Harana: Camilo x Reader

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

† 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌: suicidal ideation

read with caution, stay safe everyone

𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭

♫

     "I don't know, maybe add some green into it?" Camilo suggested, giving her a sage-colored oil pastel. Y/N nodded thoughtfully, "Okay, maybe we should separate the color of the leaves from the flowers." She glided the pastel on the paper, creating a layer of greeneries on top of its lilac vines. 

     Camilo sipped on his orange juice, taking the reference picture, "Where did you get this pic from anyways?" The two were under a parasol attached to an outdoor table; it was sunny and Julieta had provided them with drinks and snacks. "It's from Tito Angelo, he sent us this postcard when he visited Japan after the peace treaty." Camilo vaguely remembered the travel journalist; he was good friends with both his Tía Julieta and Tío Agustín.

     The picture was an old wisteria tree with its vines draping off of its branches. The gnarled stem curved beautifully, almost shaped like a delicately made bonsai tree. Camilo took a magenta pastel, "Maybe sprinkle some of this as well?" Y/N gasped, her whole face lighting up, "We could make a gradient."

       The drawing was complete— Camilo raised his hand up and Y/N returned it with a high five. "You think that we just made Isabela's job harder?" She quizzed. Camilo shrugged, "Ay, she can handle it." His chair squeaked as he got up. Y/N shortly followed, slipping the postcard in her wallet.

     "Give me a day or two, I'll be ready with a sapling," Isabela muttered; conjuring up flowers for a mixed bouquet. She dabbed her handkerchief over her forehead, drying up her sweat. "It's okay, take your time." Y/N bowed lightly. Isabela was in charge of decorating the venue for Dolores and Mariano's wedding— it was quite an ironic turn of events.

     The transition of Casita's saturated colors to her dull house was jarring. Having spent her breakfast with the Madrigals, entering her house felt like the colors paled and drained. The only thing that kept this place alive was her father playing his ukulele; sometimes having Cory, his new friend, around for a jamming session.

     And yet, she still hadn't heard the bright ukulele sounds whenever he sang for her mother. It was only his voice that carried throughout the quiet during his afternoon haranas. 

     The empty living room greeted her— no one was around, not even Francisco who usually lounges at the couch. Y/N glanced at Junior, there were still droplets on its leaf. She went over to their kitchen and saw a note stuck on their cabinet.

     "Look after your mother for a bit, just buying us some lunch." Sighing, she hung her purse on the rack. The trip up the stairs had the atmosphere gone stale; something's wrong.

     Her feet padded on the wooden floor, she fastened her pace. Down the corridor, the shadows become more prominent. It swallowed the light. She felt needles puncture her lungs and it was getting harder to breathe. She rushed to her parent's room, faintly hearing someone gasping and choking.

      "Ma!" She called, swinging the door open. Her eyes rapidly scanned the room, eventually falling on the empty bed with only the indent of where Leonora used to lay. There was a faint glow coming through the cracks of the room's bathroom. The door was slightly opened and it jolted as someone kicked it from the inside.

     Y/N inched closer, "Ma?" The gasping stopped, like a hand covered to muffle the noise. Her palms turned clammy and she braced herself. Grabbing the door's edge, she pushed it wide open. And the sight she saw next had her knees weak.

     She stumbled back, paralyzed. Her mother leaned against the toilet— the scarf around her head had loosened, her lips were almost white and chapped. Leonora wiped her mouth, the grotesque taste lingering on her tongue.

     The realization dawned on Y/N; Leonora's inability to heal quickly wasn't because the magic had weakened... it was because she was digging her fingers deep in her throat to let it out.

     "I- no, I can't." She pushed her feet on the carpet to move her body back, creating distance from Leonora. She could only think about her father; the time he spent, the risk he took. Tears streamed down her face, it pained her to imagine her father's smile. "Mama, this is going to break papa's heart."

     The ukulele playing, his tired laughter, and the grey streaks on his hair. Y/N pulled on her hair— make it stop, make it stop! Her pulling turned into punches, sending blows on her head, pounding to weaken her racing thoughts. Leonora reached out to her, "Iha." Y/N screamed but nothing came out.

     "You love mama, right?" No, she didn't want to remember. "Then let's keep this as our little secret." Her memories came out as nightmares taking form. 

     Then the world was still. She couldn't feel her face and her mother's figure turned blurry. The front door opened, Francisco returned home. Leonora turned to her, helpless. It was uncanny to see such emotions flashing on her face, to see her move even the tiniest bit. It made her feel sick.

     Leonora stared at her hands, the grime turning into blood. Crisanto's blood. He died too quickly, she didn't even get to say her goodbyes. All she got was a letter and a pension— she didn't need the money, what she needed was for Crisanto to come back home.

     Nothing matters anymore. "I don't want to live." Leonora's whisper turned into shouting, dragging her nails on her cheeks. "Just let me die!" And she repeated this again and again, every time, the rawness in her voice grew stronger.

     Francisco's hurried footsteps were muted from Leonora's screaming. "Leonora? Y/N?" He entered the room and his body went cold. Y/N pushed herself up, her head hanging low. "Leonora, stop!" Francisco ran to his wife, gripping her shoulders. 

     He almost dropped her when he saw the resentment in her eyes, this time, it was unhidden. "I didn't ask for this." Leonora glowered. They had to leave their home for her. For the first time, Y/N felt no love for her mother, she only felt hatred.

     "This isn't fair," Y/N bristled. "This isn't fair to me! To us!" Francisco pleaded at her with his eyes, blinking back his tears... But she continued, "Kung di mo kayang maawa sa sarili mo, maawa ka sa pamilya mo!" Y/N's shoulders shook, her breathing shallow and rapid.

     "Ma, ang hirap mong mahalin." This was her life, her family. "Ang hirap sobra." This was the hurt that she would never wish on her worst enemy.