Chapter Text
mikha
at 28, mikha lim knows the hallways of st. victoria’s physical medicine and rehabilitation department like the back of her hand. maybe even more than it. it’s definitely not by choice, she’s just had to keep coming here since she was 24.
she’s always breathless after taking that flight of stairs, and every time she does, she can’t help but think despairingly about the completely functional building elevator. when her therapist said she should start taking the stairs again, her ears rang.
“do you see my state?! i can barely move my leg. i finally show some improvement and you want to wear me out?!”
it was ignorance on her part; therapy wasn’t meant to be comforting. but she didn’t know that before, so she decided to rebel by not attending three consecutive sessions.
of course, that backfired. her “improvement”, turned out, was still too fragile to be reliable. she wasn’t back to square one, but it definitely felt like a dozens of step back. so, three weeks later, after earning everything back, she’s doing exactly what she’s told.
“good morning, ms. lim. for 10 am?”
she smiles at the receptionist. “as always.”
“alright. nag-b’break lang si pt. nag-resched ‘yung pang-8 n’ya e, may session tuloy s’ya mamayang lunch.”
“okay, no problem. i can wait.”
she occupies a seat among the line of leg-less chairs, the one nearest to the door. whenever there’s waiting to do, she just looks around. during the first wave of habituation, she would see the white tiles, and even whiter walls behind her lids, and sometimes when she wakes up in the morning she would briefly get a whiff of that stuffy alcohol and those antiseptic chemicals from the other wing of the building inevitably creeping in.
her leg muscles begin to relax. gently, she caresses her right knee. in that moment, it dawns on her—four years of therapy, of battling against her own ego, and it all will just end in this grounded, quiet, borderline anti-climactic way. she doesn’t know exactly what to feel about that.
exactly 13 minutes later, the door opens, her pt’s beam welcoming her. she gets on both feet, and inside she goes.
“ang aga natin ah,” the therapist—ate rosa—jokes. “are you excited?”
“ma-discharge after four years? oo naman.”
“ako rin. it’s about time i got an open slot for someone more tolerable.”
mikha merely rolls her eyes. she goes straight to the padded treatment table. the first thing the therapist does is always to evaluate her knee. even the one before ate rosa followed this routine.
“let’s see it.” ate rose stands in front of her, cradling a clipboard.
a grunt escapes mikha’s lips as she reaches for the garter end of her grey jogger pants, comfortably tight around her ankle. it takes a while before she completely rolls the fabric up above the knee.
ate rosa begins to check her up, muttering her observations as she writes them down.
no swelling. no tenderness. good muscle tone…
she makes mikha swing her leg.
consistent range of motion…
“okay, we’ll do the usual lang. warm up, then some jogging… you know the drill.”
mikha snorts. “dalawang linggo ko nang ginagawa ‘yan, paulit-ulit. of course i know it.”
ate rosa looks at her like she’s disgusted by the smugness, but mikha deserves the bragging rights. she used to spend three months on one drill alone; two weeks on a whole drill sequence is already a mark of extreme improvement, and definitely the one that cemented her completion of this program.
“let’s just start. i can’t wait to donate my slot.”
the whole thing takes 45 minutes, give or take a few. ate rosa is visibly pleased and, at once, in awe. not that mikha hasn’t earned it. all of this, it didn't happen overnight. in fact, it took so long, perhaps both of them just stopped visualizing the day it would eventually be over. and now that they’re living that very day, it's simply hard to believe.
for the rest of her time there, ate rosa sits her down to discuss her progress, instructions for home independent exercises, and advice in case her knee goes back to showing symptoms. half of the time, mikha can’t really get hold of her own attention. she just knows it’s all done when ate rosa’s hand slides into view.
“you did it, mikhs. congrats.”
mikha shakes her hand, smiling, in her head she replies, not quite. regardless, her gaze softens on the older girl. “thank you, ate rosa. i mean it.”
it’s been four years, she’s managed to bounce back from rock bottom, just not as high as she’d hoped.
she’s still not allowed in the court.
the therapist starts tidying up the desk. papers going into envelopes. a notebook being put aside. “thank yourself, too,” she says just as she leaves her seat to put a bunch of folders back in the drawer.
a card the size of a photograph slips and falls to the table. creamy white with pink decorative lines crawling around the edges. it’s upside-down from where mikha sits, but she’d recognize that name anywhere. the very letters that make it up. the sequence in which they’re arranged…
stacey sevilleja & aiah arceta
tying the knot
11. 08. 2031
8:00 am
the room crawls with silence just as her heart skips a beat. stacey. the last time she saw her was three years ago, two days since the name last left her lips. she came to her dream again, something mikha has developed a habit of looking forward to—peace has a tendency to follow stacey wherever she goes.
“anak ni ate lorna, naalala mo?”
mikha is still staring at the card, and ate rosa has noticed.
“si ate lorna?” mikha cleared her throat. “oo naman. dalawang taon din akong hawak nun.”
“‘yung anak n’ya, i mean. si stacey. ‘di ba close kayo dati?”
close? what an understatement. she used to be the only person who knew the taste of her lips.
“sakto lang.”
“ikakasal na s’ya. ‘di ko alam bakit ako may invitation, feel ko si ate lorna nagpadala n’yan.”
“well, you were her best friend here, and stacey– as far as i remember, she grew close to you rin.”
it’s ridiculous. ate rosa now has more reasons to be in the list of visitors than someone whom stacey once shared her deepest, most vulnerable thoughts with.
“mikhs.”
“yeah?”
“you okay?” ate rosa looks both amused and confused. “para kang namutla.”
“uhaw lang.” mikha gets on her feet, feeling that slight wrongness in the way the bones in her knees straighten up. the joints have healed supposedly, but mikha had come to learn that once the body felt defective, it’d always feel that way. a scar floating in there, taking space, too abstract to be taken hold of and vanquished. “i should get going. thank you ulit, ate rosa. for everything.”
she doesn’t wait for her response, just couldn’t wait to get to the door because suddenly this room is suffocating.
“mikha ah, if the symptoms start coming back, don’t hesitate to reach out,” ate rosa reminds her. “there’s no shame in that.”
but mikha decides she’s going to pretend she didn’t hear that. “pupunta ka ba?” her hand stops at the knob. “sa kasal, i mean.”
she meant that to be a casual question, but she’d always had a tendency to be…intense. that’s why she and stacey worked out, and also why they eventually fell out.
“uhh… siguro? depende sa schedule ko. i’ll buy a gift, though, for sure. kahit ipa-deliver ko na lang.”
“let me know how much that will be.” she finally twists the knob. “i’ll pitch in.”
***
outside the building lies a stretch of green fields, plotted with healthy and probably decades-old trees. they call it the healing garden, although everyone who frequents this area are those who have accepted they’re probably never gonna live another second without their sickness. they’re always assisted by nurses, or a loved-one. most of them are old people. some children here and there, which mikha has always thought is unfair. why does god create such miserable lives to be lived? what good does it do for anyone?
she folds her fingers against her opposite palm, a bunch of cracking noises followed. well, the air here is entirely fresh, that she can say. she can certainly see the appeal, and why such a place can trick one’s brain to believe in a better tomorrow.
she once experienced that, too. getting tricked. she didn’t have this place do it for her, though.
in fact, everything happened at home.
when she got in that accident almost five years ago, her parents thought it best if they were the ones to bring her the bad news: you might not be able to play for a while…
they’re hesitant to say it, but had no choice. mikha lim, jersey number 11, star player of the team, all of sudden was no longer part of the game. that’s where her self-hatred began. she’d attached herself to the belief that all of her life was building up to her big moment of taking the national team to international radar, and not years-long of medical treatment. intra-articular fracture, apparently it’s really severe. apparently, her knee could no longer function like it used to because her bones that weren’t supposed to directly glide against each other were, well, doing exactly that now that her joints had been torn.
she hated the man driving the truck, because he hit his horn and brakes too late.
she hated the doctors and nurses and her friends, because their pity made her feel so small.
she even hated her parents, because their hope for her was relentless when all she wanted, really, was to let go.
but, most of all, she hated herself, because she wasn't careful. because, at the end of the day, her own choices brought her here.
oh, and she also hated her therapist who liked to mask her pity with gentleness and motivational ted talks. she got so infuriated once she almost kicked her with her fully functional left leg. in hindsight, it made a lot of sense that the first words that her therapist lorna’s daughter to her were spoken with fury:
“hoy! hindi porke’t miserable ka, p’wede mo nang bastusin nanay ko ha!”
stacey sevilleja came marching into mikha lim’s abode, finger firmly pointing at her. if lorna hadn’t scooped her daughter’s figure, mikha was convinced she’d have gotten more than that.
home therapy cost a lot more, but until mikha’s body could handle the physical exertion that the regular on-site therapy demanded, this would be the arrangement. the schedule was different, too. drills were designed to fit in a 2-hour window, but during days when mikha decided to be a pill (which was every day), they could go over the scheduled time. the goal, always, was to finish the drills. lorna definitely earned more for this, but even mikha doubted any amount of money would be reasonable compensation for having to put up with her.
somewhere inside her, where a little part of her old self still burned shamefully, she would feel an occasional pang of guilt.
still, this was her turf. and her therapist’s daughter just yelled at her. mikha got so taken aback she forgot her anger for a whole minute—all the ugly things inside that had been consuming her, interrupted by this absolute ball of sunshine.
“stacey, anong- p’ano ka nakapasok dito?”
“kailan ka pa binubulyaw-bulyawan ng babaeng ‘yan, ma?”
“stacey, isa. parte ‘yun ng trabaho ko…”
the murmuring trailed off. from the looks of it, lorna was making stacey understand, and she succeeded. in the end, stacey just sighed.
“pinapasok po ako nung maid nung sinabi kong nanay ko ‘yung therapist.” stacey then lifted the lunch box, waving it in her mother’s face. “lunch mo na.”
“hindi pa ako p’wede, kailangan ko pang tapusin ‘to. maghintay ka na lang muna sa labas.”
mikha rolled her eyes. “please, lorna. i could use a goddamn break.”
stacey was just about to have a go at her again, but lorna put herself in the way. soon, stacey stalked out of the house, and lorna was approaching her again. firmly, but gently (she’s starting to hate that word now, too), she’s told they had to stick to the drills, they had to finish, it’s crucial for the improvement. and improvement was what mikha wanted, wasn’t it?
“bringing your daughter here… it’s unprofessional, you know,” mikha said, getting fed up with all the ankle pumping. “god knows kanino mo pa pinamigay address ko.”
“binigay ko lang po sa anak ko para kapag susunduin n’ya ako. ‘di kasi ako sanay lumayo,” the therapist explained calmly. “sorry po. s’ya lang naman po.”
she’s so kind, it’s so goddamn annoying. mikha completed the drills with the scowl practically made permanent on her face.
“you can eat here, just don’t make any mess. i’m too miserable to clean up, right?” mikha said sarcastically, now back in her wheelchair. she hated that she’s starting to fit right in it perfectly.
she hated that she’s even needing one of these things.
she wheeled herself out of the living room, back into the kitchen. quietly, though, she watched the pair eat there. they didn’t seem to notice, too engaged in their chitchat. but, when they began to finish up, stacey’s gaze got ensnared in hers. mikha’s frozen, like she wasn’t already limped enough.
before the two left the lim household that day, stacey went to her. she didn’t look around, didn’t seem in awe at all of the fancy things in the kitchen. just handed over a pouch that smelled of fried rice and dumplings.
“‘di namin ginalaw ‘yan.”
mikha just stared at her. in her defense, it’s hard making sense of what’s currently going on. next thing she knew, stacey had placed the pouch on top of the counter, and it’s her back that mikha was seeing.
she faked a cough. “zipper mo, bukas.”
stacey stopped. mikha didn’t see her face, but the way she panicked as she checked the zipper of her jeans was telling enough about her horrification. and, what do you know, mikha nearly laughed.
“ng bag mo,” she added.
that made stacey feel more embarrassed. she muttered a quiet, almost reluctant thanks, zipping her bag up a little too harshly, then jogged to the door.
despite getting off on the wrong foot, they started to see each other more often, mostly because stacey picked her mother up from work.
“you’re feeling a little too at home here.” mikha huffed. “you can just book a ride for her, you know.”
of course, it’s all an act. she’s not actually tired of seeing her, and neither did she think stacey was overstaying her welcome, but she had to strike a conversation with this fiery…absolutely tall and attractive…girl one way or another.
“una sa lahat, okay na okay lang sa’kin maghintay sa labas, pero ayaw ako tantanan ng maid n’yo hangga’t ‘di ako pumapasok. pangalawa, takot si mama mag-ride mag-isa. pero i doubt naiintindihan mo sa pakiramdam ‘yung gumawa ng isang bagay out of pure consideration lang sa ibang tao.”
all the while, mikha’s looking up at her, amused.
“it doesn’t take much to flare you up, ‘no?”
stacey’s brows wrinkled.
yeah, mikha’s confused why she’s all of a sudden bantering with her, too.
eventually, stacey recovered, rolling her eyes. “feeling a little too at home mo pwet mo.”
some days, the banter was so good, stacey had food or other things to give her upon the next visit. at first it’s easy to accept, albeit reluctantly. but again and again? that’s suspicious.
“mukha ba akong nasa ospital para alayan mo nang alayan?”
“yuck. tingin mo naaawa ako sa’yo? asa.” stacey practically spat the last word. “token lang 'to kasi pinapayagan mo pa rin ako pumasok dito kahit… lagi kitang sinisigawan.”
to be fair, mikha would often—if not always—rile her up first, but she decided she didn’t want to say that aloud. her gaze went from the chips being offered, to stacey’s face, and the staring contest began.
neither one of them relented, and that’s something mikha had always liked about their dynamic. from the very start, stacey didn’t treat her with that sickening cautiousness she often got from others. she retaliated, refused to back down, treated mikha like an equal and not a damaged case stuck in a wheelchair.
“whatever,” mikha said at last, accepting the chips.
but, they didn’t always banter.
some days, they sat together, waiting for lorna to get ready to get going, and just talked.
“so, basically, dalawang beses kang nag-third year?” mikha summarized stacey’s story, for which she earned a glare.
“wow, duldol mo pa ah.”
“dummy.”
“but, yes, kasi nga ‘di ba bumagsak ako sa dalawa kong major… ayun.” stacey breathed out, sitting on the lim’s couch. and mikha, in her awfully comfortable wheelchair, could feel its heaviness despite being a couple of feet away. “kaya ‘di p’wedeng ‘di ako ako grumaduate ngayong taon. hindi sa pa-bata si mama. syempre, gusto ko rin maranasan n’yang s’ya ‘yung iniintindi.”
mikha’s never sure how they got to such conversations, but it’s nice. something she learned to look forward to. stacey’s depth was something she would always make space for, even though sometimes they’re both too quick-tempered for it to even show.
“next time, when you come here, bring your books, or homeworks, whatever.”
“huh?”
“you can study here is what i’m saying. come a little earlier if you can so you have plenty of time to do what you have to do, tapos dun ka sa kitchen, it’s quiet and comfy. just put a little background noise on para ‘di kami maka-distract sa’yo.”
no one talked for the rest of it. just as mikha started to wonder if she’d gotten too soft, lorna’s voice sliced through the silence. they’re about to go home.
“pag-isipan ko. bye,” stacey muttered that day, giving a small smile before standing up.
looking back now, mikha realizes just how much that part of her life really meant to her. to have this trip down the memory lane and remember everything like it was yesterday…
she sighs.
up above her, the sun has moved just a few minutes away from the center of the sky. no longer is it a lovely warmth against her skin. others have also cleared out. with a grunt, she pushes herself up.
time to go home.
***
mikha stares at her phone—has been doing it for a while now. the 11-digit number staring back. she isn’t sure if stacey is still using it. if she’s being honest with herself, knowing the woman, she probably already has changed it. no harm in trying, though.
she straightens up on her couch. her unit has always been quiet, but it has never bothered her—this might be the first time.
then, she clicks the dial button. it rings thrice before it gets picked up.
“hello po?”
the effect is immediate—the bite of sorrow begins in the eyes, spreading across her face, the heaviness clouding her chest…
“hello? sino po ito?”
mikha holds the phone tighter against her ear. her throat hurts from smothering the impending sobs. she has to grab at something, anything, which is pathetic, and makes her realize just how lonely she’s really been to have to use the arm rest of the couch just to feel some support.
she can’t gasp for air, can’t afford to make any sound. so she just drops the call, and only then can she let out that shaky breath. that sob.
she hates that if she wanted to hear more of her voice, she’d have to speak.
she hates that she wants to hear her voice in the first place. she promised, no more bothering her. but she supposes knowing she’s about to get married changes all that.
things weren’t supposed to end the way they did. they had plans, dreams for and with each other. one day, mikha would heal completely and she’d play again, nevermind that the minimum years of healing was four. and stacey, she’d be independent, more for her mom than for herself. she always said lorna deserved to earn money and only have her own luxuries to spend it on. now, she couldn’t help but wonder if stacey had achieved those dreams, after all. just not with her.
if yes, then that’s just absurd. mikha didn’t push away the possibility of being with someone else—not entirely—but her dreams with stacey would always be exactly that. they might never be achieved, but at least she honored them this way. because as bad as things got, stacey was her person. her anchor. and she believed, at even just one point in her life, she was hers, too.
stacey was the first person she looked for when she suffered a sudden outburst. lorna couldn’t be her therapist for a week; there’s a training in some other city, and she was one of the few that got picked for the opportunity. mikha was given a heads-up, and both of them thought that was enough. that week, mikha understood how crucial the little things were in therapy. a miniscule difference in being handled, in the way the delegate therapist approached the drills, approached her, had a massive effect. mikha couldn’t concentrate, barely finished all the drills within four hours.
once was tolerable. twice was frustrating. the third session? she was completely out of it as soon as she saw the proxy coming in.
the madness crept in slowly, stealthily. at first she just did the drills with a scowl. she didn’t know how she reached the point where she’s screaming, crying, and kicking everything in her way.
“i already told you, we could skip the whole week!” she yelled. she’d led herself to the dead-end corner of the living room. fortunately, the proxy therapist knew better than to press.
“a whole week may not seem that long, pero sobrang madedelay ‘yung improvement mo, ma’am… worse, baka mag-back-to-zero ka…”
to her credit, she tried her best to explain calmly—she tried her best to be kind even though mikha knew for sure she’d also rather skip these sessions.
and then there’s that familiar voice, coming from the front door. “ate?”
stacey. she put a pause to everything again. made mikha realize how tense she’d been all this time again, and subconsciously put all of that down.
“anong nangyari?”
she put her sling bag down. it was the therapist she went straight to, and they discussed. quietly, but mikha could still hear enough.
“...just started screaming at me…si ate lorna, pero wala kasing ibang choice…nag-message ako kay ate, ipinatawag ka…”
she tried to still look angry, pretending she didn’t know stacey kept her gaze on her the whole time.
everything after happened in a blur, or maybe mikha was just too in her head to understand, but next thing she knew, stacey was helping her to the couch, then they were sitting next to each other.
“you should call your parents.”
“i’m okay.”
“mukha nga, pero kailangan nilang malaman kung anong nangyari dito…” stacey sighed. “pasalamat ka wala akong klase.”
mikha snorted. “please, wala ka naman na talagang ipinapasok halos. ‘yung mga naibagsak mo lang.”
mortified, stacey’s jaws dropped. she shoved her shoulder against mikha. “grabe ka! pero totoo rin.”
and then, suddenly, stacey was so close. their bodies pressed against each other, and neither one of them registered it as something new. just something that’s always bound to happen. her head was already there, resting on mikha’s shoulder, and after a while, she wondered why she wouldn’t just kiss the top of it.
but, maybe they’re still a little bit of distance from that.
“mikhs, you have to help yourself…”
“what do you think i’m doing? kaya nga ako nag-t’therapy.”
“i mean, kahit sa mga araw na ayaw mo ‘yung circumstances… you have to help yourself to see it through. tulad nyan, may instances na hindi si mama ang mag-d’drills sa’yo, and you already thought that’s enough reason to throw away all of your improvement.”
mikha sighed, her eyes feeling heavier. she took stacey’s hand, started doodling invisible stars on her palm. “to be honest with you, i don’t even see the improvement you’re all talking about.”
“harsh mo na naman sa sarili mo.” stacey tried yanking her hand away, but allowed mikha to hold her back. “it’s there, medyo mabagal lang. it’s meant to be slow, para hindi mabigla ‘yung injury mo.”
“your mom told you all this?”
to that remark, stacey merely rolled her eyes. “the strongest foundations are built with care. ‘di ba nga, slow and steady wins the race?”
“i’ve got no more race to win…” the doodles were drawn with a lighter finger now, mikha’s gaze seemed to be passing through the other girl’s palm. “they say it’s just indefinite when i can play again, but i know the truth. i’m out of the game. the moment i decided to ride that bike kahit alam kong maulan—” mikha paused, let out a mocking chortle for herself. “yeah, that very moment, i got myself out of the game. no one else to blame but me.”
“mikhs…” stacey cradled her face in her palm full of invisible stars. “okay.” she shifted in her seat until she’s completely turned towards her. “hindi ko sasabihin na hindi mo naman kasalanan. at the end of the day, no one can really say with certainty. but maybe, that’s the point. baka… hindi natin kailangan maghanap ng sisisihin. nandito ka na, nangyari na.”
stacey hid a different shade of intensity behind her eyes. not the usual fiery, quick-tempered kind, but one that consumed anyone and anything she looked at. and right now, that was mikha.
“siguro, ang kailangan mo na lang gawin ay patawarin mo na ang sarili mo.” she smiled.
that day, she left a feathery kiss on mikha’s hand before she went home.
lorna was her therapist again in the next session, and she would be until a year later.
“where’s your santelmo of a daughter?”
“may pasok sya.”
“it’s a saturday.”
“yes, may saturday classes sya.”
“when is she free?”
lorna shot her a questionable glance, taking a reflexive pause from the massage she’s doing on mikha’s leg. the first time she broke her professional facade right in front of mikha, and it’s for her daughter.
“i want to have therapy on those days instead,” mikha just continued. “i just think it’ll help to have someone my age to talk to. don’t you?”
the whole time, mikha was in her best behavior. the drills were done and they still had fifteen minutes to spare. the therapist pointed that out once to her, and a few times to her parents when they discussed the improvement after the session. it’s always held in the kitchen for privacy, although all mikha had to do to listen in was get a little closer to the wall.
“it’s your daughter,” mr. lim said, making both lorna’s and mikha’s ears perk up. “we heard of what happened here the other week.”
and then, carefully, mrs. lim reached for lorna’s hand, expression all soft and gaze asking her to understand, mother to mother. “lorna, we’ve been thinking about it… if you’d allow it, we’d like for your daughter to keep mikha company sometimes. kapag free s’ya.”
“don’t worry, it won’t be like a babysitting job,” mr. lim was quick to mend the cracks of doubt visible in lorna’s eyes. “but, mikha needs somebody to talk to. not like a therapist, pero ‘yung… makakarelate sa kanya.”
“a friend,” mrs. lim said. “since the accident, mikha’s kind of closed her doors to everyone. even sa amin. the fact that your daughter helped her calm down last week, and that she’s been making huge improvements since then, we think maybe it’ll be really good for her.”
“don’t worry,” it’s mr. lim again. mikha already knew what he’s about to say next— “we’ll pay.”
and it simply worked. stacey was around more often. she always timed her arrival right after mikha’s session, but sometimes, she would come early and be there for the whole two hours. she didn’t watch, didn’t meddle, just a quiet, anchoring presence on the couch.
“are you not weirded out by this whole arrangement?” mikha asked her once.
stacey finished the chips in her mouth before she answered: “medyo lang. isipin mo, nababayaran ako para daldalin ka, tapos nakaka-aircon at wifi pa ako.”
that pulled a raspy wave of laughter out of the injured athlete, and simultaneously, soothed the dread that's beginning to seed inside her—that she was becoming an obligation to stacey.
stacey only continued to prove that the fear was simply irrational. no basis from the start, and never gonna be given any. five months into therapy, she was finally allowed to leave the wheelchair under the condition that she’d use crutches. of course, that earned a lot of teasing from her friend, but also a number of invitations to hang out somewhere else.
a park, ktv, movies…
mikha only got better, because she could, and because she now had a reason to.
she was so comfortable. maybe even too comfortable sometimes that she couldn't spare stacey from her now quiet but still very much alive anger.
“how pathetic am i in your eyes that you thought i would settle for something like that? i just told you, ‘di ba, it pains me that i might never be able to play again. and your solution is to put me somewhere i can see the court but never actually step onto it? god, stacey. you’re so…”
that wasn't the first time. many times before, she’d snapped at her, but it wasn’t this big, so that might just be the first one that made a mark. the first one that made the other girl flinch.
mikha's guilt was immediate.
“i’m-” the words just wouldn't come out. she had to force her tongue. “i’m sorry.”
“sorry din.” stacey fiddled with her fingers. “mali ko rin naman na pinagpipilitan ko ‘yang coaching thing na ‘yan. it's a sensitive matter for you, i should’ve known better.”
she meant it. at this point, mikha had already had stacey’s tones memorized—they’d been friends for almost half a year, and playing this silent game of is it already more than that for the most of it. but, stacey still couldn't look back at her. still… scared?
that was another first.
mikha couldn't help but massage her temples. there she was, in a wheelchair, without a job or any purpose, and she still managed to drive away someone she held close to her heart.
“no, you just wanted to help. i can see why you’d think coaching a team would be great for me… sooner or later, i’ll need something to do,” she said, then she bit her lip. “maybe in the future, when i’m more healed here,” she touched her chest, “i will consider it.”
stacey finally gazed up at her, all softened up. were those tears forming in her eyes? she’d scared her that much? suddenly, she was stooping, her arms draped around mikha.
that would never happen again, mikha swore to herself. she embraced her back tighter, closing her eyes as she buried her nose in the crook of her neck. she would never want to lose this, so this better not happen again.
but as it was rather obvious now—she was bad at keeping her words.
getting better was an illusion humans liked to believe to feel better about the pathetic present reality of themselves. nine months into therapy, she thought everything was smooth sailing, until that stupid step up / step down drill she just couldn’t accomplish. the instructions were simple: push herself up on the platform with her right leg, and place herself back down. simple, right? not so much when your knee was defective. the first part she could handle, the second part practically laughed at her inability.
“fuck this,” she hissed. it was the third attempt and her whole body was already trembling.
just in time, stacey arrived. sensing the tension in the place, she remained quiet.
“okay, mag-break ka muna.” ate lorna, gentle as ever. only made mikha’s scowl deepen.
she decided she’d keep all the rage to herself. while the two took the fifteen minute break to eat in the dining, mikha cried in silence. she wanted so bad to slap her knees, hit it with something more cruel than the truck. it dawned on her, the anger never really left. you just learned more and more to suppress it, but it would always find a crack to bleed out of.
“may mga drills talaga na nahihirapan ‘yung patients na makuha. pero, sobrang rare ng ganito. buwan na ang tagal.”
“pero nag-t’try naman ba s’ya, ma?”
“oo naman, kung nakita mo s’ya kanina, maaawa ka…”
mikha’s fists only curled tighter, her nails digging into her palms. those two should learn to talk in quieter voices, especially in a house that’s not even theirs. awa. that’s another word mikha hated.
she didn’t speak for the rest of the session. at the very least, the aggressive emotions helped her accomplish the other activities early. then she had the following hour to spend with stacey where the latter just went on about college gossip mikha didn’t care about.
stacey noticed, nudged her softly on the shoulder. “huy, bad trip ka?” she started. “you’ll get better.”
“stop, please, stacey.” there’s the anger. it had found another crack. “akala mo ba hindi ko kayo pakinig ng mama mo kanina? parang wala lang ako dito sa labas ah? what am i, some kind of a science project for you two to bond over? the hell.”
“ano? mikha, kumalma ka nga. ayan ka na naman, nabubulag ka na naman ng galit mo, e.”
“no, stacey. in fact, for the first time, i’m seeing clearly. you’re here because you enjoy this. you’re interested because i’m a charity case you can someday tell your children about.”
“naririnig mo ba sarili mo?” stacey looked her dead in the eye, her face all crumpled from holding back tears. “i come here almost every day, kahit may klase ako, dahil gusto kong kasama ka. gusto ko mga kwentuhan natin. dahil-”
“dahil naaawa ka.”
“dahil mahal kita!” stacey’s voice broke.
what did they say about the world stopping its spinning? whatever it was, it’s true. it’s like a glitch, rather abrupt, punching her consciousness out of her body just to pull it right back and forcing it to just catch up.
mikha got what she wanted in the end—to get hit by something more cruel than that truck.
“leave,” she said. she turned her stupid wheelchair away from stacey. “and never come back. you’re fired.”
“mga magulang mo lang ang p’wedeng magpaalis sa’kin.”
mikha stopped. “my parents give me whatever i want.” she took a deep breath, hoping stacey didn’t hear the trembling when she let it out. “i only need to give them the word, and you’ll be out of my life.”
she didn’t know how stacey took that; she didn’t look back. but after that day, she didn’t see stacey for a long time, and even though she’s completely aware she brought it upon herself, she still mindlessly turned her gaze to the door whenever it creaked open.
lorna never asked. she believed stacey had somehow crafted a convincing story why she didn’t come anymore, and why that also meant cutting mikha off completely.
mikha didn’t mean any of those words, and for a long time she held onto the belief that if stacey really loved her, she would’ve known that, too. but pride could only overcome the aching for so long. and even as mikha ruminated on the ugly consequences of her choices, she knew, one day, she’d find herself at stacey’s doorstep, asking for another chance.
“i’m sorry,” she told her, a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand, and the handle of her left crutch in the other. their family car was waiting outside; she’d told the driver she wouldn’t take long, but of course, that depended completely on stacey’s response to all of this.
and right now, with the silence she’s being served, the hesitation that stood between them, and the pained tenderness in her eyes, it’s not looking good for her.
“i- i’m sorry, stacey,” she repeated, wobbling momentarily when she took a step closer with the crutches. “i shouldn’t have said what i said. i was stupid. most of the time, my ego clouds my reason. i’m used to people praising me, celebrating all my victories, even defending me when i do some things wrong. i know it’s been a while now, but it’s hard getting used to… this.” she stopped herself, aware it’s all sounding like an unwarranted explanation now. “i don’t like getting pitied.”
“i don’t pity you.”
the first words stacey spoke to her after a while. the familiarity so very much craved, mikha didn’t even question if stacey meant them.
“you said you loved me.”
“i did,” stacey said. “i do.”
the grip on the bouquet tightened, the tension in her jaws magnifying. “i’ve got a lot of flaws, now more than ever. i’m angry. most of the time, i wish i hadn’t survived that accident at all.”
“you think that scares me?”
“i might never go back to who i was before.”
“mikha...” stacey finally stepped closer. gently, she took the flowers from her, and caressed mikha’s cheek. “i don’t love you because you’re a famous volleyball player. ‘yung mga sinabi mo? akala mo ba, ‘di ko alam ang mga ‘yun? ganyan na kita nakilala. kung ano ka man ngayon, ‘yun ‘yung mahal ko.”
mikha tried to look for any trace of deception in stacey’s eyes but failed. if there’s anything there, it’s gravity. it’s the meaning of every word said, burning steadily. and when stacey kissed her, somehow, a fragment of that burning moved and planted itself inside her, too.
“i love you,” mikha said finally, pulling stacey into a one-arm embrace. “i need you.”
“i’m right here…”
she felt the other girl’s hand behind her head, stroking her hair. that moment was special, and even then she knew its memory would live on beyond her. but there’s just one thing as stubborn as their hearts—the voice in mikha’s head that translated everything gentle into unwanted pity.
and so, the burning that stacey’s kiss had given her was never meant to last.
it dimmed out slowly, one flicker of frustration after another, most of which had nothing to do with stacey, but she was the one close enough to the pointing finger. mikha wondered if the burning dimmed on her side, too. but, if it did, she did a good job pretending otherwise.
you’re just so patient, aren’t you? the words swarmed at her throat, plagued with contempt. i wonder just what the hell you’re getting from this.
she could never say those aloud. after everything, it’s inevitable to know better—letting her emotions out like this didn’t do anyone good. she kept it all, and kept it all, and it all piled up.
and she’s a ticking timebomb again.
the detonation was imminent.
of all things it could be about, it had to be some stupid romcom movie.
stacey had been trying to convince her to watch one with her, and mikha had been trying to get her to sleep over. the middle ground was easy to figure out. all curled up against her, stacey bit her lip, stifling her giddy giggles as the laptop in front played the movie.
it was cute. stacey was the kind to never lose touch with the “whimsy” in her. whenever it unfolded before mikha’s eyes, it’s difficult not to catch the infectious joy.
“he’s so… hay,” stacey said, just thinking aloud at this point. her lips were puckered as she snuggled closer. “so dreamy. just doing everything for her…”
yeah, the leading man was doing everything for the lady. driving, cooking, dancing with his two left feet just to make her laugh.
and he also ran through a traffic jam to catch her before the plane could leave.
mikha smiled, kissed her girlfriend’s head, her stomach all agitated by the thought that she couldn’t give stacey all the grand gestures she obviously desired. the same thought that kept her awake, because her heart just wouldn’t stop sinking.
the next morning, stacey hadn’t been awake for a whole minute when she teased her about the dark circles around her eyes.
“i have a question, stacey,” she said.
the smile fell from stacey’s face. she knew, it was going to be another one of those times again.
“ano?”
“not a question pala. but, just something i’ve been thinking about… the movie we watched kagabi. the things he did for her… i can’t do them for you.”
“okay? tapos?”
mikha couldn’t continue like she usually would; it’s hard to miss the exhaustion in stacey’s tone.
“tapos… kahit pagbali-baliktarin mo ang mundo, ang totoo, you’re never gonna be completely fulfilled with me. part of you will always look for those things, and you’ll end up resenting me and what we have.”
“you sound so sure,” said stacey. “mikha, i don’t need you to do anything-”
“exactly.” mikha gritted her teeth, the word coming off firmer than she intended it to be. in frustration, she curled her fists around the soft fabric of her pyjamas. “you don’t need anything from me. sooner or later, you will no longer need me.”
she couldn’t even look at her, and stacey no longer urged her to. she just let mikha sit next to her, both legs out of the bed, facing the muted white wall of her room.
“is that really what you think?”
there it was again, the exhaustion, twice as fierce. mikha could say that’s exactly what she wanted, but then, that wouldn’t be completely true.
“i think… that one day you’ll inevitably look for things i can’t give you.”
stacey clicked her tongue. some shuffling sounded from her side of the bed, and suddenly, she’s sitting next to mikha.
“bakit ba ang hilig mong pangunahan ang mga bagay, mikhs…” it was almost a plea. stacey ran her palms across her face, heaving a deep breath. “wala pa oh. nagsisimula pa lang tayo, ang layo mo na agad.”
“i don’t wanna waste your time.” mikha made sure she sounded final. no room for questions, and especially none for softness to creep in. “this is wrong, and selfish, putting you through this…”
to that, stacey just nodded. “so, ano? come on, say it. make it real. and when you do, ‘wag mo na ulit babawiin, dahil hindi sa lahat ng pagkakataon kaya kong sabayan ang pagbabago ng isip mo.”
one day, mikha lim was going to wake up and regret all of this. she’s going to realize how lonely she was and that it didn’t have to be that way.
one day, she’d find one more reason why she couldn’t stand herself.
it could be next week, or next year, or tomorrow—she decided she’d deal with it once it caught up to her.
“let’s break up.”
“okay.”
in a blink, stacey was on her feet, grabbing her things. the last of her that mikha saw was her hand when she reached for her pink scrunchie on top of the bedside table. a blury, flimsy image before her teary eyes. how badly she wanted to hold it one last time.
mikha didn’t really see, but she knew stacey well enough to know that her hair was in a bun now. messy and low. and probably had those silly strands obstructing her face but, strangely, only made her more appealing and never failed to urge mikha to get a whiff of the shampoo that had dried on her head.
as cruel as she could be, she loved her whole.
but then again, it was never a question of love between the two of them.
“all this time, i asked you for one thing—forgive yourself. ‘yun lang,” stacey stopped by the door, mikha saw from her periphery. “pero wala. instead, you’ve gotten more comfortable hating yourself. well, bakit nga ba naman hindi? someone is here willingly making up for all of that.”
the next thing mikha heard was the thud of her door closing behind the woman that she loved, brutally calm, seemingly mocking the storm wreaking havoc inside her.
that day, stacey walked out of her life, too spent and beat to make it as loud as it should’ve been.
therapy went on. mikha made a conscious choice to not be a pill. a silent compensation for hurting lorna’s daughter. the couch where stacey usually read her books with music blasting in both ears was now empty. every session concluded with an excruciating loneliness. stacey’s absence throbbed all over the grandness of her home, and there were days when she went really close to breaking, her thumb hovering on the girl’s social media profile, one wicked whisper away from sending a message. on those days, she took herself back to the last time they saw each other, to the reason it was never gonna work, and she’d feel her conviction strengthened.
stacey moved on. rather apparent from her posts. it seemed keeping her time occupied was her way. she started making those colorful artificial flowers and selling them online. she watched all the new movies that just came out and told everyone how she felt about them.
all those months, stacey listened to the same playlist. for the days that feel too long. and whenever the pain was more unbearable than usual, she would go back to the girl’s listening history, knowing full well she’d see there a part of stacey that’s also still living in that morning.
it’s comforting, knowing they each have a fragment of themselves that still stood on the same page.
six months after, stacey graduated. her joy emanated through the photograph she posted and even pinned on her feed. lorna stood beside her, smiling through her teary eyes. stacey had put the graduation hat on her instead, and the caption read:
“graduate na rin si mama ko!”
“congrats, fireball,” mikha muttered, clinking the mouth of her beer bottle with the screen of her phone. three consecutive swigs made her grunt. her eyes were beginning to hurt again and it’s pissing her off. “all these months and i’m still yours…”
another six months after, lorna resigned from the hospital, and since then mikha had been in ate rosa’s care. she wouldn’t lie and say a lot had happened in her life for the past two years. home and therapy, it had been everything. but, she managed to improve enough to have her sessions at the hospital instead. she’d moved out of her parents’ home, and had been jumping from one remote job to another to sustain her independent life, and until today, she had therapy more times than she had breakfast in a week. her parents insisted on paying for it until the end, and by then, mikha’s ego was a little too deflated already to say no.
not much, really, compared to the usual expectation of timelines for someone her age, but it gave her a newfound esteem for herself. whenever that feeling swelled in her chest, she knew, somehow, she’s able to forgive herself little by little.
there’s only one area in her life she hadn’t really made much progress in, and she couldn’t say she had tried. the truth was, she’d been holding onto what they had that completely letting go eventually just felt wrong.
stacey could move on all she wanted, she could live with that. but she had to keep loving her. otherwise, she wouldn’t be herself.