Chapter 7

I can't believe it. I can't believe I did that. Last night was so random. I let Ryle take me to our place and I liked it. Not Ryle, but his action. I mean, really, Ryle. I don't need to be in denial when it's only me I'm talking to. Ryle is, based on last night's experience, more than the moron he is. Okay. I guess I'll stop now calling him names. It isn't really good for my personal credit.

I've been awake since four twenty in the dawn. Six hours of sleep, huh? It isn't that bad. I sit up straight and bend my knees up to my chest. My eyes dart to the hanger where Ryle's leather jacket is mounted neatly. I told him that he should wear it since the streets were cold as hell, but what did he do? He left it. I get off the bed and walk toward the jacket. I touch its thickness and then smell it. So sweet that I can swim in it. Ugh, Stella. Stop it. I then let go of the jacket.

I saunter out of my room and find Mom preparing breakfast. I make three cups of coffee — one is for Mom and two for me. I need a nice, temporary increase in bodily activity since six hours of sleep make my knees tremble from the coldest of these autumnal winds. After some sips of the pleasant bitterness, I cook some instant ramen for me and a sandwich and salad for Mom. We then have breakfast in silence, my eyes casually turning to the fog dramatically thickening outside. I can feel my joints tingling just by the sight.

"So . . ." Mom sparks the conversation, "the winter is nearing."

"Aha, Mom. Here it comes again," I say.

"I have to tell you something, Stella."

"What?" I turn to Mom and raise my eyebrows

She makes a few sighs and cheap nods and then finally lets her thoughts out, "I'm not feeling well about what you've been going through, sweetie."

Okay. Here she goes again. I think we'll never get out of this loop.

"I feel like a burden to you, Stella," she adds.

I quickly kneel beside her and caress her weak hands. "Mom, what are you talking about? You're never a burden. You're a family, and I'll do everything for you." I've never shed a tear for months already, but one falls on my cheek. Mom's eyes begin to get watery, so I stand up, wipe my tear, and then hug her tight. "Mom, I don't want you thinking like that, okay? I'll never hear you saying negative things to yourself, you hear me, Mom?" I purse my lips and sigh down in my mouth.

She's gone through tougher situations, my mother, and, O boy, I can't imagine being put into her shoes. I'd feel sudden death, but her? She's holding up through the outbursts of storms. She survived a car crash. She survived a divorce. She survived the absence of a child. She's raised me well, and that's enough for me to take care of her. She deserves love, and in these backbreaking times, she needs ultimate care, and I'll give her that straight right from the heart — gladly, willfully.

I go back to my seat and poke the ramen with a fork. An array of emotions and thoughts has penetrated my mind. The fears and future failures make me rattling ill at ease. Realizations hit me and inevitable things start to psychologically freak my soul out including my greatest fear — the passing of my mother. I'll be honest with myself — that day may be nearing, and I can't do anything about it since life won't work without death. It would be curtains for me when that happens, if that suddenly happens. I know I should stop thinking about things like this, but I have to be realistic. Mom has told me about it either, and I hate myself for letting her say that, because it's the truth. Even I don't know when will I stop walking the earth.

After the quiet, awkward breakfast, I take a warm shower. I dress in rough jeans and a thick long-sleeved sweatshirt under a hoodie. While tying up my shoelaces, I try to gloss over what my mind thought during breakfast, but unfortunately fail to do so. I look at myself in the mirror before putting my backpack on and uttering a quick, bland goodbye to Mom. I'm not mad at her or what. I just don't feel like exerting effort still. I get out of the apartment building and pedal to Aunt Hilda's block.

I turn up just right before Marco accesses a bus. I wave him a safe trip and leave my bike locked in their gated yard. I then cross the road and pass through the school gates. The fog is still present. Everybody is in the thickest of their fabrics to resist freezing up. Before I enter homeroom, I return the math book I borrowed yesterday to the librarian and check the new features added in the school laboratory.

I silently settle down on a vacant seat and scroll through my phone. Without consciously taking note of it, I find myself searching Ryle Andreyev's profile on the Internet. I can see some articles about him, but he's gotten no social media account. Or maybe he just uses a different name. Whatever. I close my phone and focus on the teacher before the class explaining about the rescheduling of the first semester's exams.

What a disappointment. Because of the cat's cradle of my sideline jobs, I haven't thought about it for some time. So, yeah. I'll just have to go through my notes, I guess. I'm not really an academically competitive person, but I get some good grades, especially in Arts — my haven. I suck at Trigonometry. Chemistry and History threaten me at almost every session. English Literature is bearable. I'm a typical student, just like the others, and I couldn't be more grateful since wittier students here in our high school are known for being academically pressured by their parents, which I find somewhat depressingly unjust. After some time, we leave homeroom and go to our respective classes.

When the last morning class of mine ends, I head for the cafeteria but get interrupted by some seventh graders. They interview me quickly for their project and eventually bid their 'Thanks' and goodbye. I then finally enter the cafeteria, which is louder today. I self-serve and get a tray of burgers, fries, waffles, strawberries, and bottles of grapefruit juice and water. I sit at a vacant table and peacefully dig into my food when Reign and her girlfriends settle down beside and across me. I'm not a loner in school. I just want to be alone.

Reign, on my right, speaks, "Hey, Stella."

"Good noon, Reign," I eye her friends, "and girls." The others greet me as well. I still find it odd because rich students in our school don't act like the world revolves around them. Unlike Ryle Andreyev. Why would I say that? I shrug him off my mind and just bother Reign's self-possessed meal, "What's been up, Reign?"

She chugs her orange juice, "I've been doing fine, Stella. Thank you for your concern."

I just nod and chew on the quite bland waffle. I want to ask her about Marco, but that would be invading of privacy. I won't let myself be a Ryle Andreyev. 'Cut it out, Stella,' I harshly, mentally talk to myself. Okay, I'll stop mentioning his name.

Reign utters a lengthy sigh and then turns to me. She purses her lips and swallows, I guess, her spittle or some suspended air. She then intentionally emits a quick cough, attracting my attention more. "I should tell you about this, Stella," she says under her breath. "Your cousin Marco confessed something to me."

Oh, here it goes. This is going to be interesting. I tilt my head and fakely say "What about Marco?" even though I know what she'll surely say. "Is he bothering you?" I add as an effect. "I'll beat his ass up for you."

"No, Stella. It's not that."

"Then what?"

She clears her throat and eyes the girls before lowering her head to me. "I think he likes me."

'O Reign, he doesn't just like you,' I mentally reply. I'm thankful she isn't telepathic. I furrow my eyebrows and hang my mouth open. O God. I can't act right. I would've taken a theater class if I knew I'd be dealing with this. I cross my arms and reply to Reign, "What? What did he really say? Because he's a jerk sometimes. Well, most of the time." My dear cousin Marco, forgive me for saying that. I wish he was telepathic.

Reign takes a bite of her apple. "He texted me yesterday. I thought he was just meeting me regarding my half-brother's next project, but he confessed he liked me."

"Really?" Okay, it's final. I should really plan to visit an acting tutor. I look stupid with all of these gasps and head tilts. "Well, what did you respond with?"

"An 'Okay,' which sounded so stupid."

"Why 'stupid?'"

"Because, um . . ." she hesitantly trails off, her index fingers tapping the corners of her tray. "Anyway, that's it. Thank you for listening. I hope you never tell him I told you about it."

"Affirmative."

"Now what, eh?" she adds.

I knew it. She likes my cousin too. She freaking likes Marco. I saw this coming, and I'm proud of myself for that. So childish. I say, mimicking her, "'Now what?' What do you mean?"

"What do you think I should've done?" she asks.

"Um, nothing at all. He must've already got that you didn't reject nor approve him."

"Really? Was it bad, my response to him?"

"Not really, but it could've been better."

"Just what I thought."

"Tell me you don't like him," I suddenly state. Again, my dear cousin Marco, forgive me for bringing out unnecessary stuff. Alright. It's confirmed. Reign likes Marco. I'm so proud of my cousin.

"Um, but I do like him," Reign says. There you go, Marco. I wish you were hearing this from your university.

I open my mouth, intentionally again, of course. "What?" I say in forged surprise. I hope I look like sure-enough to her. "I didn't see this coming, Reign. Since when?"

"I've already had a crush on him since we were in tenth grade."

"And you've hidden it for," I mentally count, "three years?"

"Was I supposed to say it?

"You were, to him."

She sighs and then puts her apple down on the tray. "Just don't tell him anything about it, okay?"

"Got it," I assure her.

After the afternoon classes, I go to Aunt Hilda's, but Marco isn't there yet, so I say I'll go ahead. When I get back home, I'm greeted by a white coupé in front of the apartment building. Oh, gosh. Why is he here? I'm a hundred percent sure he's already inside, talking to my mother about God knows what. I ascend the stairways until I hit the third story. I swing the door open and find Mom talking with him. I smile at my mother and then she leaves the living room for us two.

I look at Kent. He's in an all-white outfit from his baseball cap to his shoelace. Is he trying to blind me? He smiles at me and is about to say something when I quell his mouth shut by grabbing his wrist and dragging him into my room. I close the door and then he smirks at me frenziedly.

"What are you doing here?" I query furiously.

He holds my hands, but I shove them right away. "I came to see you, and to check your mom," he says, his voice lowered.

"You didn't have to. We're doing great."

"Stella—"

"Cut it out, Kent," I interrupt him. "How many more times do I need to tell you we're done?"

"Stella, I love you."

"But I don't love you anymore. You've even lesser than a friend already."

"You're still mad at me because of my sudden leave? I didn't cheat on you, Stella. I never have," he says, telling factuality.

"I know you aren't that kind of guy, Kent. I'm proud of you. But we're done," I say as gently as I can.

Kent and I were in a relationship for almost four years. He was a respectful man with a very affable personality. He always was there to comfort me in the lowest of my situations. I loved him. I did. And I don't regret that. But one day, his father admitted him to a prestigious university overseas, and he accepted it. I might've acted a little immature on the day we broke up, but I had my reasons. I didn't want him out of the country. I wanted him beside me all the time. I was so selfish back then. I kind of regret having that attitude. He's just transferred to Marco's university because he went against his father's decision, which I found dauntless. But what's been done has been done. We can't go back to being together. It's better for us to be just friends. I don't want him hurt.

A tear tumbles down my cheek. Kent wipes it off with his thumb and his touch gives me a quick rush of comfort. Have I been giving him a hard time? I'm so cruel knowing that I do wicked things just to push him away. He smiles at me and then lowers his head before leaning it on mine. While caressing my cheek, he puts his free arm around my waist and pulls me to his warmth. His hand lifts my chin and then his soft lips crash on mine. Honestly, I never missed his touch and kisses, but I've never felt this for a while, so I kiss him back.