Three Years Later, He Came Back Begging novel Chapter 225

How could he ever forget?

How could he just keep taking those pills?

What would he do if, one day, he couldn’t remember Bonnie’s face anymore? If all their memories faded away—the places they’d gone, the things they'd eaten, every laugh, every word—what would be left of him then?

That was what Lawrence truly feared. Forgetting Bonnie would mean losing himself completely.

So now he was afraid to take the medication.

Quentin sat in stunned silence after hearing this, his eyes drifting to the folding screen. Odette was sitting just on the other side. She could probably hear everything.

Lawrence seemed lost, staring off into space. After saying all of that, it was like he’d slipped right back into his memories.

Quentin took a breath and softened his voice. “So, do you remember what it was now? That little thing you’d forgotten?”

Lawrence gave the slightest smile, almost impossible to see. “Yeah, I remembered. I stopped taking the pills for about a month, and then one day while I was working, it just came back to me—you know, the thing I’d forgotten.”

It was nothing big. He and Bonnie had come home from grocery shopping and bumped into a neighbor out walking their dog. The corgi was a complete menace, nipping at Bonnie’s heels. When they got home, Bonnie had grumbled, “What does it think I am, a cow or something? Why bite me?”

It was such a small, random moment. But once he remembered it, it felt like that first clear sky after a storm.

Quentin nodded. “That really is something to celebrate. Life’s full of little joys like that. I’m glad you didn’t lose them. And that’s on me too—I should’ve told you the side effects from these meds are pretty minimal. Taking them for a short time won’t do much harm.”

Lawrence didn’t reply.

Lawrence’s situation was already serious.

But Quentin couldn’t shake the feeling that diagnosis alone didn’t explain everything. Lawrence looked trapped, caught in his own mental maze.

He saw it in Lawrence’s stubbornness, the edge of paranoia, and maybe even a streak of self-destruction. The wound on his head. The fingers he kept hiding—Quentin could see the marks, little circles from cigarette burns.

Without understanding these pieces, it would be impossible to really reach the heart of Lawrence’s pain.

Quentin pressed his lips together. “So, when did all this start? I remember we did a video call before you came home, and you didn’t have any of these problems. Lawrence, what happened after you came back? Can you tell me?”

Lawrence’s pupils tightened, his eyes flickering away, heavy with guilt and regret… and just a flicker of something wild.