PANDORA - Book 1 (NWC's 2nd place winner)

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

            Before we sleep, we take turns in using the bathroom. I went in first so when I’m done, I’m ready to resign for the night. I lie on my back on the couch while Rohan is still in the bathroom. I don’t think I’d want to get up ever again.

            My arms and legs are throbbing, and my sides aren’t feeling different. My knuckles are bruised and my joints produce excruciating pain whenever I move. Even my face isn’t spared. During a sparring session earlier, Rohan lands a punch on my jaw. I can still remember how it knocked the wind out of me; I saw stars. I checked it on the mirror just a while ago and it’s already turning purple. Rohan was stingy about it, I can tell, but he can’t show that since he’s mentoring me.

            I gently massage my limbs until my right hand lands on the bite on my left arm. It already turned into a patch of ugly punctures. I should bandage it or dirt will fill them. I may be protected from hemophagia but not from getting infections. Pulling my body up, I reach for my backpack that’s been lying on the foot of the couch with Rohan’s. Forgetting how heavy it is, I lift it carelessly so I lose my balance. I drop on the floor.

            “Damn it,” I curse as I search for my scattered stuff on the floor. I’m about to pick up Rohan’s bag when I notice something sticking out from the side pocket. A photo.

            I throw a glance at the bathroom door. He’s still taking a bath. I can hear the soft trickle of water. I’m not supposed to invade his privacy but I’m too curious to stop myself. I pull out the photo from the pocket.

            It’s Rohan, looking gorgeous as ever. He’s wearing a white tux in a setting I can deduce as a prom. And he got his arms wrapped on the shoulder of a girl in golden dress. My eyes lock with the smiling face on the photo. Dark slanted eyes, dark hair, small nose, tanned skin. She’s even of the same body build and height as I am. It’s as if I’m looking at a much prettier version of me. My chest tightens.

            I hurriedly put the photo back in the bag when I hear the shower turn off. I scramble back to the couch and bury my face on the quilt, forgetting that I have to bandage my arm. I can’t shake away the image of Rohan and his girlfriend away from my mind.

            A minute later, I sense him walking towards me so I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. He bends over me and fixes the quilt on my shoulder. My chest feels even tighter and heavier.

            I stay at my pretension until I’m sure Rohan is already in deep sleep on the floor just below the couch. When I’m finally positive, I turn over to see him. I don’t know why but I feel really bad. I don’t even think I’m supposed to. It’s not his fault. He did nothing but help me and I’m just too naïve to make assumptions out of it.

            I watch his chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber with my eyes on the verge of tears, pooling up not enough liquid to drown my gullibility.

            The next day, we make it to Metro Manila in just four hours after we left our last shelter. As expected, the whole city is ruined. Buildings are obliterated. No one can recognize most of them anymore. The streets are blocked with so much debris; we had to round a few times to find a better road to drive on. Hemophagia raged for weeks before the government decided to drop bombs in the most contaminated cities—Manila was one. I’ve already fled to Naga City that time, using fake the IDs I stole from Jay’s house.

            By mid-afternoon, Rohan and I are already seeking for another shelter. We cannot risk the fading sunlight due to an incoming rain. If there’s no sun, the odds will be so not in our favor. He picks an old clinic that’s a part of a fallen building in Quezon City.