#6:
1445 Words
"Forget it."
Napakurap ako ng marinig kong magsalita si Danilo, naputol ang pagbabalik tanaw ko sa nakaraan.
"I'm here to accompany my boss to survey the buildings here at the university," he explained, answering my earlier question about his presence.
"Is that so?" I replied, curiosity piqued.
"Yes," he continued enthusiastically, "if everything goes smoothly, he might approve the bid for other constructions right away."
As he elaborated on the details, he suddenly grabbed both of my shoulders with a firm yet reassuring grip.
"So you, study hard. This university is good because I graduated from here," he encouraged, his eyes glinting with a mix of pride and nostalgia.
I nodded, a smile spreading across my lips, feeling the warmth of his words.
Ilang taon ko na ding kaibigan si Danilo, kaya komportable ako sa kanya, itinuturing ko siya na parang nakakatandang kapatid.
We were just a year apart, and my brother, Jasper, was the same age as him.
Yet, as he held my shoulders, pakiramdam ko ay kinilabutan ako na hindi ko maaari, naging alerto ang pakiramdam ko at kusang gumalaw ang ulo ko at napalingon, scanning the room to see if anyone else was watching us.
As I turn my head, a sense of disbelief washes over me.
My eyes are drawn to the man standing at the classroom door, ang kislap ng mga mata niya ay parang nasa ilalim ng lupa na nagliliwanag. Ang kanyang malalim at malamig na titig ay tila bumalot sa aking buong pagkatao, kinilabutan ako at nanginig na naman sa takot sa kanya.
That very moment mirrors my feelings from the first time I encountered him. Naalala ko pa na parang kahapon lang iyon nangyari—the first night he rescued me from the grasp of rude patrons at the club where I was working part-time.
The room was shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by a flickering light, yet his intense gaze felt achingly familiar.
It was a gaze that would haunt me, both terrifying and strangely comforting all at once.
That night, I was jolted from my dreams, the effects of the alcohol those rude men had forced upon me in the private box still swirling in my mind.
My body felt heavy, and though I struggled to recall much after feeling dizzy, a haunting echo lingered—a name: Kendrick Hidalgo.
Was that who he was? Had he been the one to help me? Ang mga katanungang iyon ang siyang lamang ng isip ko dahilan para naglakas loob akong lapitan siya.
As I stepped out of bed, humakbang na palapit sa kanyan.
Ngunit bigla din akong natigilan, para akong naipako sa kintatayuan ko.
Ang anino na nakatakip sa lalaking nakaupo sa dilim sa tabi ng bintana ay tumama ang liwanag buwan sa kanya, at ng makita ang mukha niya at makita ang mga mata niyang nakatitig sa akin ay nanuot ang takot sa loob mo.
His eyes sparkled with an intensity that both intrigued and terrified me.
I felt a knot of fear tighten in my chest, especially since he remained silent despite my earlier attempts to draw him into conversation.
It was as though my feet were anchored to the floor, leaving me seven hesitant steps away from where he sat by the window.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice deep and resonant, echoing off the cold walls surrounding us.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling an obligation to respond, almost as if the intensity of his tone demanded an answer.
"Zeon. Zeon Sanchez," I finally replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
"How old are you?" Muli niyang tanong,, piercing me with his gaze that seemed to glint eerily in the shadows.
"N-nineteen," I stammered, a mix of fear and determination swirling within me.
The darkness of the room heightened my unease, hindi lang dahil sa kanyang boses kundi sa paraan ng kanyang mga titig.
"Nineteen? And you have the courage to work in a place like this?" he probed, ang kanyang tono ay para bang nahaharap lamang ako sa interview.
"I-I need to work to save up for my studies," paliwanag ko, ang lakas ng pagtibok ng puso ko.
"Really?" His voice resonated again in the stifling air, amplifying the tension, na para bang nasa ilalim kami ng lupa.
I clutched the hem of my skirt tightly, the fabric barely grazing the tops of my thighs. Iyon ang ipinasuot sa akin ng manager ng club dahil maliit daw ang katawan ko na parang isa lamang babae.
Hindi naman sana ako papayag pero sinabi ng manager na kung hindi ko iyon isusuot at pwede na akong umalis dahil hindi na daw ako kukunin sa part time na trabaho kung sa simple lang na bagay ay hindi ko kayang gawin.
My hands quivered as I looked at him, his words lingering in the air like a dense fog, oppressive and foreboding.
"Would you like to make easier money?" he asked, the tension in the room tightening around me like a noose.
My throat constricted, and I nodded instinctively; that was precisely why I had taken a part-time job at the club.
"You remind me of someone I know," he continued, his voice smooth yet disconcerting, slicing through my reverie.
"I want you to take her place while she’s away. How about it? You'd be her stand-in in return for a significant amount of money. I will support you during your time with me. When she comes back, you’re free to go, and I’ll give you a hundred million as a separation fee."
The sheer audacity of his proposition sent shockwaves through me, each syllable resonating with an unsettling clarity.
It felt disturbingly transactional—myself in exchange for money. As the implications gnawed at my mind, I felt a cold sweat prick my skin: he was essentially offering to buy me for his own purposes, all while he awaited the return of the woman he cherished.
The weight of this realization crashed down upon me, making it difficult to find my voice or even formulate a coherent thought.
The promise of financial security was undeniably tempting, especially with his assurance of support during our time together.
Yet, the thought of sacrificing my dignity churned my stomach, bubbling up a mixture of anxiety and revulsion.
"My calling card is on the bedside table," he said as he rose to his full height.
I couldn’t help but notice how tall he was; his long legs could easily cover the distance between us in just a few strides.
When he paused just inches away from me, I instinctively looked up, caught in the intensity of his gaze.
He gently tilted my chin upward with his fingertip, urging me to hold his eye contact.
"It's late," he murmured, his tone low and urgent, wrapping around me like a shroud. "If you’re interested in making a lot of money, give me a call. But I won't wait long. Think this through carefully. Once you make the call, there’s no turning back."
After he said that, he turned around and walked out of the room, leaving me speechless.
I stood there, staring at the door as it closed behind him, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog.
For a moment, I couldn't move, paralyzed by a swirl of emotions until my eyes caught the glint of the calling card he had mentioned, resting on the bedside table.
I took a hesitant step toward it, each movement feeling both foreign and deliberate. I stared at the card for several seconds, my heart pounding in my chest, before raising my hand to grasp it.
I swallowed hard, feeling an internal battle rage within me; I tightened my grip on the card and slipped it into my pocket.
The uncertainty of what to do gnawed at my insides. Was I truly being tempted by the allure of his offer—a substantial sum that could change everything?
"Ahhh," echoed a desperate scream in my mind, the chaos of conflicting thoughts overwhelming me.
One part of me vehemently resisted, while another was drawn toward the seductive promise of acceptance.
In my confusion, I made the decision to leave the room, hoping to find clarity outside those four walls.
But as I opened the door, I was met by an unexpected sight: two men clad in black, standing ready as if they had been waiting for me.
"Mr. Hidalgo sent us to take you home, Mr. Sanchez," one of them stated, his tone firm yet strangely polite. "This way, Mr. Sanchez."
Before I could gather my thoughts, my feet moved of their own accord, following them without a word.
- Writer
