Their Days of Nights

27 : Demons

Kimberly

Friday

"We're not expecting you. What brings you back?" That's the first thing my father said after he opened the gate when I arrived last night.

"Cherry's persistence," I answered.

It's true. My cousin had been bugging me for weeks now about coming back to this town and this house, so she can get my measurements for the bridesmaid dress that she wants me to wear on her upcoming wedding. It's also true that I completely forgot about it until it came on top of my mind when my father asked what brought me here.

My mother seconded the motion when I entered the living room. And I tried my best not to roll my eyes at them.

When I don't see or talk to them or go back here, they'd ask reasons for my silence and absence. And now that I'm here, albeit unannounced, they asked why. Seconds into this house and my parents have already pushed me to the edge of my sanity.

I'm in bed in my old room, lying on my back with my hands behind my head.

Some of the constellations on the ceiling are missing one or two stars already. Other than that, the room is just like how I left it the last time I was here—almost eleven months ago. My bed is still the same old one, but the sheets are clean and unfamiliar. My books are arranged the way that I did. And yet, something here doesn't resonate with me anymore.

I grab my phone from the side of the pillow under my head. I turned it on again last night. I had to keep my body awake, and that's the only source of preoccupation I have right now. It's almost seven p.m. on its clock. Any minute now, my parents will be back from the farm. I drop my arm with the phone still in my hand.

Early this morning, I checked some of the messages that I didn't get to read during the week. They're all from Benjie. I went online and read tweets. I opened my Facebook as well, where he also sent a private message.

The keyword is always.

That last line lingers longer that it should. I can still read it as I stare at the blank walls of this room. He said those words before. I believed them then. I know he means it still. And I believe that as well.

I didn't reply. Though, I want so badly to hit the call button just to hear his voice; to hear him assure me that everything will be fine. That will be enough. I want to tell him everything and nothing at the same time. But then there's this part of me that keeps on breaking, the cracks are branching out to the rest of me. And I don't want that part of me hurting him or anyone for that matter—not anymore.

I hear that old pick-up enters the garage. The screen door bangs. The door of my parents' room—which is next to mine—opens and shuts. There are footsteps outside. Then I hear sounds from the TV.

I get up and go out. My parents are already at the dining table. My mother calls me to go there as well.

I walk further to the kitchen and get myself a plate and utensils. I sit down on my usual side of the table and join my parents on a typically quiet and awkward dinner. Just like the old times.

*

I'm on the couch, watching the rest of the evening news as I drink my coffee. My father is out at the veranda, while my mother washes the dishes.

I stay put until I can no longer hear the clangs of plates, glass, and pots. I turn the TV off, go down back to the dining table, and wait for my mother to finish cleaning the edges of the sink.

"I-I need to a-ask you some questions," I say the moment she turns around and sees me.

"About what?"