I flopped onto my bed, the springs groaning under my weight. My mind was a chaotic mess of static and unanswered questions. I need to visit the computer shop tomorrow. This situation was no longer something I could just shrug off; it was a splinter in my mind, festering.
I couldn't let this go on. This wasn't a "mere dream," for heaven's sake. I was fully aware of the difference. Is there a dream where you can feel the ghost of someone's warm breath against your skin as they sit beside you? Where the phantom weight of their presence lingers long after you wake?
I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't have the heart—or the nerve—to tell Sage that I completely disagreed with her "overthinking" theory. Am I being transported to a different world? I wondered, covering my face with my palms.
A heavy sigh escaped me. My thoughts kept drifting back to the events of the day and the last time I was with that man—the one my classmates seemed so obsessed with. Maybe I needed to start from scratch. Reach out to the author of that hellish story? But how? Information on a reclusive writer wasn't exactly something you could find on a street corner.
I scratched my head in sheer frustration. Who wouldn't be losing their mind in this position? It felt like a maze with no exit.
I reached for my phone—a cheap, battered thing that looked prehistoric compared to the sleek gadgets my peers carried. Should I make a call?
"Of course, Ensley!" I muttered to the empty room. "That's all this brick is good for anyway."
The reality of my situation settled over me like a cold shroud. Poverty didn't just make life hard; it made solving a supernatural mystery nearly impossible. I checked the time and forced myself to succumb to a restless sleep.
xxx
The next morning, I was jolted awake by a few high pitched of voices erupting from outside. It was a woman's voice—sharp and shrill—and my gut immediately knew what this was about. I scrambled out of bed, my heart sinking.
"I'm telling you, Ofelia! I'll have you thrown in jail if you don't pay me back within three months!" A woman with a tight, curly bun perched atop her head was jabbering and pointing a finger at my mother.
"Fine! I already agreed, didn't I?!" my mother shrieked back, her voice trembling with a mix of defiance and rage. "If you want, I'll take that two fifty bucks and smash it over your head! It'll match that ridiculous bun you're wearing!"
"What is this? Whack-a-mole?" a teenager snickered from the growing crowd of neighbors gathered at our gate. Some were laughing, others were whispering, treating our family's collapse like a free morning soap opera.
"You have the nerve to talk to me like that? Maybe I should move up your deadline!" The woman lunged toward my mother, but my father held her back, his face a mask of desperation.
I stepped between them, my hands trembling. I realized then it was Aling Nely—the second wife of the barangay captain. She was a notorious gambler, much like the woman standing behind me, but Nely actually won. She was the queen of the local sharks, and my mother was her latest catch.
"Please, Nely, let's be reasonable," my father pleaded, whispering to my mother to keep her quiet.
"Control your wife! All she does is bark!"
"What do you care?! I'll pay you!" my mother yelled.
"With what?! Everyone knows your daughter is the only one keeping this family afloat! We all know she's the one who's going to pay your debt!" Nely spat, before turning to me with a softening expression. "I'm sorry, Ley. I didn't mean to wake you up with your mother's nonsense."
"It's okay, Ate Nely. I'm sorry too," I replied with a forced, fragile smile.
"You're lucky I pity your daughter, Ofelia, or I'd have come for your head sooner!" Nely shot one last glare at my mother before the crowd dispersed, the "show" finally over.
"That old hag. Acting like she won't get her money," my mother hissed, shaking my father's hands off her. She turned her venom toward me. "Thanks for nothing! Damn it." She marched back into the house, leaving a trail of bitterness behind her.
My heart felt like it had been bruised. You'd think I'd be used to her sharp tongue by now, but it still cut deep. I looked down at my feet, the tears threatening to spill.
"Ofelia! What's wrong with you?!" my father called after her before turning to me. He stroked my messy, sleep-tangled hair. "Don't mind her, child. You know how she gets."
"At least she listened to Aling Nely, right, Tay?" I joked weakly, though my eyes were wet. He kissed my temple and led me inside.
I wondered what I had ever done to deserve her resentment. I did everything for them. I sacrificed my youth and my peace just to keep them happy, yet it was never enough.
My father offered me a breakfast of carabao milk and dried fish, but I politely declined. I needed to get to the computer shop early. I had a shift at the cafe later, and time was a luxury I didn't have.
xxx
When I reached the computer shop, my heart sank again. Every single one of the twenty slots was taken. I stood awkwardly at the entrance, feeling the weight of twenty pairs of eyes on me, wondering why I was just hovering there like a ghost.
A man with thick, groomed brows and gelled hair—his left eyebrow pierced with two silver studs—approached me.
"Are you looking for a slot, Miss?"
I nodded mutely. He seemed friendly enough, but my voice felt trapped in my throat.
"We're full. But... if you want, you can use mine."
He led me to the administrator's desk. "Where's Cain?" I asked, noticing the change in staff.
"Ah, my cousin? His parents sent him abroad to study," he explained, noticing my confusion. I wish my family could have a life like that someday.
"Oh, I see." I sank into the red-and-black gaming chair he offered.
"The name's Kael Yahwi Madrigal." He held out his hand.
"Ensley," I replied, shaking it briefly before looking away. Madrigal? Like the famous computer cafe near the university? I pushed the thought aside. I was here for answers, not social networking.
I felt his gaze on me as I started, and it made my skin crawl with self-consciousness. He was just standing there, stroking his chin. Just as I was about to ask him to leave, he chuckled. "Guess you're not comfortable with an audience."
He pointed to a sofa near a private door. "I'll be over there. Just holler when you're done."
With Kael gone, I finally breathed. I began my search. I typed in the author's pen name, and while dozens of stories popped up, there was no trace of Underground Associates. It was as if the book didn't exist in this reality.
I rubbed my temples. I searched for hours, scouring social media accounts that hadn't been touched in a year. Nothing. My frustration was mounting. I leaned my head into my palms, defeated.
A shadow fell over me. Kael.
"What's the matter? You look like the internet just personally offended you. This is the fastest connection in the area, you know," he teased.
I stood up, ignoring the joke. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nah. Consider it a loss on your end since you didn't find what you wanted. No need to pay." He stood with his hands on his hips, looking far too casual.
I insisted, trying to hand him a hundred-peso bill. I didn't know if it was too much or too little for five hours, but I hated being in debt.
"Fine, I'll take it," he laughed. "Wouldn't want you to stop coming here because you feel guilty about freebies."
I managed a small smile and hurried out, probably looking quite rude for my lack of a proper goodbye. I headed to a convenience store, my stomach growling. As I stood in line for a microwave meal, something caught my eye on the bookstand.
Underground Associates.
The title was embossed on a thick spine. Please don't be blank like the last one, I prayed.
"Will you be taking that too, Ma'am?" the cashier asked.
I jumped, realizing I was at the front of the line. "A-ah, yes. How much?"
"Thirty Five, I believe."
I checked my wallet. One hundred left. It was a steep price for a girl who had to count every cent for jeepney fare and tuition, but if this book held the key, it was worth every cent. I slapped a one-hundred-dollar bill on the counter and left with the book tucked under my arm.
I walked to the coffee shop to save on fare. By the time I arrived, I was breathless and sweating. I collapsed into a chair in the back room, the clock on the wall mocking me: 2:00 PM.
I was late, I was exhausted, and I hadn't even eaten my lunch.
"Ensley! Are you okay? You look like you've been dragged through a field," Ira said, trying to fix my disheveled hair.
"Stop it, Ira," Kulas scolded, handing me a glass of water.
The cold water was a godsend. Ira pointed a fan at me, and I slowly started to feel human again. I watched them bicker as I put my meal in the microwave, my mind still half-buried in the mystery of the book.
"Why are you both here? Is someone at the cashier?" I asked. They scrambled out, realizing they'd left the front unattended. I could hear a disgruntled customer outside, their voice raised in annoyance.
After eating, I tied on my apron and got to work. Ira handed me an order, and I quickly prepared the drinks. I served two young women at a corner table and lingered near the counter, catching fragments of their conversation.
"...how could I resist? Who wouldn't chase a man like that?"
"But he's so rude, Czarina! He literally humiliated you. Is that really your type?"
"Don't you get it?" the girl named Dina replied. "Red flags are just more attractive. I've always liked crimson. Good looks are one thing, but there's a reason people love the forbidden fruit."
I scoffed internally. What's the point of a handsome face if the soul behind it is garbage? Sure, if he wasn't so arrogant and foul-mouthed, I'd admit he was striking. I could see why girls flocked to him. He was beautiful.
But how is that attractive? Every time he spoke to me, my blood boiled. The shame he made me feel eclipsed any physical appeal he had. He used his words like a scalpel, cutting through my dignity just to see me flinch. That was his forte: being a well-dressed boor.
Wait... who am I even talking about, Ensley?
I froze. Why had his face suddenly flashed into my mind? Why was I comparing some stranger's conversation to the man from my "dreams"—or reality?
Seriously, Ensley. Who?
I turned on my heel and retreated into the kitchen. I didn't want to hear another word. I didn't want to think about "him"—whoever "he" was. He was grumpy, ill-mannered, and a complete headache. There was no way I found him attractive.
Hell no. There was absolutely no way.