BOOK 2

VITTO'S POINT- OF- VIEW

Flowers bloom at different times of the year. There are those that blossom to kiss the warmth of summer, while others survive even amidst the frost of the cold seasons. But she is the kind that blossoms all year round, surviving the hot and cold of my temperament. Thinking that I was protecting her from my storm, I pushed her away. And now, there's nothing in my garden but a desolate, wilting vines of my wind- swept heart that I idiotically murdered when I left her heartbroken in that cursed parking lot.

"Bud, you have to stay with your mother while Pa is away, okay?"

It wasn't until I was ten that I fully comprehend how dysfunctional my family tree was. I had no choice but to stay with my mother and her family when Pa decided to pursue his career in US. At least, that was what he told me before he left. But I knew my Pa better than anyone— how he forces a huge smile whenever he has to tell me a lie. He went to US for me, not for him. My teachers had always talk him out of transferring me to a bigger school where my potential would be better catered as they put it. And when we received an acceptance letter to an elite private school, I have to pretend to believe his white lies and let him go. Afterall, even if he's going because of me, it's still an opportunity for him to spread his wings without me weighing him down.

At a young age I made myself swear I wouldn't believe in things that Science could not explain. Love? Isn't it just a blend of chemistry and social construct? Everything has to get a fitting formula to acquire the required effect. Isn't it that the usual cause of lab explosions is miscalculation? If not, then why did my parents misconstrue desire with love?

I was already aware that I couldn't have a normal family even before I met my mother. But after meeting her and her family, I had become so certain that I would never allow anyone to take the burden of the distress I bore because of my parents' profane misstep. How could I ever be confident that I'll never make the same mistake, when clearly, I have both my parents' blood running in my veins? How could I ever attach myself to anything... anyone, when the only pet I ever cared for was killed because of me? When the only person I have in my life have to leave to make way for a better future for me? How could I ever believe that attachment wouldn't cost me anything when it already costed me two of the only best things I had in life?

As a child, no one knew how my closet became my refuge every time I need to escape from the consuming abyss of living in my mother's mansion that never became a home to me even after staying there for five years. How could I even sleep in the same unnecessarily large bed where I saw my lifeless pet, the 10-year-old Aspin whom my Pa loved so dearly, his blood a stark contrast against the pristine whiteness of the expensive sheets? I can still hear Desmond's manic laughter while he's holding the bloody knife he used to slit my poor dog's neck. The way he screamed how my breedless dog deserve to be thrown in Pasig River with me, its low-class owner. No one knew how I was in there while he ransacks my room, hollering how I do not deserve anything in that house, how he'll make my life a living hell as long as I was there. No one knew how I stifled my cries while hiding in that corner of my closet, hoping that my Pa hears my silent plea of getting me out of that hell they call a mansion. I almost begged my Pa to come home and get me every time he calls, but I have to keep pretending that I was fine whenever I see the life flicker in his eyes telling me animated stories of how his day in the lab went. It was his dream to be a medicinal chemist, a dream he has to postpone when I was born, a dream he almost had to let go when he chose to raise me. And now that it's in the palm of his hands, who am I to take that dream away?

"How can I forget that you had been a wild woman when every time I look at your son, it's your face and his father's that I see?"

It was my first Christmas eve with the Solasta's after the pretentious family dinner with some of my mother's and the Senator's relatives, that I overheard him confronted her in his drunken state. I was supposed to see him in his study, to thank him for the unnecessary lavish gift he gave me for the occasion. I wasn't comfortable with anyone in the house, most especially not him, but my Pa taught me to be thankful of whatever I receive. But I saw how he hurled the bottle of whisky right in front my mother's face while screaming how she whored herself with a beautiful younger guy all because she couldn't stomach the fact that she's married to an older ugly bastard like him. That it shows how he was the only one who loves their son Desmond seeing how he got nothing from her beautiful face. That it was all her fault that their son became rebellious and how it was my fault that he's gotten worse for having everything that Desmond couldn't have.

My mother was fast to hide her teary face with indifference the moment she caught me standing in front the study's threshold, while the Senator watched me with unguarded expression, clearly flabbergasted with my unannounced presence. But I wasn't there to hear them argue of my existence, I was there to deliver my thanks for the Senator's gift. A gift that doesn't come from sincerity, but from the responsibility of having another child in the house. I fisted my shaky tiny palms and swallowed the tears burning my throat.

"I only want to say my thanks for your gift, sir. I'm sorry for the intrusion."

I didn't stay to watch the Senator's reaction. But after that incident, something about him has changed. He kept giving me needless gift and sends me friendly smiles every chance he gets, giving me compliments with my achievements. But how can I trust him after what I've heard? It was imprinted in my young mind how adults have the habit of lying. Just like my Pa when he told me he has to leave for work when in fact he has to leave for my mother to fund my studies in that elite private school. Like the Senator when he kept playing nice when in reality, he hates my existence because I carry with me my parent's face. Yet, the only honest person around me hates me to the pits of hell because of having this face— Desmond.

"You think having that pretty face will save you from the hideousness of this world? Mom and your father should have had their second thoughts when they passed on that beautiful face on you. I'll make your life a living hell because of that!"

Even after I'm freed from the grip of Desmond's misdirected insecurity, I still couldn't find the courage to not hide through the overgrown fringes, ill- fitting clothes, and detached demeanor which gave me solace amidst the hurricane I experienced from my mother's family. The five years I stayed with them only solidified my belief that no one deserves to be saddled with my cynical perception of relationships brought by my chaotic family drama. If this face has brought me chaos in the first place, then it's this face that I should keep hiding. And I continued wearing a mask that would keep me from the things that cost me my peace. There is inner peace in solitude, and that I must maintain.

But she came like a storm, frantically railroading the high walls I set from me and the noise of the world. She was in every direction I suppose to go to, in every corner I intend to hide. She even made me strip off my mask one by one until I'm bared to the noise I desperately try to run from. Until I began to get used with her chaos that I push through the storm I hate the most to pull her back. Until all my logical reasoning escapes my brain and it's only her and my love for her that's left reasonable. Oreonina Acosta. Her. The tiny bunny who was able to jumped over my tall fences. God, how much I love her. But it's the same love that got me doubting myself. Can I really trust this blood flowing in me that I wouldn't inflict her what my parents had inflicted with each other? They said that an apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Even Science proves that a child's trait only come from his parents' gene pool. How can I be different from the two persons who decided to let go of each other? How can I be so sure that my DNA won't betray Oreo in the end?

Now I'm one of those adults who keep on telling lies. I told her that I wouldn't get tired. But here I am, hiding the moment I realized I want her more than the oxygen I need to keep alive. That I want more than what we have now but the desire all crashed down when the trauma came rushing like a muddy water from a broken dam. Isn't it that I have my Pa's same age when he claimed he fell in love with my mother, promising himself to do anything to marry an already married woman? But what does it cost him? What would my love cost Oreo? I love her so damn much I wanted to smash my car against the most solid concrete when I heard her crying, saw her struggling against the grip of her cousin to get back to me. She has no idea I left my heart with her when I decided to drive away. And if it's only so simple to shrug off the torment of my childhood, I would have been in front of her now, kneeling and begging until she takes me back. But she doesn't deserve to be burdened with my storms. She's a very beautiful chaos that flipped off the lid of my pretentious peace. So, until I have no idea what to make of the darkness in me, I don't think that I deserve even a flicker of her light.

But until when?

Even these hours without her, I can already feel the years of my life being taken away from me.