What am
i to you

It’s another Friday night and Eastwood City is bursting with life of all shapes, sizes and colors. After sharing a scrumptious meal at this Greek restaurant in Eastwood City, Matthew suggests we take a walk. It starts to rain so we take shelter at Starbucks and decide to have a late night latte.

“So, you didn’t go to work today?” I ask as we settle on one of those outdoor sitting areas.

“Yeah,” Matthew answers. “I was feeling restless this morning. I was supposed to drive to Tagaytay to play tennis but the rain got in the way.”

“Well, it’s good you didn’t go,” I take a sip. “Slippery roads and all.”

“It’s okay,” he shrugs. “I’m not afraid to die.”

I look at him and notice yet again how much he has changed since college. Four years is a long time. But clearly, the years don’t seem to explain how he had changed from the preppy college guy I knew to the slightly harassed writer with weary, sad eyes.

“What happened to you?” I finally ask.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean, Matthew.”

He looks into my eyes and, maybe, finally realizes how much he owes me. I know he is trying to avoid it. I did too but the stories keep haunting me to this day. I can’t let this moment pass me by, yet again, without knowing what really happened… to us.

He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes for a while before exhaling the name that has haunted me for a long, long time.

“Bridgette.”

“What happened?” I ask Matthew.

“She left me,” he replies, looking out into the rain.

I do not prod. I can’t bring myself to look back into the past that is currently consuming my present. Bridgette Santamaria, a journalism graduate who was two years my senior, a Palanca awardee and, not to mention, Matthew’s long-time girlfriend when I first met him.

She was the girl Matthew was with when he first saw me at the university chapel. Bridgette never found out about our affair back in college. I knew it was wrong. I knew karma would get me in the end, but my blind passion for Matthew shaped my resolve that it was her standing between me and my happiness. I asked him to choose. And he chose her.

No one knew the real reason why I didn’t attend the small party at The Literati. Everyone just assumed that I was being the stuck-up snob I’ve packaged myself to be. How can you face the world when every part of you is broken?

I sit there, stunned into silence. I feel so many things all at once—confusion, sympathy, fear, pain. I don’t need to look at Matthew to know that he is also suffering. Even after four long years, the invisible ties that bind us still have its unnerving effect on me. I can feel his sadness wherever I go.

“Do you still want her back?” I ask now.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Is she the reason you’re still single?”

He shrugs. “I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“You’re missing out on a lot of things,” I reply.

“Is that why you’re still single?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh come on,” he continues. “Is that the reason why you’ve never been in a relationship since college?”

“Keeping tabs on me, huh?”

He leans back, waiting for me to answer.

“Mine’s different, Matthew,” I reply, almost as a whisper. “I gave my heart to someone a long time ago. He didn’t want it. I never got it back.”

I see Matthew’s face contort and show an emotion I have seen briefly before. “Kit…” he says. “We’ve talked about this before. What happened back then. You knew about her. You knew I had a girlfriend. Everyone knows it. But… god.”

I look at him. He is shaking his head and trying to avoid my gaze for fear that he might show more than he should. “I was so in love you with then, Kit.”

“I know,” I say softly. I swallow hard and say for the first time the line I have practiced for so long in my head in the last four years. “And you knew I loved you when you clearly did not.”

“That’s bullshit. You know how I felt… feel about you.”

“Do you?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Do you really know how you feel about me?”

Matthew does not say anything more after that. He looks into the rain as if in a trance. I wrap my hands around the warm mug to keep myself from freezing. My lips quiver and I close my eyes tight to keep myself from crying. I am a grown woman now. I will not let an old fear take control of my life again.

“What do you want from me?” I ask. “What am I doing here?” He looks at me as if trying to read my head once more, just as he tried all those years ago.

“You have to stop doing this to me,” I bite my lip. “Let me go.”