THE NIGHTMARE

Seconds pass, turning into long minutes that feel like a pure, suffocating eternity. I forgot how to blink ever since the moment my eyes locked with this pair. It is him, beyond any doubt, but I still want to believe that it is not him. I am waiting for that flicker of a moment when his face turns into the unfamiliar face of my ghost betrothed.


But then, minutes and minutes go by, and it is not changing. And how can it change if I hear the name loud and clear?

I take the first long blink after an eternity.

Damian, Almeda, and Riccaforte? Who is that ghost? That... how come? Why the fuck didn't I know? What is this? A fucking joke?


Hell is crumbling down on me. My head is spinning a thousand degrees per second as I spring to my feet again, albeit with so many shaky limbs. I have to clench to my seat for aid as I strut behind it, struggling to ponder any connotation of this hell of a farce as Damian's demeaning frame racks tall before me.

I am peering deep into his familiar bottomless orbs once again, yet once again, exploring for answers or any inkling that denotes that this is a prank, but the ice in them doesn't give any hint of this being a hoax. And if this is the man I know, then I know he does not play games. Or maybe this is his first game! How can he be my betrothed?


I know. I know. Coincidences do freaking happen, right? Great! So why the fuck is he not surprised? I know him so well, or at least I think I know him well. I can see it through his eyes that, aside from the same fear that we always fought about, there is nothing that bonds a shock or a surprise. No.

Their dark, alluring glow is still as strong as always, but today, right this minute, my eyes have assumed a certain dominant power that abates his dominant ones for the first time since I knew him. His stern gaze is everywhere on my face but in my eyes. He doesn't bow down, and of course, that is anticipated from a dauntless dude of his pedigree, but I still can sense the tension in him.

Well, if this is indeed what it seems to be, then he has everything in the world and beyond to be afraid of.

And, come to think about it, I think this explains everything from the moment he learned of my real identity. That I was a Riccaford. This explains it. And that is when he derived this fear from his eyes. And all his insecurities mounted from that moment on. That is why the subject of my betrothed became so important to him that he made him the center of our every conversation. I think I am getting everything right. With all the efforts he made to make me feel loved and cared for, he was trying to compensate for his betrayal.

I can't believe that this is happening. No, rephrase that. What I can't believe is all that sh*t that happened back in Mombasa. Between us. How could he? How can he?

This look reminds me of all those times we talked about my ghost betrothed. This apprehension in him is the one that I always saw in him whenever that topic was up. So, he knew? What games is he playing?

"My dear?" Papa calls, and I blink for the first time in a decade, plunging my gaze into this stranger.

I never at any point felt this eerie feeling towards him. He never felt like a stranger until now, and he is stirring my nerves so badly.

"I understand that you have never met your betrothed since birth, and I expected a reaction, but this shock, dear? You might scare the poor gentleman!" Papa says.

Maybe that is what I really want. To kill him with my shocked face. Poor gentleman, my fuck! Screw your cursed fate for playing with me like this! How much more dramatic could life get, huh? How many dilemmas do I still have to face in my life, for fucks sake? Talk of a rollercoaster, and my life is the perfect example.

I trade a fake bitter grin for my father's questioning grin and everyone else's aghast faces. I mentally scoff at myself as I lazily trudge my sight back to my so-called betrothed.

Ahem!

So this is him, finally! Finally, I get to meet my boyfriend—the same one I ran away from? I fled this place and left everything behind to escape him, only to run into his arms and sort of find refuge in him that same day.

I have all these while fooling myself, thinking that I managed to hide from my nightmare when in reality he was my refuge. I have been telling myself that I hate this man with every single fiber in me, while in reality, I love him with everything in me. How can I love and hate the same person at the same time? How disgustingly ironic is this? Like, the fuck! How can something like this happen in this damned realm?

"Ooh, my! Are these glows I am seeing in their gazes? I think our children have fallen head over heels for each other on their first encounter, Mr. Riccaford! Or ain't anyone seeing what I am seeing?" Mrs. Riccaforte chirps melodiously, but neither Damian nor I turn to their ridiculous parodies.

We instead continue the stare challenge—me mentally firing questions at him and him tossing them in his bucket of unanswered questions.

Head over heels, my sh*t! She might need to look again because, with everything that is boiling in me, I cannot be exuding any tinge of love in any sense of my being. I hate this! I freaking hate this man!

All those times we were together. All the things he has done for me.