Romancing Dominance [BL][COMPLETED]

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 - With or Without the Arrangements

Two opposing souls met—not by fate, but by force.

Jakob and I are two poles in constant tension. He is wild, unbothered, untethered—like the horses running free in the fields. While I... I exist, but not quite. I'm present, yet invisible.

A broken heart is all that's left.

I'm still fixing all the cracks...

My intentions were vague then. I was someone else—guarded, unreadable. I had to teach myself how to read people... and more importantly, how to feel them.

My mind feels like a foreign land...

Iba dito sa Maraya. Here, I don't need to pretend. I don't need to perform. I can be light, free, even careless.

Napangiti ako nang dumampi ang malamig na ulan sa pisngi ko habang nakadungaw sa bintana.

Silence rang inside my head.

Please, carry me, carry me, carry me home...

Umuulan at may kasamang kulog. Wala akong ginawa kundi manahimik sa tabi ng bintana, habang tinutunton ng mata ko ang bawat patak ng ulan na bumabagsak sa lupa.

Softly, I hummed a song...

Small-town boy in a big arcade... 

I got addicted to a losing game...

Muling bumuhos ang malakas na ulan, at ilang patak ang humampas sa pisngi ko. I closed my eyes and touched the cold droplets—it was surreal.

The rain has a way of grieving with you, yet comforting at the same time. Parang sinasama niya ang lungkot mo pababa, habang binubuhusan ka ng bagong lakas.

Today is Saturday, and I've been thinking—bukas kaya, I'll go visit the church. Hindi ko pa napupuntahan ang simbahan nila rito. Maybe I need that peace.

Still humming the melody, I wandered downstairs. Tahimik sa loob ng bahay—walang tao sa sala, tanging patak ng ulan lang mula sa labas ang maririnig.

And then I saw it.

The grand piano. 

A gift from Tita Wana. One of the few things that made me feel seen by the Buenavistas.

I stepped toward it, sat down, and gently placed my fingers on the ivory keys. I started playing a piece I recently heard—Minefields, piano rendition.

Pinikit ko ang mga mata habang pinipilit maalala ang bawat nota.

My fingers danced—sometimes drifting, sometimes colliding—to recreate harmony from memory.

Now this might be a mistake...

That I'm calling you this late...

Naalala ko noon...

My music teacher was strict—brutal even. My fingers would bleed from her stick. She said it was to discipline. I said it was to punish.

At an early age, I learned not to cry. Tears never helped.

Maybe I'm just a fool...

I still belong with you...

I used to envy the kids around me—they had families. They had someone.

Ako? I had myself.

Dad was often absent—a blank canvas I couldn't paint over. As for Mom and my sister... they were like ghosts in the hallways. No one dared speak of them.