Horace's back wound was severe.
Many shards of ceramic were embedded in his skin.
"Don't cry, I'm fine."
His face was pale, but when he saw me shedding tears, he forced a smile and wiped away the tears from the corner of my eyes.
Just like back then.
He always comforted me.
"Horace, stop being a hero. You're not tougher than me."
When I saw the vase come down…
My heart felt like it was being tightly squeezed, and the pain was suffocating.
Perhaps at that moment, I finally realized…
I had never forgotten him.
"If you feel guilty, then take good care of me from now on. Alright?"
He reached out and gently hugged me.
As the car slowed down in front of us, Mr. Wutherspoon turned to look at us, asking with a smile. "Horace, do you like this little girl?"
Horace nodded.
Mr. Wutherspoon suddenly smiled.
"Well, that's good. Consider it the last thing I, as a father, can do for you."
With that, he opened the car door and ran out.
By the time Horace and I reacted, the car door had been tightly locked, and no matter how hard we hit it, it wouldn't open.
"Horace, I've treated you like a son for years, so I have some feelings for you, but your existence is the stain of my life!"
So...
From the beginning to the end, it wasn't Mrs. Wutherspoon who wanted Horace dead.
It was Jaylen!
With the door locked, Jaylen started the car. The car had been parked on a downhill, and it slowly started sliding down. He intentionally turned the steering wheel, making the car head toward a steep slope.
Everything happened so quickly.
There was no way, no time to escape.
As the car rolled, Horace held me tightly in his arms.
"Clara, it's going to be okay."
The car kept flipping, and I felt like my organs were turning inside me. When the car finally stopped, it was suspended upside down, and the smell of gasoline began to leak.
Horace desperately banged on the side door, but my legs were tightly wedged in the seat, and I couldn't move at all.
"Don't be afraid, Clara. I'll protect you."
The smell of gasoline was getting stronger.
It seemed we could both foresee what was coming next.
Horace's back wounds reopened, blood soaking his white shirt, looking like he didn't feel any pain as he kept banging on the door.
The door finally opened, and he tried to drag me out.
But my legs were still trapped, and I couldn't move.
"Go, Horace. There's no need to die with me."
Though I was also scared of dying.
But if one of us can survive, it should be him.
I don't need him to be there when I die.
"I'm telling you, it's impossible. Clara Monroe, I won't let you die!"
He shouted at me for the first time.
His hands gripped the seat tightly, his nails digging into the leather, blood and flesh torn, but he still wouldn't stop.
"Go, just go."
We were really running out of time.
Horace shook his head, his gaze firm: "If we die, I'll die with you."
"After all, in this world, no one else loves me but you."
