Garden of Words (Compilation) | Completed

11 - Don't Go Home Late

Dedicated to: Zaza

Warning: Molestation

Text:
don’t go home late

That was my text for Thoren, my husband. Maigi ko itong pinagkatitigan.

I sat at the kitchen table while sipping my coffee. The clock is ticking louder with every passing second.

Thoren is an only child. His mother died when he was seven years old and his father is his only family right now. And it creeps me to think of it. Kasa-kasama namin sa bahay ang ama niya.

Every time Thoren is out for work, her father is harassing me.

The house was silent, the kind of silence that made every creak and groan of the old wood floors seem like thunder.

I glanced at my phone to the nth time, hoping to see a reply from him.

Nothing.

I knew he worked hard, long hours at the office, often staying late to finish up projects. But I need him to be here with me. I need him to protect me from his father.

And every time he stayed late; it meant more time alone with his father.

“Wala na ba si Thoren?”

The old man had always been an asshole. At first, it was just touching my skin, feeling relish with my body. But it had escalated.

Now, he needs intercourse. And every time I think of it, my body is trembling disgustedly.

And my husband had no idea.

“Subukan mo lang magsumbong, hindi ako magdadalawang-isip na patayin kayong dalawa.”

Ito ang lagi niyang sinasabi sa tuwing may gagawin siya. Hindi ko mawari kung anong klaseng utak at puso ang meron siya para gawin ito sa amin. And with my weak body and heart, I can’t fight. I can’t protect my own body.

Ang kaya ko lang protektahan ay ang buhay naming dalawa ng asawa ko.

Gusto kong magsumbong, gusto kong matigil na ang kawalangyaan niya pero hindi ko kayang magkatotoo pa ang mga salita niya. Kahit pa isumbong ko siya sa mga awtoridad, mawawalan lang iyon ng saysay. Maraming koneksyon ang ama niya sa kanila.

His father is a public prosecutor. How ironic, isn’t it?

And I can’t do anything but to cry every night after being molested and hoping Thoren won’t go home late anymore. Hangga’t maraming oras sa gabing wala ang asawa ko, malaya niyang magagawang magpakasarap sa katawan ko.

I heard the front door creak open and my heart jumped, hoping it was him. But it was just the wind, pushing the door open a crack. He closed it, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in my chest.

How much longer could I keep this up? How much longer could I hide the fear?

“Sarap mo pa rin kahit ilang beses na manugang.”

Parang gusto kong masuka. Gusto kong maging bingi sa mga salitang binibitiw niya habang pinagnanasahan ako. I cried hard, and wishing Thoren will be there to save me.

“Hanggang kailan ako magtitiis sa paghihirap na ‘to?” nagawa kong i-daing.

I heard him laughed at my ears. “Naghihirap ka ba? Hindi ka ba nasarapan?”

Sa mga narinig kong ‘yon ay parang gusto kong pumatay ng tao. The world around me blurred as his hands crossed a line. My breath caught in my throat, unadulterated rage flooding my senses.

The audacity, the violation, the disrespect. It’s too much to handle.

His touch was a poison, and my skin crawled with revulsion. Every muscle in my body tensed. I would not let this happen again.

I can’t take this, I needed to tell him. I needed my husband to know what was happening when he wasn't here. But, how could I?

His father was the only family he had left, and I don’t want to ruin everything more even if I’m the one ruined.

“Sa uulitin, manugang.”

The old man at the top of me dressed up and got out like nothing happen. I immediately pick up my clothes and cry my agony.

Binalot ang sariling katawan, nanginginig habang dinadamdam ang katawang gamit na gamit ng isang taong tinuring ko ng pamilya.

Hours had passed and the sound of footsteps outside caught my attention. My heart pounded as the door finally swung open. Thoren stepped inside, looking exhausted but offering me a tired smile.

“Hey honey, sorry I’m late. How’s your night?” He asked, dropping his bag by the door.

I forced a smile, my eyes already welling up with tears. “I-it was okay,” I whispered, stepping forward to hug him. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

He held me close, and for a moment, I felt safe.

But as I looked over his shoulder, I saw his father’s shadow looming in the doorway, a cruel smirk on his face. I dry all up my tears and face my husband.

“Please,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Please don’t stay late. I need you here. I need you to come home early.”

He pulled back, looking into my eyes with concern. “What’s wrong?” He asked.

I hugged him again while my tears fall.

“Just...don’t go home late.”