The Love I Begged For Was Never Real novel Chapter 388

But he refused to go anywhere, relying instead on dangerous amounts of sedatives to suppress the agonizing, violent despair threatening to drive him insane, desperately trying to maintain just enough rationality to organize his sister's funeral.

Gideon reached down, scooped up a few white pills from the carpet, shoved them into his mouth, and dry-swallowed them whole.

The medication seeped slowly into his bloodstream, bringing on a heavy, sluggish wave of dizziness.

The memories hit him like a sudden downpour, dragging him twenty years into the past.

Eight-year-old Gideon was wearing a flimsy, oversized coat, tightly gripping a stale roll in his hand.

A tiny silhouette followed closely on his heels.

It was a frail little girl in a washed-out, ragged jacket, looking at him with wide, timid eyes.

Back then, the Metropolis wasn't a playground they could conquer. It was just the towering walls of St. Jude's Children's Home, a place filled with hunger, freezing nights, and the sharp crack of the disciplinary cane.

Back then, she didn't have the glamorous name of Giselle Hayes.

The orphanage director only referred to them by cold, assigned numbers.

He was the one who gave her that name.

Eight-year-old Gideon looked into her bright eyes.

He let go of her hand, crouched down by the thick roots of an old banyan tree, and dug through the dead leaves until he found a snapped twig.

Moving to a relatively dry patch of dirt, he dropped to one knee.

The damp mud soaked right through his pants, sending a chill up his leg.

The little girl curiously squatted beside him, resting her chin in her hands as she watched the twig.

Pressing the sharp end into the dirt, Gideon carved a clear mark.

One stroke at a time, he wrote carefully, the wood dragging tiny clumps of earth with it.

Soon, the word "Giselle" was neatly etched into the mud.

"What's that?"

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