27 Loyalty

May 17, 2013

5:53 pm

Christine Romulo

Date night.

Officially, we have been seeing each other for two weeks. I feel him hold my hand as he walks me all around the city. He may guide me with his gentle hands, but all I can remember is that Manila folder with red ink written all over the papers. The nights haunt me of these thoughts that even though he is with me, I cannot help but see him in the arms of another. I cannot help but think of the times when he is not with me. Is he in bed with another woman?

I have no rights to think of him this way. A woman like me, who has slept with so many, has no rights to suspect him of such. Isn't it even if we both had our share of despicable pasts? A woman like me, whose name is known to all elite households as a whore, can also have a man who had a past. Is it not only just?

Once more, I am spiraling in my thoughts. I put on another dress from my closet. As I sit before my vanity to prepare myself, I can see my blank face. I see my bags another my eyes heavier than the clouds of thunderstorms. I see the flatness of my hair. As I look at myself, I see all the imperfections that haunt my thoughts. How can this person be lovable? If Morris is right, no one truly loved me for who I am. I'm just a whore. With tears falling from my eyes, I just shake all my thoughts away.

Mateo is here. He says he loves me. Pray God he is. I take a tissue from the box and wipe the tears away. I slowly apply some powders on my face to make it shine. I open my jewelry box and take my diamond chain necklace. As I put on my earrings, a wind blows over into my room. From my behind, I hear something fall on the floor. I look back only to see that it is just Morris' folder. The photos that were once bounded by a paper clip is blown over my room. In each photo, it only speaks the message – Mateo is not for me. Many are telling me to break it off, but I love him. I can't let him go.

As much as I want to avoid each photo, each step I take is one step nearer to another proof that our relationship is wrong. I can't take this anymore. I get out of my room and slam the door behind me. Once more, I feel all the jewels crushing the life out of me. I feel the dress squeezing my beliefs and trusts. My breath is slowly running out. My sweat is cold like seeing a murder right before my eyes. As I hold the railings of the path leading down our staircase, I can feel my palms slipping away.

Morris is a liar. It can't be true. I can almost scream for his lies had I not been inside of our home.

"Damn you for placing doubts in my heart!" I exclaim in my mind as I think of Morris. "How can a person like you who hardly cared do this to me?"

From a far-off distance, I hear someone passing by my room. As I look back, it is only Bethany, the maid.

"Clean up my room, please," I say to her in haste. "And if you see any photos on the floor, just burn it all away."

*

"You have been silent for a while."

Those are the words he said as I stare out into the open blue of the window of his car. As I look, all I can see are the darkness of the city. I see beggars asking for alms hopelessly from the rich bourgeoisie passing by. Not a single person casts their eyes on them. I see mothers carrying young children in their arms as they eat the little bread the kind people have given them. I see emancipated old men being high on meth. It was if meth is their only escape from this world of suffering. How can I have been so blind to all of these? Are these the true effects of corruption in this country?

"Christine, are you alright?"

With his gentle hand, he takes my hand and takes it into his. I look back into his eyes. In this rising moon night sky, I see his eyes glimmer with the stars. His smile speaks as if he would take away my soul.

"Yes, I'm fine," I say to him as I look straight ahead.

As I look ahead, I see once more the beauty of this city in the rising lights of the skyline. It was as if all the darkness had gone away.

"Are you sure you want to go out? We can go back. If you want some rest, we can have a rest. We all need rest."

As he says those words, I look at him once more. His eyes speak as if it rings more for him than me. "I should be asking if you are alright. Many things are going on for you."

All he needs to do is let out a weary smile. I see through him. He's also tired. It is not his fault for having a plundering father. He's just a son who wants to have a good name, and yet, he is trapped in his father's doings. "Politics is crazy," he says simply as he drives on. "I suppose you saw the papers. My father is ordered to leave office, and I am under fire for defending his name."

However noble he tries to be, he is making the wrong choice. If he keeps defending his father, it would be his name that will go down. All I could do is shake my head amidst all this. "Why are you defending him anyway? Can't you just live your own life and let things go the way it should be? If someone makes a mistake, why not let justice take its course?"

As he takes a turn, I can feel his voice rising slightly. It was as if he is trying to keep his patience with me, though he wants to blow up. "It is not a matter of defending him, but a matter of defending myself. My name is attached to his. I can't just marry off to change my surname and forget all that was. Even if he is indeed a plunderer, which is still in question, we need to keep the Macedo name clean."

"How is it still into question? The papers already say that there is sufficient evidence for your father to be charged with multiple counts of graft and corruption."

"Loyalty," he says icily. "That's all I need to say. You forget, Christine, how an elite family works. You cannot trust anyone but family. If one is involved in a mess, you are to stick together and prevent it from spreading further. It is not only beneficial for one, but for all."

Loyalty. As he says that word, I remember that fucking folder. I wish I could have burned it all myself. "What would you know about that word?" I say to myself as I think of that object. All those evidence and red ink, how could he place doubt in my heart? "You do not know what that word means."

All of a sudden, he stops the car to the side of the road. In this cooled space of air-conditioning and night breeze, I can still feel the heat in the air. "Are you trying to question my loyalty, Christine?" he asks frankly. I see fire burst from his eyes as he speaks. The mild-mannered man I knew a month ago suddenly went away in this disagreement. It was as if I see a reflection of myself right beside me. He is the true person I can call "a challenge more than I."

"I did not say that I question your loyalty. I just – "

"Then why is it that you have been silent and talking to yourself about loyalty? If there is someone who should be questioning the true meaning of loyalty, it would be me."

"My loyalty?" So, it is now I who has the fault? I feel my hands reach for the door handle amidst this argument. We have only been in a relationship for two weeks, and yet, we are finally having an argument. Heat flows through my veins as I find the words to say.

"I see the way you look at that man from church. Do you not think I cannot see those gazes and tension between you, two?"

And now, he is envious. Cars pass by our sides. Despite the noise from outside, all we can hear is ourselves. "Who are you talking about? Mister Silang? He's the main pianist, and I am just a minister-in-training. Why would – "

"And so you dare to play dumb! Christine, you are smarter than this! You know who I'm talking about, and you refuse to acknowledge it. Who is that man that I see with you every time I come to see you every Sunday?"

Yes, I know who he is talking about, but I dare not acknowledge it. How could there be any tension or gazes between the two of us? There is nothing between Morris and I. Frankly, the religious man and liberated woman don't do together. In reality, he made me speechless. I have no words to say. I pause for a minute to think of what to say to him, but my mouth fails me.

"He's my sister's friend. Are you jealous of a working-class person?"

"You underplay your words. You say working-class, but why can't you say the truth that he is a peasant? You don't know who he is at all, and that just makes it worse. If he had been another Romulo-like figure, I would yield, but I shan't lose to a peasant. Stay away from him. Clearly, he has you played too."

Amidst this argument, I feel like I have made a mistake. Did I bind myself to a relationship I cannot stand by?