CONTENT WARNING

This chapter contains mature themes and scenes that may not be suitable for a very young audience.

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The darkness faded from Danilo's eyes, his four-hour restless sleep dissipating. The cracking pain in his head reminded him he had been drinking the night before.

His memory swirled. Bottles of beer. A pack of cigarettes. Laughing with his friends about the old angry lady in the park. A heavy rock in his hands. The dark lake water reflecting yellow lights. The fading figure of a woman in the night.

Dulnuan.

"Shit!" Danilo sat upright. "That was some dream," he said to himself. He rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes to stifle his headache, grappling with the notion that what he experienced was more than just a fevered dream.

"Danilo!" His mother's voice came.

Looking down at his lap, his horrible life came to him--the life of a custodian, a drunk and a chain-smoker, a High School graduate who had no better opportunities, and a son whose mother hated him for being himself.

He pressed his hand to his knee, feeling the bone there, cupping the hard roundness of it to jerk himself back to reality--any sensation to make him realize he was safe in his room.

His hand traveled down his bent leg until he reached his ankle. His skin was sore there. When he lifted the hem of his pants, an angry red line braceleted his ankle.

A dream flashed--him squirming on the ground, his leg tugging on a rope tied to a rock as he tried to get away.

"No," he whispered as his fingers traced the gash. "It was just a dream. It can't be real." He tried to tell himself this, but the girl--transparent, barefoot, in Igorot attire, with a gold hoop earring--was real.

"Danilo! Come out of your room!" He heard his mother screaming.

"What do you want?!" he shouted back.

"Just because it's your day off doesn't mean you can sleep all you want. And where have you been last night?! I heard you come in at six in the morning!" His mother started to nag.

"Fuck," he whispered, wanting to shout it. No one understood what he was going through in life. And, he was sure, no one would believe he had seen a ghost last night.

"Danilo!"

He swung his legs off the bed and padded out of his room.

As soon as he opened the door, his face was met with a flying slipper. "What the--"

"Where have you been last night?!" The other pair followed, soaring from his mother's hand.

Danilo caught it in both hands. "Ma!"

"Don't you Ma me!" She started to swat his arm over and over. "Where did you go last night!"

Danilo hunched and curled, pressing his elbows to his side and guarding his face with his hands. "Ma, please!"

"Where did you go!" His mother stopped to take a breath. She pointed with a furious finger. "You've been drinking again. When will you ever stop? When will you change?"

"Ma, please. I have a headache!" he pleaded.

"That's because you've been drinking again. That's all you do. My God!" She fisted her hands and placed them on her hips. "When will you ever change?"

Danilo dropped the slipper and looked toward the kitchen. He had gotten so used to his mother's wrath that his stomach didn't care he was being scolded. He was hungry.

"Why can't you be more like your brothers or your sister, Camila, who's now in the States because she's a doctor. She's so smart. Why can't you be like her? Sometimes I think you might not be my son." His mother shook her head, disappointed.

"Maybe I'm not your son," Danilo answered. He was fed up with his mother's dismay. He was fed up with always being compared to his great brothers and successful sister. He was fed up with not being wanted. "Maybe I'm the son of a devil."

"You might as well be," his mother said, snarling. "That would explain why you're like that. I would be happier knowing you are not my son."

It wasn't the first time Danilo heard his mother say such things. It wasn't the worst. But it hurt all the same. He swallowed and stared at her.

"When will you ever change?" She sucked in a deep breath. "Your father was a hard working man. No one in this family smokes or drinks as much as you do. I don't know where you get this attitude from."

"And when will you ever accept me for who I am?" It was his turn to point a finger. "Don't you get it? I will never change! You're wasting your time!"

"My God!" His mother shouted.

"Pray all you want! Your God can't change me," he said, his hand gesturing and flinging outward.

"You watch your mouth! How dare you! Where are you going?" His mother reached out, but Danilo had already turned to the door.

"Out, where I can be at peace!" He exited the house, slamming the door behind him it shook its walls.

Oh, peace. If he had gone through with his suicidal attempt the night before, he would have that peace now. But Dulnuan had interrupted him. Some power from beyond didn't want him to die yet, sending a spirit to save him. But he was sure it was not God.

He used to believe in the higher being, but after his father's violent death--a vendor getting mugged for his change, stabbed three times in the belly, and left out in the cold night to bleed to death--he wondered if there was truly a God at all, and he came to realize there was none.

His father's death came a week before his high school graduation. Instead of attending to accept his diploma, he had sat beside his father's casket, accepting people's condolences. But he didn't want their sorries. He wanted his father back. Since then, his life spiraled to what it was now at twenty five.

Tears blurred Danilo's eyes as he walked down an alley, leading away from their home. "Fuck my life," he cursed. His stomach grumbled, and his head was splitting. He wished he could've at least gotten some water.

Patting his pockets, he found his phone, two hundred pesos, and some change. He sighed a relief, knowing he could buy some food with the money.

He headed straight for a carinderia, a small eatery, where he got a bangsilog--bangus, egg, and rice--and coffee. He only ate to satisfy his stomach and help with his headache. His appetite was dead like him inside.

After eating, he wandered around the neighborhood and found his way to a store where his usual drinking buddies were hanging out.

"Danilo!" A man standing at the front of the store called him.

"Miguel," Danilo greeted him. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?" he said as he walked up to the man.

"I'm on sick leave," Miguel answered, grinning. "What about you?"

"Sick leave?" Danilo asked, standing in front of Miguel who was about half a foot taller than him.

"Yeah, I told my supervisor I have LBM, so I couldn't come to work." Miguel patted Danilo on the shoulder and guided him to come closer under the shade of the store.

"Wow, I wish I could do that." An envy curled in Danilo's mind. Most people seem to have it better than him. It was unfair that he had to live a life he didn't want--a shit-wasted life where he couldn't do what he wanted to do. If only he was rich, he'd be free to do anything, including sleep through the morning and live in a grand house away from his mother and oh-so-great brothers.

"Well, if you get a better job, maybe you could. These companies today are now paying us on our sick days, you know."

Get a better job. Those words punched Danilo in the stomach. He swallowed, envy growing in the pit of his belly. If only he had gone to college to get a degree, maybe he could get a better job.

"You look like you had a rough night." Miguel tilted his head sideways, staring at Danilo's deep and dark eye bags. "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing." Danilo shook his head. "I was out late last night. My mother and I got into a fight again."

"Looks like she won by the looks of your long face." Miguel chuckled.

Danilo scowled.

Miguel patted his shoulder. "I'm kidding. You're always fighting with your mother."

"She's always starting it."

"Well, from what I hear from her, you haven't been a good boy since your father passed away." Miguel grinned.

Danilo scowled again. The mention of his father's death made him grind his teeth.

Miguel raised his point finger in the air. "You know what you need? A drink."

Danilo's headache had subsided, and the craving for more alcohol was faint. He heard his mother in his head. When will you ever change? "No. I think I'll just have a smoke," he said. Even if he wanted to, he didn't have any money on him for a drink.

"Aw, come on. I'm paying," Miguel said, looping his arm on Danilo's shoulder and dragging him to the store's counter. "Two Red Horse Grande, please. And a pack of Marlboro." Miguel said to the seller behind the counter before Danilo could protest.

"Alright, but just two Grandes, and I'm out." Danilo followed Miguel to sit on a bench near the front of the store, a liter of beer in hand. He could really use a smoke, and he eyed the pack his friend had pocketed.

Once they sat and Miguel offered a Marlboro stick, Danilo gratefully accepted it, the insides of his watering mouth craving for the taste of nicotine. When he leaned over to Miguel for a light and sucked in the smoke, a mild bitter taste coated his mouth, and warmth glazed his throat. He held it in for a few seconds longer before releasing it into a large sigh, modulated by all the heavy worries that weighed on his shoulders.

"Good, eh?" Miguel asked as he took a deep breath from his cigarette.

"Yeah," Danilo answered as he pulled his stick away from his face and stared at the burning amber at the tip.

"So, where did you go last night?" Miguel said.

Danilo looked up at his friend's round face. His thoughts immediately found the images of the dark lake, and his hands remembered the weight of the heavy rock. I was trying to kill myself. He had easily said the words to Dulnuan but couldn't answer Miguel's question now. "I was just out drinking," he said instead.

Miguel chuckled. "No wonder your mother is angry at you again. You know she hates your vices."

Danilo took his beer bottle and chugged a large gulp he almost choked. His throat burned under the sensation of smoke and alcohol, having a little taste of what drowning felt like.

He didn't share anything else about his fight with his mother, though he wished he had. He wanted someone to talk to about his life. He wanted someone to listen to all his pain. But Miguel would only chuckle, he thought. And sharing about Dulnuan would make him burst into laughter, and Danilo hated being laughed at.

All his life, everyone pitied him. He knew they all thought he was a joke--a nobody who could never be anything but a worker without a contract who gets by with daily pay that was not even the minimum wage. How did he come to this? An identity he could never shake away and will follow him for the rest of his days.

Danilo had a light conversation with Miguel, only talking about the weather, rumors of their new mayor being corrupt, and a cute girl he'd seen at the park wearing a see-through shirt.

After the first bottle, he couldn't say no to the next and the next and the... he couldn't remember how many they had when his body relaxed to a familiar drunken sensation. And as he gulped the last drop of his Red Horse, he finally tapped out. "I think uhm done," he said, laughing as his tongue slacked in his mouth.

"Yeah, we should stop before you drain my wallet." Miguel laughed too.

"Speaking of wallet, I left mine at home. I can't go back with my mother still angry at me. Do you mind lending me some?" If he weren't drunk, he'd be too embarrassed to ask his friend for cash.

"Sure." Miguel handed him a few thousand bills.

When Danilo counted it, he had six thousand pesos in his hands. "This is too much," he said, handing back the five.

"It's fine. You can pay me back with interest." Miguel chuckled another drunken laugh.

Danilo shrugged and pocketed the money. Why would he say no to it? This was more than he got for his salary. Being a boat custodian at the park lake wasn't exactly the best job in their city. He was sure his father, who had been a vendor, had made more money than he was making now. "Thanks," he said.

They had started drinking early after lunch, so the sun was still up when they finished. But it was nearing sunset, so Danilo left Miguel to enjoy the rest of his sick leave.

Getting drunk and high on nicotine was life for Danilo. So, he was thankful for his friend's generosity. But after the number of cigarettes and several bottles of beer, he found himself craving for something else. He sensed a bulge between his legs and needed a release. He could jack off in an alley somewhere, but with the money Miguel had given him, he could do more to satisfy his needs.

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☠ Author's Note:

Part of this chapter is written on a plane.

☠ Glossary:

Carinderia: A stall or store where cooked meals are displayed on a counter for customers to point at what they'd like to order. Otherwise known as turo-turo (point-point in English).

Red Horse Grande: Red Horse is a local lager beer in the Philippines. Grande is a one liter bottle size. 

☠ Fun Fact (but also a glossary): 

Bangsilog: Silog is a type of breakfast meal in the Philippines, which is composed of sinangag (garlic fried rice) and itlog (egg). Combining syllables from each word becomes silog. And Silog is usually chosen with another dish. An example is bangus (milkfish), which is called bangsilog.  

Some Filipino silog breakfast meals: (left to right) chicksilog (chicken), tapsilog (tapa), tocilog (tocino), bangsilog (bangus), hotsilog (hotdog), longsilog (longanisa).