Thanks for Letting Me Go

Author: Ni Hai

1

On Valentine's Day, my boyfriend jumped to his death from our 27th-floor bedroom balcony.

The shrill scream startled the security guards in several nearby buildings.

Bertram Chaucer squatted before me and asked about the incident. His policeman's eyes were sharp, and his tone was all-business. "Where were you when the incident happened?"

I was so scared that I collapsed on the ground, my clothes in disarray. I kept shivering like a fish out of water, gasping for breath.

After a while, he calmly repeated, "Miss Belle, where were you when the incident happened?"

I tried my best to make a hoarse sound, "I was sleeping."

"The balcony is connected to the bedroom. When he jumped off the balcony, were you conscious?"

"I was asleep. I didn't know anything."

"The neighbor said he heard your fierce quarrel about two hours before the incident. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

This word ignited my remaining rationality. I raised my head and glared at the man in front of me, wearing a uniform and with deep eyes.

Surging hatred and the determination to perish with him lingered in my heart. I roared at him, "It's because he's an idiot, a coward, a jerk. He got his colleague pregnant, embezzled the company's funds, and ruined his reputation. That's why he jumped off the building. Do you understand? If you still doubt me, then perhaps I should just take a leap as well!"

He looked at me quietly, looking for a hole in my alibi.

"You..."

Before I could finish my words, I quickly got up and bent down to hit the opposite wall, looking as if I was ready to die.

A figure moved faster than me and stopped me from hitting the wall.

I pressed my head heavily against his stomach.

"My head hurts, but I think he's in even more pain."

"Julian Belle, calm down." Bertram squeezed my shoulder, his voice filled with pain.

I lifted my head in a daze. The moment my eyes met his, a kind of sorrow stronger than hatred surged in my heart.

"Thank you," I sat on the ground again and tried to make a sound.

He didn't say anything.

I clutched my arms and burst into tears, looking no different from a madman.

After the investigation, Bertram and the others took me back to the police station for further interrogation. They didn't let me go until three hours later.

Although it was called an interrogation, it was actually just listening to me scold that scumbag for three hours.

I couldn't let go of his death. He chose to die to escape from his mistakes and leave pain to his still-alive relatives.

This made me furious about his lack of loyalty.

When I reached the door of the police station, Bertram ran caught up with me. He hadn't rested for a long time. His eyes were black-ringed, but it didn't affect his righteousness at all. His back was still straight, and he stood there like a pine tree.

"Let me take you to a nearby hotel to rest for a night." His expression was not as serious as when he was interrogating me. His cold tone made me feel inexplicably at ease.

Thinking of the badly mangled corpse, I accepted his kindness without hesitation.

"Thank you."

When we parted ways at the hotel entrance, he suddenly bent down and stared into my eyes with a burning gaze. "Try not to think about suicide anymore."

"I haven't met a good man yet. I don't want to die until I get that chance."

I shook my hair and strode to the hotel, pretending to be cool and solemn.

2

A week later, Thomas Cowper's case was officially closed. His cause of death was ruled as suicide according to the law.

However, Thomas' mother refused to accept that his son had committed suicide. She still suspected I was the murderer and dragged me to the police station to argue.

She pulled my hair and berated me in the police station for being heartless and forcing her son to take his life.

I was so angry that I fought with her.

It was Bertram who rushed over to separate us.

At that time, my clothes were in disarray, with my hair was disheveled. My shoes had fallen off, and I was standing barefoot on the ground. Bertram was straight and imposing in his uniform. He stood straight beside me, which made me look even more embarrassed.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"She killed my son!" My former boyfriend's mother pointed at me and screamed.

I crossed my arms and sneered. "He took his own life. How dare you say that I'm responsible? Why don't you go and find the woman who's pregnant with your son's child and make a scene there instead?"

I gave all my savings to Thomas' parents, and they ruined my job.

What else did they want? Did they want me to pay for their son's death?

My boyfriend's mother was so angry that she trembled. She stared at me with her swollen eyes and said, "Look at how callous you are. My son wouldn't have jumped off the building if it weren't for you."

Just as I was about to reply, Bertram stopped me.

He approached me and whispered, "Don't provoke her. Let me deal with her."

I scratched my head in frustration.

Thomas was an irresponsible scumbag. Now he was dead and had escaped responsibility for his actions.

I would have to live under his shadow for the rest of my life, being examined, suspected, and tortured by my guilt and fear.

"I've also been wronged, not just his mother." I looked up at Bertram and choked with sobs.

I did scold Thomas on the day of his accident.

When I learned he had cheated on me and expected me to help solve the problem, I spoke without thinking and insulted his entire family to vent my hatred.

But did I do anything wrong?

How else should I have responded in the face of such a duplicitous man?

Should I have told him that he had just made a mistake that any man would make?

I couldn't do it!

I had restrained myself by not hitting him.

He said that if I abandoned him, he would kill himself.

But shouldn't I break up with such a man?

I didn't expect that he would actually jump to his death as soon as my head hit the pillow.

That bloody scene lingered in front of my eyes all the time. How could I feel well?

There was a flash of emotion in Bertram's eyes. He reached out and patted me on the shoulder. "Wait for me next room."

I wiped my tears and strode away, hoping to leave a cruel and relaxed back behind.

But before I could take steps, my shoulder slumped. I had no more energy to bluff.

About an hour later, Bertram came to me.

I looked at his back and heaved a sigh of relief.

In the face of the mother who had lost her son, I actually felt very guilty, but I couldn't apologize.

"It's over. Don't overthink it. Legally speaking, you didn't commit any crimes against Thomas."

Bertram sat in front of me with his elbows on the armrest. He leaned forward slightly, and his tone was much softer than before.

"Thank you," I lowered my head and said softly.

After leaving the police station, I was in a complex mood and didn't know where to go. I sat at the bus station next to the police station in a daze.

It was drizzling. Gradually, the rain became heavier.

After an unknown period of time, a black SUV stopped in front of me. The window slowly rolled down, revealing a well-defined face.

It was Bertram Chaucer.

He changed out of his uniform and wore a black shirt, which made him look tall and straight with sharp shoulders.

Through the rain, I couldn't see his expression clearly. I could only hear his deep and magnetic voice mixed with the noise of the shower. "Where are you going, miss? I'll take you there."

I looked at him blankly and burst into tears before I could speak.

"I don't know where to go."

3

Bertram offered to treat me to a meal, perhaps because I looked so pitiful.

I had no choice but to agree.

After Thomas' death, I dared not go home, see my friends, or even talk to them. I didn't even want to be alone in a quiet place either. What had happened broke me down countless times.

Bertram and his identity could give me a great sense of security. I couldn't refuse his proposal.

I even hoped that he could stay by my side all the time.

We ate steak for dinner and had some soup. It tasted delicious.

After failing to find a safe topic to discuss several times, we all fell silent.

The atmosphere starkly contrasted with the excitement at the table next to us.

Other than stuffing food into my mouth, I couldn't think of any other way to delay our time together.

It wasn't until I couldn't stand it anymore and opened my mouth to spit it out that I put down my fork.

After dinner, Bertram drove me home. When I got downstairs, he looked up at the balcony of my house and asked, "Haven't you thought about moving out?"

"Why should I move? Didn't I tell them that I wasn't responsible?"

He lowered his head to look at me with a deep gaze. After a long while, he concluded, "You're wrestling with yourself."

I was stunned for two seconds. I angrily said, "What does this have to do with you?"

After that, I felt a little guilty. Just as I was about to run away, Bertram leaned slightly to one side and blocked my way.

"Could I add you on WhatsApp?" He took out his mobile phone, tapped on the application, handed it to me, and looked at me calmly.

I was too exhausted to argue.

I quickly took out my mobile phone, scanned the code, added him as a friend, and then carefully added "Officer Chaucer."

He nodded satisfactorily and said, "Call me if you're in danger."

I pursed my lips and didn't say anything. I thought, "So I should only message him when I'm in danger?"

"I suggest you see a bereavement therapist," he said again.

I nodded quickly and shook my head.

There was no need to see a therapist. I just had to rely on myself to push through everything.

I replied in my heart.

It was not that I was introverted, but at that time, I had no interest in talking at all.

But I didn't expect that in Bertram's mind, my condition was so severe that he would come to my clinic early the next morning to take me to see a therapist.

"I'm not sick." After a sleepless night, my voice was soft and weak. I already felt weak just by coming out of the bedroom to open the door.

He stood at the door, wearing black clothes and pants with one hand in his trouser pocket. He frowned and looked at me. After a while, he ordered me to wash up and get ready to go out.

My anger suddenly surged in my heart. As if I had lost my mind, I grabbed the cup beside me and threw it at him. "I'm not sick. You're sick. You're all sick!"

He dodged sideways, and the cup fell to the ground with a clang, shattering into pieces.

I glared at him with a fierce expression.

He didn't say anything, and there was no blame on his face. He just looked into my eyes quietly.

It was as if he was comforting a willful child with extreme patience.

After a while, he reached out his hand to me and said, "Calm down."

I was defeated, and my anger gradually subsided under his calm gaze.

Failure, irritability, anger, sensitivity... I didn't seem to have anything to argue about.

I resigned myself to my fate and followed Bertram to the clinic. After talking to the counselor, he suggested I speak more to my friends and keep in touch with the outside world.

I was very disappointed with the outcome. I went out and complained to Bertram, "I came here to spend money on pep talk. I might as well read a few books about success instead. Not to mention that I don't have the desire to pour out my heart at all. I can't even find a person to pour out my heart to. I only know people who would just gossip or listen to me share my miserable experience half-heartedly."

"Then you can talk with me." Bertram was silent for a while. "But I'm not good at chatting. I'm usually swamped with work. I might reply slowly."

An indescribable ecstasy surged up like a tide. I suddenly wanted to laugh, but I also wanted to cry. My mood was complicated and intense.

Since someone was willing to help me, I couldn't admit defeat.

From then on, I pestered him every day and shared all kinds of trivial thoughts about daily life, beautiful songs, and wonderful movies with him.

Even though his replies were slow and dull, I was still engrossed in them.

Because I knew that he would always respond and not let me wait in vain.

I liked this feeling.

"Mr. Chaucer, are you single?" I sent him a message late at night one day.

A few minutes later, I regretted it.

Because I didn't know my motive. Did I need him, yearn for him, or feel empty and lonely?

"It's okay. You don't have to answer." I sent another message.

This time, he quickly replied, "I'm celibate."

4

I found a new job and was about to move to a new house. When I thought everything was slowly improving, Thomas' mother appeared in my life again.

"How can you live such a good life? My son is dead. How can you live with yourself?"

One morning, when I went downstairs to work, she suddenly rushed over and stared at me fiercely as if she wanted to skin me.

"How do you think I should live my life? Or do you think I should live a life as pathetic as yours?" I barked. "If you harass me again, I'll call the police."

I skirted her and was about to leave, but she held my arm tightly and refused to let me go.

While I was pushing past her, she suddenly fainted. I was so scared that I quickly dialed 911.

While I was in the hospital, I was wondering if I should call Bertram and ask him to come and help me. I was afraid that something would happen to Thomas' mother if I faced her alone later. Suddenly, I bumped into someone.

Before I could apologize, a familiar voice sounded above my head, "Julian, why are you here?"

I looked up and saw that it was Bertram. One of his arms was covered in plaster, and the other was holding an IV drip stand. He looked a little pitiful.

The omnipotent and mighty image in my heart suddenly became down-to-earth.

"What's wrong with you? "

He looked a little anxious. "I got injured on an assignment. I need to use the bathroom first. Let's talk later."

After that, he ran away. It seemed that he was in a hurry.

I followed him and asked, "How will you remove your pants? Let me help you."

These simple and unadorned words scared him so much that he ran even faster.

At the bathroom door, I grabbed him and said, "If you're embarrassed, you can close your eyes. It won't take long."

He dared not move, and the tips of his ears turned red.

I was so nervous that my hands kept shaking. Seeing that the people around me were about to gather around me, I hastened my movements.

The moment the belt was untied, Bertram and I heaved a sigh of relief simultaneously.

"Pull up your zipper yourself." After saying that, I slipped away.

After a while, I bit the bullet to turn around. Since his belt had been untied, I had to help her buckle it back.

When Bertram came out of the bathroom, his belt was already fastened.

I was slightly stunned. "Did you ask someone else to help you with it?"

He felt a little shy. With a deep swallow, he looked at the IV drip stand and replied, "I asked someone to help me hold it."

I suddenly understood. So that's how it was.

Then why didn't he think of it just now?

"Why did you come to the hospital?" he asked.

I thought of something and quickly said, "Thomas' mother suddenly fainted, so I took her to the hospital. Please help me. I'm afraid she'll use this as an excuse to blackmail me."

Bertram raised his eyebrows. "If you're so afraid, why did you bring her to the hospital?"

I didn't reply. I lowered my eyes, feeling uncertain about how to respond.

I couldn't explain what had happened to her if I didn't take her to the hospital.

"Let's go," Bertram said.

I took over his IV drip stand eagerly and showed him the way.

When we arrived at the emergency room, he suddenly said, "Julian, kindness is not a mistake. Don't doubt yourself because of others' mistakes."

"Mr. Chaucer, that's quite the pep talk," I couldn't help but laugh.

Bertram also laughed. He seemed to be in a good mood, with tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Suddenly, a woman staggered out of the ward. Bertram quickly pulled me aside because she was about to hit me.

"It's you! Now I see you're hooking up with another man so soon after my son died?"

As he spoke, she pointed at Bertram and shouted at the patients gathered around her, "This is the adulterous couple who killed my son! Do you know what this man does? He's ..."

I almost subconsciously rushed to Bertram and opened my arms to protect him as if I were protecting a child. "I advise you to keep your mouth shut. Don't force me to expose the dirty things your son has done on the Internet. At that time, your son's reputation will be ruined."

I should respect the dead. I didn't want to do such a thing unless there was no other choice, but I couldn't let others slander Bertram and me. In other words, I couldn't accept others slandering Bertram.

Thomas' mother stopped talking and glared at me with bulging eyes.

I straightened my neck and looked at her, refusing to admit defeat.

Bertram, standing behind me, said softly, "Thank you."

I had always been the one thanking him for his help.

Finally, it was his turn to thank me. I was so excited that I wanted to cry.

"I am of some value to him, right?

"Julian, I can't accept your kindness. Just wait." After saying that, Thomas' mother ignored the doctors' and nurses' persuasion and insisted on leaving the hospital.

I called Thomas' father, but no one answered. We couldn't contact his mother's family, so we could only let her go.

After following Thomas' mother into the taxi, I returned to the hospital to accompany Bertram on an IV drip.

"You've been in a good mood recently," Bertram said.

I gave a wry smile. "Of course, I have to take good care of myself."

Bertram tilted his head to look at me. The cold white light poured down from the ceiling and reflected in his clear eyes, rippling gently.

"Not bad." After a while, he gently spat out two words.

These two simple words inexplicably made my heart beat faster. I quickly turned my head and said, "The air outside is so fresh today!"