After my class with Hoffman in Creative Writing 206, I hurry to the finance department to request for a student loan. I'll be needing it to help me survive college for this remaining month. My savings are solely intended for Dad's hospitalization.
Unfortunately, the comptroller and the head student loan officer decline my request. They say that a new policy is implemented a semester ago that loans for the finals must be requested two months before it is needed.
I am too late.
Financial aids for the unfortunate are already distributed to the requestors and new requests at this hour are useless.
I am too late and could only sigh.
However, there is one last chance for me although I don't think I'll accept it.
"You can request for student assistance from the Student Council Office," the lady comptroller tells me. "Ask directly for Etheridge's approval, and he might refer you to her mother's foundation. Ever heard of the Etheridge Scholastic Grant?"
No way. There's no way I'd see that man again! And in no way shall I ask help from him.
"Is there a way that I won't need to go to Damien?" I shyly ask, feeling a little rebellious against myself for having asked it.
"You can always go there if you need the assistance in three months," the comptroller answers. "In your case, you need the money in a week before the finals, so better go to Damien. He can help you. It's his mother's foundation anyway."
"Thank you, Ms. Tate," I say, and I turn to the door.
So everything I need is in Damien's mercy. Why does it have to be him? Why must help come from him? Why can't it be somebody else when everything about us is fucked up right now?
If only cursing myself will remedy this complexity, it could have been resolved long before.
No student loan.
I'm in a shortage of funds for Dad's hospitalization.
Mom is in a state of shaken emotional stability.
Oh God, where do I get the answer for all these?
Snap!
Ray flickers his fingers in front of me as I am taken back to my senses. I have been staring into the empty air while we are waiting for the bus.
"Why the long face?" asks Ray. "I already see wrinkles on your forehead," he teases. "Still thinking about money, Angel?"
"No." I have to say it so Ray won't worry. I don't want him thinking about being the over-caring friend again.
"Oh! So you've found a way?"
"Yeah!" I lie as I quickly think of the next thing to tell him in case he queries like an investigator.
"Etheridge?" His nose wrinkles.
"Of course, not!"
"Good!" He taps my shoulder as though agreeing with me. "I'm so done with Etheridge! He's been torturing me with endless questions about you since last night at Maxwell's and in school. I even had to put up with him when I was in the library reviewing for the finals."
"He did?" Well, I am not expecting that. Nevertheless, the thought of a man with a bad reputation as a constant irritant somehow softens the flatness on my face. He's not really stopping, is he? He's worse than a toddler who can't understand the two letters N and Oâ NO.
"What's the smirk for?" Ray's curiosity takes over.
"Nothing. Etheridge is just so annoying."
"Yet just the thought of him brings a smile to your face."
"I promise to thank him for being a clown to me in these times of complete misery."
"I have to admit, I never thought Damien Etheridge could be this persistent."
"You know why," I reply.
The bus arrives, and we got in together with a crowd of passengers, searching for our seats. I take the seat by the window as I love to watch the scenery change as we travel.
"He's become more of a laugh now than a nuisance, hasn't he, Angel?"
"Yeah," I answer coolly.
However, I have a feeling that Ray's questioning is related to my financial problem. He isn't thinking about me pursuing that stupid plan, is he?
"Just want to make sure," he murmurs, his eyes at the window.
I am silent for a while, thinking. His questioning leads me to the point of reconsideration.
If I were to put it in an analogy, it would go on like this.
Damien Etheridge, easy money.
Damien Etheridge, the answer.
It isn't that hard not to figure out this puzzle.
"Angel, I know there was a time when I told you that doing it is the obvious way out of this mess." Ray reaches for my hand. "And I admit I was a little thrilled by the idea of a one night stand with the Damien Etheridge. Who wouldn't?" he chuckles. "But it's not the case now. I worry about you, and there's no way I'll allow that skunk to touch you, okay? My offer is still on. Take it before I purchase a ticket to France and make reservations with Charles."
"Ray, I told you I have figured the way out of this hullabaloo."
"How?" He arches his eyebrow.
"I'll add one more job. I made it with two, I can juggle three."
"What job?"
"There's a vacant secretarial position at an accounting firm in the city. Pay is higher there."
"That's going to be suicide, Angel!" His eyes widen. "One word, school! Think of the four remaining weeks. You won't just sacrifice it all, will you? You worked hard for four years to get good grades, to land a good job. You're not going to sacrifice everything, are you?" His arms crossed over his chest.
"Ray, it's not like I have a choice."
"Angel, all you have to do is take the exam in two weeks, top it, graduate with honors, and apply for a good job with excellent pay. You deserve more than just a diner girl's income. When you get a good job, earning money will no longer be a problem."
"That's going to be a month long wait, Ray. I need the money now."
"That's why I am here!"
"No!"
He tightens his grasp on my hands.
"Angel, please let me do this for you," he says.
"Trust me, Ray. I can sort things out," I answer. "You've done a great deal of help to my family and me already. It's about time you think about yourself."
He plunges his back on the chair's support. "I have a feeling that you really have no idea how to solve this," he says after one long sigh. "Etheridge is a no-no, and so is that job. What is there left for you?"
The bus stops just a few blocks away from my doorstep.
"This is me," I say.
"Angel, please think about my offer, will you?"
"Ray, I'll get back to you at work, okay?" I climb out of the bus and hurry to my apartment's front door. I search for the key in my purse when I notice envelopes inserted into the hole of my door, just a few inches from the rug. Postmen always miss the mailbox just standing at the foot of the stairs. I wonder why they still fail to see it after I painted it yellow.
I pick up the mail and enter the building. Our flat neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Lowe are out on vacation and wouldn't be back in a fortnight, the Dunnigan siblings return before midnight after school and work, and old Mr. Maurice's place is recently abandoned after his family put him in a home. Looks like Dad will have to spend his morning walks alone now.
They are letters from our endless list of creditorsâhouse mortgage, bank loans, and even far away relatives we owe money to. I rub my forehead, wondering when we can pay all these.
I am all set to have a change of outfit and to pack some of Mom and Dad's clothes. I have to take these clothes at work and then go straight to the hospital after. I pack a few pairs of pajamas and sweater for Mom before hitting the shower.
When all is ready, I leave.
The diner has officially become Damien's play hub. If he doesn't bring along his noisy and rowdy group of friends, he will go alone. Tonight is not an exception.
With him dressed in a v-neck midnight blue cotton shirt and his well-styled faux hawk haircut that accentuates his strong facial features and goes so well with those deep gray eyes, I think he is dressed for an important date. With his dark hair and looks, Damien would pass as a rock star.
If he had his hair shaved during Student Council Elections, he'd probably lose. Who would want a rock star elected to the highest chair in the council?
I think for a while.
Maybe it is only me who disagrees. Perhaps everyone likes Damien Etheridge. Nobody cares about how he looks or what he wears. To them, he is the living embodiment of Michelangelo's David. To me, he is just a bully who likes to pick on girls only to put them in the bad light.
From the counter, I carefully peep at his direction only to see him looking down on his cell phone, probably waiting for some phone call or text. I somehow feel relieved that he isn't bugging me off. He's probably given up now after realizing that I am dead serious about turning him down.
"Is that Etheridge?" Ray's voice says. "You want me to take his order?"
"I don't think he'll be staying for long," I answer, taking off my gaze from him.
Ray narrows his eyes at me.
"He's probably going out," I tell him while I dry the glasses with a clean cloth.
"How do you know? How do you know he's not here to burn your patience again?"
"Look at him!" I tone down my voice. "He's all dressed up. He's not going to waste his time here stalking a plain diner girl. He's probably regained his senses."
"F.Y.I. Etheridge looks hot in every outfit he wears. It just so happens that blue is his color, and he looks absolutely ravishing tonight," says Ray. "Wait till he comes to you, and we'll see if the stalking ends."
"I thought you're completely against him, Ray!"
"I am." He gives me a sly grin. "But we can't deny that Damien is the man." He sounds like he wants to be in his bed.
"What happens to the Charles and Ray tandem?"
"Charles is miles away from me. A little infidelity doesn't ruin a long-time relationship," he jokes. "Besides, it's only in my mind."
I drop my jaw.
"You're lusting over Etheridge?" I turn to face him, wide-eyed in surprise. Ray has never told me about this before. I know that he's always praised the man for his unconventional looks, but I never deemed he'd fantasize about him.
"Once in a while." His cheeks blushed. "He's a dream come to life, Angel. Look at those strong biceps and those slabs of muscles that are hidden underneath that fabric. And who wouldn't want to see those perfect gray eyes when you wake up in the morning? Charles has chocolate brown, but I'm always a sucker for gray eyes. Someday, I'll make him wear blue or gray contacts."
"Oh, shut up, Ray! I can't believe you. Now I understand why you were so ecstatic when I told you about his reaction after I blurted out that stupid question." I shake my head in disbelief.
"Don't get me wrong, Angel," he defensively said. "I don't really want you with him. He's just going to hurt you, and I don't want that. I was surprised he took your offer a little positively, though."
"Extremely positive, I daresay!"
"Yes, and it is shocking that he gave you a counter offer. If I were in your shoes, I would have probably accepted it without second thoughts for two reasons... First and my main objective is the money, and second, to get hold of his body. It's fantasy, Angel!"
"Enough of this, will you?"
Jesus! I can't believe that Ray, too, has become a victim of the Etheridge ensnaring spell.
"But you, dear Angel, must never bring your guards down. It's always a no to that sly Etheridge, okay?"
"Always a no." I glance back at Damien's table through Ray's shoulder when I see him walking toward us. Quickly, I grasp Ray by the arm, thinking that holding him might ease my rising anxiety.
Surprisingly, he just walks past the counter and winks at me.
"That's it?" Ray mumbles. "Just a wink?"
By the time Damien reaches the diner's door, a voluptuous woman in a blood red outfit, comes into the picture and gives him a kiss on the lipsâ so deep and passionate that I think it brings Damien to heaven. My eyes don't miss his expert hands going around the unknown's girl's body.
"Who is she?" I hear the disgust in Ray's voice. "Flavor of the month maybe?"
"Flavor of the night, I guess," I said, turning away from the door. I quickly make myself busy with the remaining orders on the list. There are five customers waiting for their cheeseburgers and iced tea. "I told you he isn't serious about me. He just did it to mock me, that's all. I'm not even an inch of that woman's hair to be liked by him."
"Well, that woman doesn't know she's sleeping with the devil. Poor her," Ray mutters. "She isn't as bright as you, Angel."
"I take that as a compliment. I'd rather be smart than be a brainless beauty!"
Ray snorts.
I can finally breathe. Damien is officially out of my life. That wink is as good as a goodbye.
I am on my way to the seventh floor when I see Mom at the corridor, taking a call in the payphone. I am just about to call her attention when I see her face so red and puffy. She is crying again. I also see apprehension dulling the youth and vibrancy of her face.
Mom doesn't see me as she is all ears on the telephone call.
"Please don't do this to me, Mr. Gresham," I hear her say. "Don't, please. My husband is sick, and I need this job to pay for the hospital. I promise I'll be back right after George's discharged. I just can't leave him alone in here."
Mom's pleading sends a bullet straight to my heart. There's something in the way she pleads to her superior that makes it all a whole lot more hurtful. I feel the corner of my eyes welling up with tears.
Mom continues to cry, begging to keep her job.
All I can do is watch her beg for mercy as desperation and hopelessness wash over me. My chest feels so congested like a lot of air is in there, clamoring for a way out, waiting for it to just explode. It's really unexplainable. Never in my life have I prayed to see Mom cry like this. She has always been the strong Sarah, the unsinkable Sarah Mohr. Why this? Why is she crying like hope is impossible? Why be so weak at this time?
She's crying, and I can't take it.
I scurry out of the corridor and go straight to the restroom. I lock myself in a cubicle and cry.
This is too much already. I don't know what to do.
Why does this have to happen to us? I've always been good to people. I work hard and never step on anyone's toes. Why is this happening to us?
I'm twenty-one. Am I not too young to go through a problem like this? Am I not too young to be shouldering this great responsibility a head of the family must be facing? I don't know of anyone who's as unlucky as me. If God is playing the wheel of fortune and he has to pick a random casualty, why must it be me?
I slam the cubicle's door open and rush out of the restroom.
I need some air.
The hospital makes me sick. I feel the walls pressing and squeezing me, crushing everything in me.
Random thoughts cross my mind. I see cars speedily driving by, tires screeching when they hastily stop for the red light. I have thought of the unimaginable.
If I do it, it will end everything.
It will literally be the end of everything for me.
What an easy way out of this burden! What an easy answer for my misery!
I look again at those cars. They move so fast. If I walk straight across the pedestrian on a green light, all these will end in a flash. What a relief it will be! What a respite it can give my whole being.
I close my eyes.
The recollection of Mom and Dad surges in my memoryâthose good years I had with them.
No!
With one unusual heartbeat, I am awakened. In an ocean of tumult and the almost similar sounding pounding of my heart, I hear a different oneâ one that will save me from this impulsive decision. If it weren't because of this, I would have walked to the point of no return.
No.
It's not the answer.
It's not going to end like this.
There's no way I'll hurt my parents this way.
As the realization sink in, the light of hope does too. I find myself running through the bright streets of the city, looking for the address that is written on this tiny piece of card on my freezing fingers.
In just a matter of minutes, I find my way in through a posh corridor adorned by magnificent floor to ceiling glasses that gives a spectacular view of the beautiful cityscape of my hometown.
It's thereâ his penthouse.
He told me to come over when I have made my decision.
I have made my decision. I am determined now. He's my only hope.
With my trembling finger, I pushed the doorbell twice.
There is no room for doubt now. There's no coming back. I hear Ray's voice hitting my ears, saying, "But you, dear Angel, must never bring your guards down. It's always a no to that sly Etheridge, okay?"
Not this time around.
I push the doorbell again after a few seconds.
The door opens and reveals the gorgeous blonde I saw in the diner a while ago kissing Damien. By the looks of it, I readily deduce what occurred after that passionate kiss in my territory. She's wearing an oversized white polo shirt that is only buttoned a little below her breasts down. Her legs are scissored together when her glare finds me.
"And who are you?" she asks while fixing her gorgeous locks.
I clear my throat. "Angel Mohr."
She looks at me from head to foot.
"Are you lost, sweetie?"
"No, I'm here to speak with Damien."
"Damien?" The smirk entails something more.
"Yes."
"He's in the shower," she says. Her glares feel like leeches sucking my flesh. "You can return tomorrow."
Before she closes the door, I place my hands on the door to keep it open.
"I actually have an appointment with him," I say.
"Appointment at this late hour? It's ten, sweetie."
"Well, if you don't believe me, ask Damien." I arch my eyebrow as I start to feel annoyed.
"Who's there, Hannah?"
I hear his voice emerge from his apartment.
"Some Angel Mohr, babe," this Hannah girl responds.
Damien Etheridge appears in my sight with only a towel hanging on his waist, exposing those hard and well-defined slabs of muscles Ray has been drooling over for some time. He is dripping wet, and his face looks flustered upon seeing me.
"Babe," Hannah speaks, "she says she has an appointment with you. Is it true?"
Damien's glare is fixed on me, surprised and unmoving.