I do not know if it was a dream or reality itself.
I wake up lying on the bed of my tiny apartment. And, yes, I like my apartment that way. I do not want a spacious apartment. It's for practicality. The less space you have, the less space you have to clean. However, still, as I lie down on my stone-cold bed, I feel like I have been in a dream. Did I truly meet Ysabel today? Did Professor Diwa truly forsake me and let me be taken away by her men? I look at my arms and legs. It appears that there was no sign of being bound by ropes.
That can't be sufficient proof that it did not happen. The marks could have just faded away through sleep. I look at the clock to check the time. It's already early morning. I guess it's time to get ready for work. Maybe I just had a rough day. Maybe I've been overworking myself with all these investigations and Mateo.
I look at my clothes, and it was just the same clothes I wore yesterday. My briefcase is where I'd usually put it, though I left it at the church if my memory serves me right. As I take out the papers in it, I notice something. There's that green spring leaf that blew on my shoulder. Truly, I cannot understand. Was it all a dream or reality? Did I see her or not?
I just shake my head at the thought. I clean up all the papers and return it all to the briefcase. Whatever that had happened, it is still another day. Mateo is still gone, Eloisa is still at the hospital along with Emma, and many people have already died in this war.
I sweep open the curtains of my apartment. I could use a little sunshine right now. Unfortunately, the sky is bleak and gray for it is still an autumn day. However, as I look around, fewer leaves are falling down. Autumn is ending. Winter is drawing near. The cold that blows in my heart will blow stronger as the snow will fall down.
As I was relishing in this moment of brief reflection, a ringing sound startles me from spine to heart. I look at the source of the ringing and it is only my phone. I look at the contact head. Oddly enough, this unknown number had been calling me for several times now. What could this be? I answer the call and clear my throat before speaking.
"Hello, good morning?" I say towards the caller.
"Is this Ms. Rosanna Aguinaldo?" the caller asks.
Quite odd. Who refers to me like that? I mean, sure. The elite, or sometimes even politicians, request us, reporters, to cover their press conferences and stuff like that. But, never had I been referred to like that. It was not only my name. It was always accompanied by the name of the paper, Lucia City Times. But now, I am referred to as my own person. Why? I think things through and take a deep breath before speaking.
"Yes? Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"
"Ms. Aguinaldo, we have been trying to contact you since last night. This is from the nurse's office of the ICU of St. Patrick's Medical Center. Your friend, Eloisa Acosta, is awake from her coma. You have to come see her."
As I hear those words, hope is alight in my eyes. She's awake! Finally! This is one of the little good news that I have received during these past few months. Thanks be to God. I feel the waters forming in my eyes as if I would cry with joy.
"I'm sorry if I had not answered the call," I respond to the nurse with suppressed joy. "How is she? Is she looking for a friendly face now? Does she speak kindly and ask for me?"
But then, she says nothing. A short silence had formed between us. I hear her breathing from the other side as if she was choosing the proper words to say.
"Miss? What is it?" I ask her.
"She– She does not ask for you, miss," she says hesitantly. "She does not ask for anyone. She can't ask for anyone right now. I'm sorry, miss."
Something about the way she said those words get to me. As I hear the gravity of her tone, the smile and joy from my face is wiped away. "Why– Why does she not ask for me, let alone anyone? Is it against the rules of the ICU?"
"No, miss." – she takes another breath as if the very words can't come out of her mouth – "It's just that she cannot ask for anyone. Her condition is still not great. You need to see it for yourself."
Though she keeps speaking, I am beginning to lose my patience with her. "What is this special condition that cannot be told over the phone? Why do you have to drag this on and not tell me what you mean?"
"I– I don't know how to tell you. It's just– "
"Speak frankly, miss," I interrupt her. "I do not want things to drag on when it can be told with one sentence."
"She–" she stammers. "She's in a state of catatonia."
Catatonia. As soon as I heard what the nurse said, I find my phone slipping out of fingers. As she explains the state to me, her words just go over my head. I simply nod to everything she says. I don't even know what she means. As this goes on, I simply drop the call and look up the term for myself. Catatonia, as it turns out, is a possible effect of drug intake.
Dear god, Eloisa. I don't know what to say.
I take the earliest bus headed for the hospital to see her. Work can wait but seeing her cannot. As I go through that same striking quiet halls, I cannot believe that I have to be here again. I shall have to experience the pain all over again. I head for the ICU and there is the nurse at her station looking around as if she is waiting for me.
"I'm here to see Eloisa Acosta. I was called earlier this morning informing me that she is now awake from her coma."
That's all I needed to say. The nurse rises from her seat and leads me inside the ICU.
"What's the status, nurse?" I ask to her as we walk pass these depressing halls.
"She's suffering from catatonia due to substance abuse," she says as she passes over her clipboard of notes. "There's also psychosis, also due to substance abuse."
Suddenly, she pauses. As I was about to take another step, she stops me short. "Miss Aguinaldo, this person you are about to see is no longer the same as the person you knew her to be before. We are also going to transfer her to the Institute for Mental Health. We cannot keep her here for much longer as she is already awake. She needs – "
"Wait, are you saying that she will be locked up with the nutcases at that asylum?"
They are going to lock Eloisa. While I was interning, I recall all those times at the mental institution of Lucia City. Dear god! That day. As I try to recall the cold winter day, all I see are flashes – flashes of memories of shivering patients, electrocuted schizophrenics, and tortured souls. It was only a few years ago, and yet, my memories refuse to come back to me as a whole. As I think of this, I merely shake away all those thoughts. No. As much as possible, she will stay here where she will be treated with the best care.
"I wouldn't call it asylum, miss, but – "
"And, you will just treat her miserably until she dies, right? I have seen this before, nurse. You are forgetting I am a journalist. I saw how patients are treated there and you would very well keep her away from there. I know what will become of her if you let her stay there. She will only die of neglect and abuse. She will be electrocuted without anesthetic. She will be caged instead of letting her be treated. You might as well have sentenced her to prison."
"Miss, these are not my orders, the doctor – "
"The doctor can go to hell," I say to her frankly. "I don't use this card often, but Eloisa is an Acosta. The Acosta couple might have had their marriage annulled, but you are forgetting that they are one of the wealthiest in Lucia City. They would sue you if you let her treat her like an animal."
"Miss, this news is old. The state of – "
"I don't care! She will stay in this hospital." I gaze into her eyes. I can feel the fury blazing out of my heart. I shan't let them touch her. Still, I know what she's thinking right now. "Oh, is the hospital more concerned about money? Alright. How much does the Acosta family need to pay this hospital to keep Eloisa sane? I know you. This hospital is just squeezing money out of patients. And I thought people in the medical field are the most ethical people I know. Just like what this hospital did to Mateo Macedo."
I know she's trying to interrupt me, but I am taking control of this conversation. I see her flush as I point out the truth, but I am not quite done yet. She can keep her tears to herself, but she will listen to me. "You let him be taken away by some lady that paid good money to erase his records off this hospital. Isn't that right?"
That's when I realize my voice raised too high to the point that the other staff are looking at both of us. In front of me is a nurse crying her heart out. The others just look at me with scorn as if I am a spoiled elite that did not get the treatment that I want.
"Miss Aguinaldo, what you say is true," she says through her broken speech due to tears. "But, what could we do, miss? We are only nurses. We only follow orders. As for Miss Acosta's case, the doctors did not think that you can pay for her treatment that is why they are planning to send her off to the mental institution. Nothing changed, miss. It was still the same."
Her tears do not move me. I scoff her off and go ahead of her to Eloisa's room. "Then I believe we understand each other," I say to her, looking back as she cries. "She will stay no matter what you say."
*
I enter her room. There she is lying on the bed. Nothing to say to me. Just like what the internet had said about catatonic patients. Yes, she has nothing to say, but I see the agitation in her fingers as she fiddles through them – a mannerism she never had. Had she not been bound to bed by all these machines, I feel that she would move around this room in her agitation.
Slowly, I approach her and take a seat by her side. "Eloisa," I say gently to her. "How are you?"
"Cheater. Liar. Whore."
That makes no sense to me. I saw her through her good and bad days, but never did she say the word 'whore'. It makes you think what she meant by that. "Huh?" I say to her. "I don't believe I understand."
"Diary," she replies back. "Cheater. Liar. Whore."
Once more, she repeats those words. I don't understand what she means. "What diary?" I ask her again.
"Bag. Drawer."
I guess she means that I should check the bag inside the drawer of her side table. As I scurry through the drawer, I see her bag and inside it, it's just Emma's diary. Huh? This was just a relic of the days when the mystery was much simpler. And now, here it is again. Does she want me to return to the search for the man? I open the diary again, and much to my shock, many of the pages are torn away. This diary was a beautiful notebook when I first saw it, and now, it's just a mess of torn pages as if it was swept by a flood.
"Did you do this?" I ask.
"Cheater. Liar. Whore."
She says those words again. I believe she will not answer the question. I open the diary to read one of the entries. The first thing I see, after the torn first pages is an undated entry.
*
Years and years of practice go by, and finally, I fulfilled one of the lifelong dreams I've had. I have long watched the performances at Metro Arts Theater ever since I was young. And now, it is the final rehearsal day. I shall perform before my people. The best part of all, he is here by my side. Unfortunately, though. I am not the star of this show, but he is. I am only his accompanist.
Violin Sonata No. 9 of Beethoven is a beautiful work of art. I hear him play the opening bars of the piece. The empty chairs that will be filled with people tomorrow crumbles me down on my knees. All of a sudden, I almost forget my part. I am an accompanist. I need to keep up with him. He does not keep up with me.
I hide my nervousness with a smile. I suppose he is very much immersed with the piece that is why he hardly paid attention with my mistake of missing my part.
I let it go. I have to perform. There is supposed to be nothing between us. I'm with Mateo. I love and care for him. I should love and care for him, and yet, why these moments. Why do I feel some attraction in a man that hardly feels the same? He blows hot. He blows cold. I do not even know if he feels the same.
As I play my notes, I hear a slight ringing sound from my side. I had forgotten that I had put my handbag beside me. Dear god, I forgot to tell him that this would be a full rehearsal. Mateo must be worried.
"Concentrate on the piece," he said coldly. "Do you think if you perform on stage tomorrow, you have the chance to 'take a break' and answer a call? Finish this movement. Then answer it."
Even as he says those words, he is still playing his notes as I do mine. Little by little, I no longer grew wary of who is on the other side. Instead, his piercing eyes captivate my soul. It was to the point that I was no longer reading my notes but reading his eyes.
"You are no longer reading the piece," he said as he continues his playing.
"I believe I had it memorized," I said back to him.
"What if you forget? Remember our rule: concentrate on the piece."
No, I do not listen to him. Instead, I continued gazing into his eyes as if we are playing a game of who will break first. I believe it will be he. But no. None of us breaks. As the agitation of this piece goes on, all we could do is draw closer to one another, but never touching each other as we continue playing the sonata.
And then, suddenly. He comes to me face to face. I almost shrink away from his intimidation, but I know better than to fear him. I am not afraid of him. I continued playing my piece even though he acts like that. I feel my breath getting tighter, but I am a more formidable opponent than he.
And then, suddenly. I did not expect that he would do it. He presses his lips against mine and I cannot do anything but let it go on. I cannot keep my fingers off the keys. Even as he keeps his lips on mine, he continues to play the piece, but I cannot help but let go.
As he breaks away, I cannot believe what just happened. He kissed me. He actually did that. As I come to this realization, I realize that I broke away. I lost.
"Concentrate on the piece," he said with that sadistic smile of his. "Young accompanist, do not let distractions such as I play with you."
At the end of the day, it meant nothing to him, but it did mean something to me. At the end of the hall, I see a figure watching this rehearsal.
I felt like I have made the biggest mistake of my life.
Mateo. He saw everything.
*
Dear god. I was led to believe that Mateo was the villain of Emma's story when in fact, it was she who cheated first. I was wrong. I said many things to Mateo that I should regret. Eloisa taking Mateo's side became clearer to me. And, as she says right now, she is not as pure as I thought her to be.
Cheater. Liar. Whore. This is what the real Emma Concepcion is. She is not as pure as the world thinks her to be.