Chapter 615: Olive, Don't Go

The moment Elvis fell, he fought to mitigate the impact. Olive, her mind filled with his calm, powerful gaze and his smile, inhaled deeply, exhaled, and swam with powerful strokes. She propelled herself through the water with a whoosh, surfacing gasping for air. The words "disaster survivor" flooded her mind. She was alive. But…

Olive looked around. Darkness and cold surrounded her; Elvis was nowhere in sight. Was he dead? Seriously injured and fallen into the sea, it would have been difficult for him to swim to safety. She dived, swimming vigorously, searching for his tall, handsome form. She searched for a long time, diving repeatedly, but found nothing. Her limbs numb with cold, she was too weak to continue. She couldn’t find him. What should she do?

Surfacing again, she was met only with darkness. Hot tears streamed down her face as she cried out bewilderingly, “Elvis, Elvis, where are you? Elvis…” She remembered thinking him annoying, yet he had jumped into the sea with her. Now, while she lived, he was gone. Fear consumed her. Olive, accustomed to a delicate, intelligent, and calm life, rarely felt such terror.

Suddenly, a deep, magnetic voice spoke, “Why are you crying? I’m not dead yet.”

Olive froze, whirling around to see Elvis standing before her. He was alive! Relief washed over her, transforming into a mixture of tears and laughter. She swam toward him, punching his shoulder, “Elvis, you scared me! You scared the hell out of me!” She mumbled the phrase repeatedly, too terrified to articulate properly.

Elvis didn't flinch, allowing her blows. He looked at her tenderly, a flicker of affection in his eyes. He leaned against her, resting his head on her shoulder, breathing softly, “Olive…” He whispered her name in a low voice.

Olive was stunned. His voice grew weaker, but she still heard him clearly: “Olive, why…why did you leave me? What did I do wrong…? Why would you want to love someone else…?” Her heart felt as if pierced by a sharp sword, twisting in violent pain.

Elvis wrapped his arms around her waist. In the cold water, his touch was a welcome warmth. He kissed her hair. Olive wanted to pull away.

A soft groan escaped him; his brow furrowed in pain. "What's wrong with you?" Olive asked, placing her hand on his back. She felt warm, sticky liquid, the surrounding water reddening with blood. He was badly injured.

They swam towards shore. As dawn broke after five o'clock, they found a dilapidated wooden house. Olive pushed open the door. Inside, a lamp, stove, bed, and thin duvet offered little comfort. Elvis lay on the bed; Olive tore off his clothes to reveal a deep gash on his back, exposing flesh and bone. The stench of blood filled the air. His whole body trembled. She quickly tore more fabric to bandage the wound, saying, “I’m going out to find herbs to stop the bleeding, otherwise you will die waiting for help.”

As she turned to leave, a large hand grasped hers. Olive looked down. Elvis, his lips pale and thin, asked, “Did you… take the opportunity to run away?” It was a perfect chance; he was too weak to stop her, but she shook her head, “No.”

She left. Elvis watched her go, gently closing his eyes. The dull pain numbed his body, his consciousness fading into the cold. He fell into a coma, sinking into a nightmare.

In his dream, Derrick Domino took Olive away, and she turned to say goodbye, “Mr. Augustine, I’m leaving.”

“Don’t go…” He reached for her hand, but couldn’t catch her. Her figure disappeared from his sight.

“Don’t go… Don’t go…” he mumbled. Soon after, a small hand touched his face. He instinctively grasped it.

He opened his eyes. Olive was there. It was still early. She wore peasant clothes, her long hair in a low ponytail, her face serene. She wiped his sweat, explaining, “I’ve found herbs, but the wound needs stitching. My needles are gone. Your wound is infected, and you have a fever. I must go to the tribe for a doctor. Rest until I return.”

She set down the towel, turning to leave. She was leaving. Now.

Thunder clapped, and rain began to fall. Heavy drops, a double disaster on top of their current plight. Olive rushed out into the storm to find a doctor. She had run only a few steps when two strong arms encircled her waist. It was Elvis.

Olive's eyes widened. She tried to pull away, “Elvis, are you crazy? What are you doing?”

He hugged her tightly, burying his face in her neck, kissing her skin. “Olive, don’t go.” His fever made his head swim. He was rarely sick, but when he was, all he wanted was to hold Olive close and never let her go.

Olive cared for him, but urged, "Elvis, let go!"

But she underestimated his strength. Even injured, she couldn't escape. He held her close, his pale lips brushing her face in the downpour, clinging to her tightly, "Olive, be good. Don't leave."