This chapter depicts emotional struggles, mental exhaustion, depression, eating disorder, and other topics that some viewers may find disturbing and/or triggering. If you prefer, you can skip this chapter. Reader's discretion is advised.
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I am exhausted, but not really — physically, no; but mentally, yes. I haven't done anything but to endlessly stare at the ceiling since Ash and I had that confrontation. My eyes sting as colors begin to float around and everything starts to move and sway. I want to rub my eyes but I have no energy to lift my hand; just thinking about moving tires me. My heart sometimes beats faster than it should be, other times I swear it skips beats. I am tired; I want to rest, but I can't sleep. My eyelids are heavy, but closing them seems tiring. There are countless things swirling in my mind.
I thought I got this. I was the beginning of all this, after all. I have Mariana's help. I have my past life experience. I have knowledge about this world. I have everything a person could ask for – people, influence, power, money; you name it all. At least, that's what I thought. Turns out I lack something; I have no brain. At least Cher was just clueless. Me? I am both clueless and stupid.
Mariana constantly warned me about this world no longer be a figment of my imagination, but I brushed it aside. My dumb self even stopped her from contacting me. Ash regularly questioned my ideas; I thought he was jealous of my wonderful mind. Such a joke!
"Hey, am I really that kind of person?"
"Ari…" Mariana calls me using my original name. I can't see her, but I can tell by her voice that she's worried for me and scared that she'll lose me again.
"I don't… I'm no longer Ari… I wish I was still her… she's strong and a great person," I whisper. "Me… I'm broken. I'm stupid. I should have known that something was wrong, I should've acknowledged it and tried to solve it. Instead, I denied it and grew terrible as time went by. I'm thirty years old, for fuck's sake, I'm not a four-year-old kid, I should've known better!" I say, my voice becoming increasingly louder.
"Please don't say that…"
"But it's true, admit it. I won't get mad anymore so you can just tell me the truth... I'm too tired to argue, anyway."
"That's not true."
"Seriously, I'm giving you one chance to tell the truth, and you didn't? What are you, a bootlicker?"
Here I am again, snapping at people who aren't at fault.
"Please stop being hard on yourself."
"But I need to be! I need to wake up from this shit. Bring me back! Now!" I sit up and throw a pillow. It landed on the floor. I know Mariana wouldn't get hit since she can't be here, but it's nice to think of the pillow smacking her face.
"It's your fault. It's all your fault! If you hadn't put me in this shitty world, I wouldn't feel like this."
"If I hadn't put you here, you wouldn't feel anything at all. You'd be dead!"
"Being dead is better than this! Bring me back!"
"Stop. Please. Don't."
"You stop, you piece of shit!"
"Enough! I won't talk to you until you stop acting like a brat and start acting the way you should be."
I heard a snap inside of me and felt a cold, hole form from within. The connection between Mariana and I is severed.
"Fuck." I slump back down on the bed and continue staring at the ceiling.
It is all my fault. I was the one who created Mariana. I was the one who imagined this world. I was the one who made this world my source material for my novel. I was the one who killed myself. I was the one who acted like a brat. I was the one who made my decisions. I was the one who acted the way I did. It was all me.
I hear a knock from the outside. But like always, none walks in. It is probably Nanny delivering my food. Maybe it is time for me to eat… which I haven't done properly for the past few days since I lost my appetite.
It took me a while and a lot of stamina to walk and open the door. I see a light course meal placed in a bronze tea cart. I pull the cart inside and sit on my chair. I arrange everything at the table before taking a bite of pumpkin soup. I have three bites in when my stomach churns. I start retching and spit out the food from my mouth.
I run to the bathroom and vomit everything in the bowl. My disheveled hair sticks on my sticky face and neck. "I'm such a mess…"
I stayed in my room for a whole month, neither letting anyone inside nor talking to anybody. Not even Mariana. I ate less and less and dazed more and more as days went by. My appetite diminished to the point that I hurled whenever I looked at my food. If I stared at it for more than a minute, I would start to vomit acid out of my mouth.
The back of my head rests on the once fluffy carpet floor that is now sticky and musty. I feel like an uglier version of Robin Scherbatsky when she got wasted after she broke up with Don Frank on episode 1 of season 6 of HIMYM; but instead of Cheetos on my hair, it is covered with dried up saliva, tears, and vomit. I disgust myself, and I don't have a Barney Stinson to light the fire in me to get sundressed up.
A push, that's all I need and I swear I will change… but I have pushed away the people who would push me out of my shit. I have no one beside me now. I finally realize how miserable I am and how much damage I caused — not only to myself but to others as well.
Tears trickle down behind my ears as I silently cry. The big grandfather clock makes a lot of tiks and toks as the sun slowly but steadily disappears from view. Even though it was getting dark, I remained motionless.
With much thought, I leap to my feet and sprint out the door. Enough is enough. I am done with pushing others away. Though my tacky uncombed locks stand up like Albert Einstein's hair on that famous picture of his and my dingy dress gives out a rancid smell, I dash towards the West Wing. Heavy puffs of air and thuds of my soles make the people I pass by look in my direction.
"Saridayang!" I hear them call after me in shock.
"ASH!" I shout at the top of my lungs when I see the person I wanted to see the most on my foyer talking to some people and I race down the steps faster than I've descended before.
Everyone freezes when they hear my hoarse voice; their dilated eyes follow my small frame as I stumble and run towards them. I stare at his red eyes and agape mouth for a long time, my lips trembling and my body shaking as I try to hold back my tears. However, it only takes a few moments for me to whimper and reach for his embrace. I'm sorry, I'm sorry… huhuhu…" I weep, bubbles of saliva escaping my lips. I clutch on the collar of his shirt as he envelops me in his arms. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please… sorry… forgive me," I mumble incoherently as I drown in my own saliva mixed with tears and snot.
"It's okay…" He comforts me, wiping the snot dripping down my nose with his bare hands. "Shkrishi…"
I weep more and more, unable to get a grip of myself and the tears are falling down my cheeks in rapid intervals. It seems like a long time for him to process it, and when he finally does, he doesn't say a word. Ash hugs me tightly and tells me not to be sad. The tears are now his, and he's weeping as well. I feel the weight of his sobs hitting my collarbone. My eyes are blurry but I still see the pain in his eyes. It's not just me, it's not. I messed up. So bad.
The two of us somehow make it upstairs to an empty room where he settles me down into a chair. He opens the curtains and the door to the veranda to let the air in. Still sniffling, I ask for forgiveness once again but he just smiles softly back at me.
"It's part of life, Saridayang" he says, his voice cracking with the most broken voice I've ever heard. He's clearly hurt. He didn't even address me as Iris anymore. "It may be unpleasant and sometimes tortuous but we will experience it one way or another throughout our lives. What's important is that we take it in and we learn from it."
"I… I want to change. Can you help me? Please help me..."
"I'll be here. We all are," he says in full sincerity.
"I also want to—want to say s-sorry to everyone."
"Of course, of course. But I will not help you apologize. You need to man up and admit your wrongs, apologize wholeheartedly and show remorse. Remember, 'I'm sorry's are worthless no matter how many times a person says it if they don't show the other person how sorry they truly are and how much they regret their choices," he reiterates, patting my hands. "'I'm sorry's only means as long as you show the other person that you mean it."
"Wow, preach," I joke, chuckling to myself, but stop when I see his expression.
"Saridayang." His tone is somber and he doesn't say anything else.
"Iris," I corrected him. "We already agreed on that."
"That doesn't make sense at all. Shouldn't it be you who should earn the right to call me by my name?"
"Shouldn't it be you who should earn the right to be at least in the same kind relationship we had before all these?"
"But I'm the princess…"
"And I'm a prince." He walks to the bed, far away from where I sit. "And in case you're wondering, I'm using the title Saridayang and not the endearment one."