It has been three months since the last time I was able to get out of the house, but technically, I am not even outside. I am on the balcony of our second floor watching the sun go down.
My mom doesn't allow me to go outside. I don't even know why. She always says I am sick, but I feel fine, I feel even great, aside from the constant tick on my right eyelid that doesn't stop even if I slap my eyes many times. I am actually thinking of gouging my right eye out of the socket, but interestingly, I can't find a knife in our kitchen.
I look at my thin and pale arms that have not seen sunlight in months. I see some scratches that vaguely look like the letter X. I don't know when I got them; it must have been when I was sleeping.
They look fantastic, especially the parts where the scratches are fresh and the blood is tempting to ooze out. I want to get a pointed tool to finish the masterpiece on my skin, but suddenly, I remember I don't have a knife. If only I could buy one at the mall two blocks away.
Abruptly, my fantasy is broken. In my peripheral vision, I can see people emerging from the restaurant called Fat Dois near our house.
I thought they were the people I was waiting for, but no, they are just customers.
If you are curious who the people I'm waiting for are, they are the ones living in the basement of the two-story house across from ours.
During the time they moved in, I was still allowed to go outside, so just like what I always did to fresh people moving in in our subdivision, I hung out at the back of their place, lurking in the shadows, listening to their conversations.
At first, I did it to see who they were. To see that just like everybody in this g-ddamned place, they are the same goody-two-shoes who go to their tedious office jobs during the day and kneel in front of the altar, praying to some sort of mighty guy above at night.
However, after three months of secretly following them, it became an obsession. These women are different from the others. They are special, just like me.
Let's call them Sugar and Cream because they are sweet but deadly. They are the best ingredients to add to your boring black coffee. Now, be ready, because like what the pretentious people on the internet say, I'm going to spill the tea.
As an introduction, let me describe them:
Sugar is a woman with Latina beauty. She's the definition of hot and sexy. She has a small but sultry body, kissable lips, fair skin, and dyed blonde hair. She wears false lashes, which overshadow the beauty of her eyes. She walks like she owns the road and talks like she is the law of her world.
Whereas Cream is a voluptuous woman. You might find her chubby, but sexy chubby. She's tall and beautiful. However, her beauty is obscured by the number of decorations on her face. She has tattooed eyebrows and eye wings, false lashes, bloody red lipstick, and blue-colored braces.
Now that you have already imagined their physical appearance, let us talk about them more deeply.
Sugar is married but separated. She is legally married until now, but she's not living with her husband. She currently has a boyfriend who is a servant of our country. Just like her, he is married but separated. She has one lovely daughter and three cuddly dogs.
While Creamer is single in the eyes of the law, she has multiple boyfriends. She flirts with everybody, especially younger men. She has an ex-live-in partner. She has no parents but has a lot of half-siblings.
They both work in a spa—a body and foot spa. As a closeted girl who spent her life inside the house, I did believe that it was just a body massage, but there is more to it than that.
Let us phrase it like this: they work hard at night under the table, to have something in the morning on their table.
Aren't they cool? When I grow up, I want to be like them.
One has a history of abortion. The other was a prostitute. They are war freaks. They are tactless. They are obsessed. They go to the Casino three times a week. They party on Friday nights. They drink. They smoke. They have sex with different men. They lie. They cheat. They hoax. They deceive people. They sleep. They eat. They laugh. They LOVE.
Yes, you read it right. Despite all the amazing things I've said about them at first, I can't deny the fact that, like other people, they are human beings. THEY ARE WEAK. THEY LOVE.
Sugar is a sweet, loving, and generous mother to her child and her dogs. She is loyal in her own way to her current boyfriend. She sacrificed herself so much to provide for her family a decade ago.
Cream is a kind, helpful, and loving woman to everyone she cares about. She has a lot of flings but is still in love with her ex-live-in partner. She visits him every Thursday and Sunday in the four-walled room of City Jail, even though many times she is thrown away by him. She brings him food and stories that might lessen his horrible life inside.
See? These women are almost perfect in my eyes. Almost 10 out of 10. However, as mediocre people say, no one is perfect.
As much as I hated that they have flaws, unlike me. I tried to convince myself that I could change them. Forget about their families and lovers, I would make them the women they were supposed to be.
So, the plan was hatched. I decided to show myself to them. They deserved to know me.
One gray evening in the last week of December, while my Mom was buying groceries at the supermarket, I let myself into the basement of the house these women are renting using my hairpin to unlock the door. I was wearing my best white dress, given by grandma, with laces on the collar. I also brought my favorite toy—my mangled life-size doll that lost its limb and one eye two years ago.
I positioned myself in front of the door while sitting on their dusty floor. After 30 minutes of waiting, I heard voices outside, then the screeching sound of the door's hinge opening slowly. After what felt like an eternity, Sugar was standing in front of me and locked her eyes to mine. Her mouth was agape while she dropped the plastic bag from her right hand. I saw her eyes bulging. I couldn't read her expression, so I smiled my widest and friendliest smile, but in return, I heard one of them scream, “SUSSSS GINOO, KINSA MAN NING BAYHANA?” And they ran outside screaming like they had just seen a ghost.
I AM NOT A GHOST.
There was a commotion. I followed them outside. I didn’t know what was happening; other people in our subdivision were gathering around, but my mom suddenly appeared in the driveway of the neighbors' house and dragged me away from them. I heard some people murmuring, “Oh my god! Who is she? Why does she look like that? Why is she emaciated?” A middle-aged woman asked, "Nganung mura man na sya'g bukog ug panit?" And then someone answered, "She's a psycho." Then another voice said, "She has a mental problem." Then, "I heard she's possessed." An old woman uttered with contempt in her voice, "Her family fucked her up."
I didn't understand. What were these people talking about? I just wanted to meet my two friends.
I looked Sugar and Cream in the eyes, and I saw fear.
Why? I meant know harm. I just wanted to introduce myself.
My Mom dragged me to our house, and I could feel her hand on the bones of my small wrist. When I was in the small garden in front of our home, I stared at all the neighbors gathered around. Some of them looked scared, and the others looked like they pitied me.
Why were they acting like this? I was fine, and to show them, I smiled slowly, showing all my teeth while I mouthed, "Nice to meet you all. See you next time." I saw the old woman make the sign of the cross, and then my Mom slammed the door on my face.
Oh, by the way, enough with the flashback, because here they are.
Here they are, in their scantily clad outfits. They still look the same, but not at the same time. I haven't seen them for many months, and I even thought that they had moved to another place after the incident.
However, it’s not just the two of them today; there are two small ladies walking on both of their sides. One is pleasant-looking who has bangs and wears eyeglasses and the other has a resting bitchy face that reveals a gapped lower teeth everytime she talks.
They are chatting while walking. Suddenly, the bitchy face looks up in my direction and catches my eye. At first, she looks shocked, but her eyes quickly turn into something different, like a bit of fascination. I stare down at her and refuse to let go of her gaze. Her mouth curls up and shouts, "Finally, I see your face. I've heard so much about you, but until this afternoon, I thought you were just a quirky character in the scary imagination of the people in this g-ddamned subdivision." And now she is laughing like a maniac.
Sugar, Cream, and the girl with bangs try to shush her, but she doesn't stop. She walks towards our house and stands right across our balcony where I am sitting now. She introduces herself while looking up at me, “Hi, I'm one of the new girls living in the basement. I like your fashion style; it suits you. You look like a ghost wearing someone else's skin."
I don't know how to answer. I am shocked. I look down at my black satin dress, also given by my grandma. I lift my head and continue staring at her.
Her crazy, round, brown eyes glint from the weak afternoon sun, and she adds, "I don't care if you're not asking, but my name is Orsena, and you are?”
WOW, forget about befriending Sugar and Cream. They are lame. I want to be best friends with this girl and travel the dark world with her.
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