behind every summer

Chapter 48

Chapter 48

For days, I did not answer all of their questions. Pakiramdam ko nga ay parang naiinis na sila sa'kin, pero wala akong pakialam. Kung naiinis sila sa'kin, mas naiinis ako sa kanila. Hindi mapapantayan ng kahit sino man ang galit na nararamdaman ko ngayon. I just have to contain all of this. I'll wait for the right time. If that time comes, then its best if I let everything out so that the burden may not be heavy anymore. Hindi ko na kasi talaga kaya.

Each day, the routine was the same. People kept coming, trying to show that they cared, bringing food or asking if I was okay. They would sit by my bed, some with worried expressions, some with forced smiles, trying to make things seem normal. But no matter what they said or did, I stayed the same—silent, distant, and utterly disconnected.

I could hear their footsteps before they even reached my room. The sound of soft knocking, followed by the door creaking open, had become part of the background noise of my life. Sometimes it was my parents who entered, bringing a tray of food or sitting by my side, asking in hushed voices if I needed anything. Other times, it was one of the Hartigans—Edevane, Ma'am Catherine, even Mr. Volvo, though his visits were far less frequent. Apollo and Holland would also stop by, trying to spark a conversation, trying to get some reaction out of me.

But I didn't respond. I couldn't. I didn't have the energy to care anymore.

When they asked how I was feeling, I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling, staring at the white, sterile surface like it held the answers to all the questions I didn't want to answer. They would ask if I was hungry, if I needed water, or if I was in pain, but I never said a word. The truth was, none of it mattered. Food didn't matter. Water didn't matter. Pain didn't even register the same way it used to.

Edevane would sometimes sit with me the longest, his voice soft and full of guilt. He would try to tell me things—about how sorry he was, about how they had finally realized I was innocent. He told me how hard they had fought to get me out of jail, how it had taken months, and how devastated they all were when they found out what I had gone through.

But I didn't care. His words washed over me like rain on a stone, unable to sink in or make a difference. I couldn't forgive him, couldn't forgive any of them for abandoning me when I needed them most. So, I just lay there, pretending not to hear, pretending not to care.

The food they brought piled up on the small table by the bed. Sometimes I would pick at it, but most of the time, it went untouched. I had lost my appetite a long time ago. The nurses would eventually take the plates away, replacing them with fresh ones, as if that would make me eat. But no matter what they brought—soup, rice, meat—it all tasted the same: bland, meaningless.

Every now and then, I could feel someone's hand on mine. A gentle squeeze, a soft touch, as if that would somehow bring me back to them. But I never squeezed back. I didn't pull away either, but I didn't react. It didn't make a difference who was trying to reach me because I wasn't there anymore. At least, not in the way they remembered me.

Apollo tried to joke around sometimes, hoping to lighten the mood. He would tell stories about things that had happened back at the house, about how chaotic everything was without me there. He would laugh, trying to draw me into the conversation, but I never laughed with him. The sound of his voice barely registered anymore.

Holland would come by too, sitting quietly at the edge of my bed. He didn't talk as much as the others. He just sat there, his presence heavy, as if he understood that words wouldn't make a difference. I appreciated that, in a way, but I still couldn't bring myself to acknowledge him.

Even Ma'am Catherine, with her warm and motherly demeanor, tried to coax me into talking. She would sit by my bedside, stroking my hair gently, asking if I needed anything, telling me how worried they all were. Her voice was so full of care, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. Her kindness didn't erase what had happened. It didn't fix the months of loneliness and betrayal I had endured.