My Boyfriend is a Freak (Published under Pop Fiction)

32: Vren

I felt awkward and anxious as I pushed Café Isabella's door open.

What am I even doing here?

"Good morning, Sir Vren," a passing waiter greeted me, sounding pleasant albeit the surprised look on his face. I vaguely remember him as one of the original staff we hired when the restaurant started its operations. I won't be surprised if a lot of them are still working for Isabella – her kind and caring attitude easily wins the loyalty of her employees.

"Good morning," I greeted the waiter back. "Is Isabella here? I need to talk to her."

Now he looked curious, which he quickly hid as I scowled. "Tatawagin ko lang po si Ma'am Bella."

I nodded and headed towards an unoccupied table.

****

When I caught a waft of vanilla perfume, I knew she had arrived.

"Guess I owe Vince a lot for convincing you to talk to me." Isabella gave me a sweet smile, setting a cup on the table and pushing it towards me before occupying the empty seat across me. "That's your favorite brew."

"Thanks," I said grudgingly. I took a sip, hoping the strong flavor would somehow relax me. It didn't.

"How are you, Andrei?" Isabella was surveying me, drinking my presence in. "I missed you."

"Don't," I said sharply. "Just tell me whatever it is that you badly want to talk about. Let's not waste each other's time."

"Fine." She sighed. "I have three things to tell you, actually."

"Wow. One thing isn't enough, is it? Of course, it had to be three." My sarcasm was hard to miss.

"Andrei..." Her tone was gentle but admonishing. "I know you're still angry at me, and rightly so. But please, I really hope you'll take my words seriously. God know if I'll be able to say them to you again."

Great. Now I feel guilty.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Me, too." Isabella smiled sadly. "That's the first thing I wanted to tell you. I'm sorry. I really am. I know how shattered you felt when I broke up with you. I apologize for causing you so much pain you didn't deserve."

"You're still guilty after all these years," I commented. I was surprised at how calm I sounded.

She nodded. "You could say that I'm dying of guilt. I have leukemia, Andrei. That's number two on the list, by the way."

"L-leukemia?" I stammered. "Are you kidding me? 'Cause if you are, I'm telling you – that's not remotely funny."

Isabella shook her head. "I wish I could tell you it was a joke, but... Three months, Andrei. That's all I have left. I'd have to be extremely lucky to make it past my doctor's prognosis, which, truth be told, is a fairly optimistic prediction. I stopped responding to treatments a year ago."

I just stared at her in shock, until I found my voice again. "Why are you even telling me this?"

"Because..." She gestured helplessly with her hands. "I thought you'd –"

"Thought I'd what? Feel guilty about you dying? Damn it, Bella! You are about to die and what, you want me back? God, you are selfish!" I slammed my fist on the table as her eyes started to well with tears. "You left me, I was devastated, six fucking years had passed, and I found myself slowly starting to be okay again. Then you entered the picture once more, only to tell me that you have three months left to live. What the hell was that about?"