I'm Living Today

6

When I open my eyes, I saw Faith crying. She hugged me, and I allowed myself to be weak in front of her.

"Cielo, I'm sorry," she kept apologizing, her voice cracking as we cried in each other's arms. The world outside the kitchen went on, unaware of the storm inside me, inside us. The clattering of dishes, the hum of conversation—it all felt distant, almost unreal, as if separated by a thin veil we couldn't cross.

"Why did this have to happen?" I whispered, my throat tight. I didn't know if I was asking her, the universe, or myself. Faith pulled back slightly, wiping her tears but failing to hide the pain in her eyes.

"I wish I could fix everything," she said softly, her hands trembling as she reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. The kitchen felt colder, the silence between us suffocating, but I couldn't bring myself to move. Not yet.

Faith's hand lingered near my face, as if afraid to let go. "Cielo... I should've known. I should've been there," she whispered, her guilt pressing heavily between us.

"You didn't know." My voice was barely audible, weighed down by exhaustion. "No one knew. Not even me."

The weight of everything hit me again, harder this time. The walls felt like they were closing in, and I clenched my fists, trying to ground myself, to hold on to something real.

Faith's grip tightened around me, her fingers digging into my shoulders, as if she was holding on just as hard. "But I could've done something... Anything."

We stood there in that kitchen, surrounded by the quiet chaos of a world that didn't care what was happening inside of me. The sound of laughter from the other room suddenly felt too loud, too normal. It grated against my raw nerves.

I closed my eyes, leaning into her. "You're here now. That's what matters."

Faith nodded, though her shoulders trembled, betraying the fear she still carried. She didn't have the answers, and neither did I. But somehow, in that moment, being together felt like the only thing holding me together.

"We'll figure it out, Cielo. I swear we will."

Her words were shaky, uncertain, but I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her.

My mom agreed, and now I'm inside her car. I don't know where in the world we're going, and somehow, I don't care. The night outside is peaceful, almost unnervingly so. The headlights cut through the darkness, but it feels like we're driving into a void, with no clear destination.

I roll down the window, letting the cold wind rush in, tangling my hair and chilling my skin. It feels sharp, alive. The air smells fresh, like rain or the ocean, though we're nowhere near the water. The silence between us fills the car like a heavy fog. Faith hasn't said a word since I climbed in, and I haven't asked where we're headed.

The world outside blurs as I rest my head against the window, feeling the cold glass against my cheek. I close my eyes, but the stillness of the night only amplifies the storm inside me. The questions. The fear. The guilt. They swirl around, too loud to ignore, but too tangled to untangle.

I take a deep breath, focusing on the wind whipping through the car, on the night sky that stretches endlessly above. For now, it's enough to just be moving, even if I don't know where.

I let myself rest. The hum of the engine and the wind in my hair eventually lulled me into a light sleep. When I opened my eyes, we were in Batangas. The familiar scent of saltwater hit me even before I saw it. The sea—my comfort since then.

The horizon stretched out in front of me, endless and calm, the waves lapping gently against the shore. For a moment, everything else faded. The sea had always done that for me, ever since I was young. It held memories, some bittersweet, but also a strange kind of peace. It was the one place where I didn't have to think. Where everything just... was.

We pulled up closer to the shore, and I could hear the soft, rhythmic sound of the waves. I almost smiled. Almost.

Faith parked the car in silence. I glanced at her, and she gave me a small, understanding nod. She didn't need to say anything. She knew this place meant something, something deeper than either of us could put into words.

I opened the door and stepped out, the cool breeze immediately wrapping around me. The sand crunched softly under my feet as I walked closer to the shore, the familiar feeling of home washing over me with each step.

The sea had always been there for me, even when nothing else made sense.

"Do you want me to contact our friends?"Faith asked, her voice soft, careful not to break the fragile silence.

All I did was nod. I didn't trust myself to speak. Not yet.

She took out her phone, glancing at me one more time before stepping away to make the call. I watched her silhouette against the fading light, the sea still whispering in the background, a steady contrast to the turbulence inside me. The waves seemed to understand, always there, always moving, just like my emotions—never fully still, never fully calm.

I sat down on the sand, pulling my knees up to my chest. The cool grains shifted beneath me, grounding me in a way nothing else could. I stared at the horizon, trying to lose myself in the distance, where the sky met the sea. The soft murmurs of faith's  voice drifted over, but I didn't pay attention to her words. I couldn't.

The people she was calling—our friends—what would they even say? Would they know what to do, how to help? I wasn't even sure what I needed anymore. But knowing they were coming, knowing I wouldn't be alone for long, brought a strange sense of relief. Like maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to figure this out on my own.

"They're coming, loves," Faith said softly as she walked back toward me. Her voice was warm, comforting, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. I just stared out at the sea, letting the sound of the waves drown out everything else.

I nodded, just enough to show I heard her. I wasn't sure how I felt about it—our friends coming. There was a part of me that wanted to disappear, to stay hidden in this quiet place where no one could find me. But another part, a smaller part, was relieved. Maybe having them here would make the weight I was carrying feel a little lighter. Maybe.

Faith sat down beside me in the sand, close but not too close, respecting the space I needed. She didn't try to fill the silence, and for that I was grateful. The night sky was starting to darken above us, the stars slowly appearing one by one, like tiny pinpricks of light in the vastness.

"They'll be here soon," she said after a while, her tone soft. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just let them be here with you."

I nodded again, resting my head on my knees. I wasn't ready to talk. But maybe, when they came, I wouldn't have to say anything at all.