors had me go through a series of psychological testing, and sure enough, I was diagnosed with major depression.

The nurses pitied me and asked me not to give up on living. I didn't want them to worry about me, so I forced a smile. "I won't try committing suicide anymore, don't worry…"

That was because I had something more important to do.