Serrated Edges

Chapter 4

She could never get a test without people talking about it. It was career suicide.

So she didn't take the tests and brushed his concern off, owing it to stress of movie shoots and late-night work.

Until she bled during rehearsals.

In the end, her jeans were caked with fresh blood and what seemed to be a lump of flesh.

Nearly three months without a period, and now there was all this blood all over the toilet, all over her clothes, dripping to the floor, staining it crimson.

He was right. She had been pregnant.

They would have been parents, after all.

She called him and he rushed to her side.

He in turn, ordered Pat to find an OB GYN that they had to pay exorbitantly to keep silent.

Now they were hunched over in a tiny toilet cubicle, him muted in grief, she in deep mourning.

He had named her Rose. They didn't know if the baby they'd lost was a boy or a girl, but he named her Rose anyway.

In shock and in pain, they chose not tell this tragic tale to their families or friends. No one could be trusted with such an explosive secret. They decided that this agony would be theirs and only theirs to bear. After all, they would have each other to get through the extraordinary pain, wouldn't they? But like a sinister virus that elegantly destroys the host from within, the memory of their terrible loss did not take long before it started to mercilessly rip them apart.

Overnight, RJ changed into a difficult, temperamental man no one recognized.

He fought with Maine ceaselessly, often repeating that he would never forgive her for her carelessness. Not now. Not ever. He could not even bear to look at her.

Overnight, Maine retreated into a daze. She was usually catatonic, and grew even more so after they fought. She began to look like a crumpled version of herself: thinner, more gaunt, and perpetually tired. Her guilt drove her to isolate herself often in her unit where she cocooned herself in the bleak cloak of dark depression.

But life, and the show, had to go on.

A week after the loss, RJ had gone up to her condo and found Maine in a drunken stupor. It would be the first of their many unending fights.

How could you be so careless, he screamed.

How dare you. Ako pa ang careless? Kung nag-ingat ka, I wouldn't have gotten pregnant in the first place, she screamed back.

Akin ba talaga?

Don't you f*cking go there, RJ. The baby was yours. Alam mo yun. The baby was yours.

Screams and tears, more screams and more tears. It never ended well, these things.

In time, they would learn to live with the coldness. In time, their mutual hate grew into a strange comfort. In a way, their resentment kept them in each other's radius; if they could not be together, at least the pain would not let them leave.

They may have fought harshly in private, but they made sure to profess love and fondness to each other in public. After all, the fans needed to hear it. So they said it. Over and over.

These lies. They need to go on.

A year after her stint in rehab, management then ordered them to "try to get back together" in the hopes of salvaging both their careers.

Like obedient soldiers, they agreed.

Fans were elated at the prospect of them finding their way back into each other's arms again.

They clamored for a comeback. The fervent dream of "forever" was fanned -- love must triumph no matter what. After all, this breakup was merely a hump in the road, a temporary setback in the grandest love story they had ever known.

There was just one more thing they had to do to prove to everyone that it was real: They had to get engaged.

On national TV, where it all started.

Barely a year after losing Rose, RJ was directed to propose to Maine on national television.

He was tasked to tell the best lie of all: That love triumphs. That love finds a way back. That love wins in the end.

So at the jampacked Philippine Arena, RJ got down on one knee and asked her to marry him. She cried when she saw the ring. Not out of happiness, but out of sheer anger.

She feigned acceptance through gritted teeth.

Confetti and fanfare obscured the pain in their eyes and hid their forced smiles. He kissed her, no longer surprised to find that she tasted like whiskey.

Not that it mattered. The fans burst into hysterics. The proposal made headlines. The event set new world records. It recalled contracts, and brought in fresh ones for the newly-engaged couple.

You cannot argue with 45 million tweets.

You cannot argue against a 47% Nielsen rating.

You cannot argue with a half billion ad sales for a single episode.

These lies. They are worth so much.