Peter

  Peter lay awake on the bed, eyes sore from staring too long at his phone screen. The house was silent. Graveyard silent. His father had gone off again on one of his business trips. Peter was angry at him. His wife had died just two days ago, and he was already back to work. He could've stayed a little longer. It hurt.

  Maybe that was his way of dealing with grief, Peter told himself. But what about him? No one seemed to care what he was feeling. He was hurting too. They thought he'd be fine because of how he looked on the outside, but inside, he was drowning. Everything felt bleak.

  He was in Mom's room, lying on her bed. He pulled her sleeping blanket over him, hoping her scent would offer comfort. It did, faintly. He imagined her next to him, though he knew the scent would fade with time. He looked around, taking in the room he'd rarely entered. It was beautiful. Serene white walls, soft lighting. Her personality echoed in every corner.

  Framed poems adorned the walls. He hadn't realized how much she loved them. She read a lot, wrote too, but he'd never paid attention. A copy of Jane Eyre sat on her dresser. She'd taken another copy to the hospital, reading it whenever she was alone. She used to say that if she ever had a daughter, she'd name her Jane. He didn't care much for books then and rarely responded when she shared things like that.

  His eyes drifted to a framed picture on the dresser. Him, Mom, and Dad. She had that smile he could never forget. Addictive. Beautiful. He stared at her face, saw himself in her features. He got his looks from her.

  He thought about the girl he'd snapped at earlier. He was sure he'd seen her before. She wasn't a senior, or he'd remember. She seemed genuinely concerned, but he'd been too angry to care. Her timing was bad, but her intentions might have been good. He remembered the look on her face. Embarrassed, hurt. Maybe he'd make it up to her if he saw her again.

  His thoughts returned to his father. He didn't even ask where he'd gone. He was too angry. His father could be anywhere in the world right now. He hoped he was okay. He was still upset, but his father was all he had left. He couldn't lose him too.

  He needed someone. He needed him.

  The walls felt like they were closing in. His chest tightened, his breathing quickened. He had to get out of the house. It was nearly 11:15 p.m. He hadn't stepped outside since school. He'd spent hours scrolling through the dozens of messages in his inbox.

  He couldn't breathe. He left Mom's room, went to his own, pulled on a hoodie, and laced up his sneakers. It was cold outside, but he didn't care.

  He ran.

  The cold wind hit his face, but he welcomed it. For a moment, he felt free. Free from grief, guilt, anger. He jogged when he got tired, then ran again when energy returned. He let his legs guide him, not caring where he ended up.

  Eventually, he slowed to a walk. He'd run farther than he realized. The streets looked unfamiliar at night, but he wasn't worried. He could always find his way home.

  In the distance, he saw two figures. A guy and a girl. They were arguing. The girl looked familiar, but he couldn't place her. He walked toward them.

  The guy seemed aggressive. He stepped closer, and now he recognized her.

  Their words grew louder, but he couldn't make them out. They didn't notice him until he was right there.

  "Is he harassing you?" he asked.

  He locked eyes with the guy and stared him down. He had never backed down from a good fight.

  Priscilla

  Priscilla walked towards table 4 to take the orders of the new customers.

  It was a really busy night at the restaurant. It was almost 11 PM and customers kept flooding in.

  Apparently she would have to go home quite late today again. She was home last week after midnight.

  She hated it very much but had no choice. Their wages were relatively fair enough for a job she only worked after school hours compared to others and a walkable distance away from home.

  She started working there a few months ago to have a couple of bucks to herself. Her mother had been overworking herself to the bone ever since her father died, and Priscilla wanted to help ease the burden.

  All the activities continued for more hours till the customers reduced and she finally attended to the last one. She watched as the last customer ate and chewed his food slowly. She was boiling with rage at his sluggishness. She stared at the wall clock. It was almost midnight. Her mother threw a fit last week when she was home after midnight. She was livid. She insisted Priscilla stop working. The world is already dangerous enough for women. She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize her daughter's safety further by allowing her to crawl around at night, she had said. It took another session of persuasion, convincing, and a solemn promise for such not to repeat itself before her mother allowed her to continue working.

  She took care of the customer's dish when he was done. She was moving as fast as she could to take care of everything. It was after midnight already. She was more worried about Mom's rebuke session than getting home safely.

  Half an hour later, she was on her way home. She'd barely walked a hundred meters when she saw a silhouette of a man trying to blend with the shadows of the night.

  She looked behind her. There was nobody in sight. She was really scared, but she couldn't turn back. This was the only way home. She continued walking regardless, but the fear soon turned to irritation when she saw whom it was.

  "Are you stalking me now?" she asked angrily.

  "Why aren't you replying to my texts?" he asked.

  "You picked a bad time, David. I'm so tired and exhausted. It's very late. I have to get home. Maybe some other time," she said, trying to walk away.

  "No," he said, blocking her path. "You keep giving me the same excuse. Some other time is now. Why do you reject my calls and never reply to my texts?"

  "I'm sorry, David. I can't do this tonight. It's very late. I have to get home. I promise we'll talk about it some other time," she replied as calmly as she could. She was too tired to argue with him. She tried to walk away again. He pulled her back, her bag falling in the process.

  "No," he said angrily.

  "Not until you answer me."

  She was getting really angry. She knew she couldn't argue her way out of this. She had to try to reason with him.

  "David, I've been busy recently. I've been torn between school and work. I barely have time for myself. I have a lot of things on my mind. I understand your frustration. I will try to adjust and create time for you. You are pushing me further away with all these sort of antics. I can't be worried about my life and at the same time have a schizophrenic stalking me."

  She regretted the last part almost immediately. She shouldn't have said that.

  "Did you just call me a schizophrenic? Is that all I am to you?" he asked calmly.

  "No, David. I didn't mean it that way. It's probably the fatigue talking. I told you I'm so tired. Conversing is the last thing on my mind right now. Let's do it another time please."

  "No!" he screamed at her.

  She stepped back a bit. She was taken aback by his outburst. She could see his fist tightly clenched and shaking. He wouldn't hit her, would he?

  "You are not going anywhere till we are done with this conversation."

  She stared at his face. He looked dead serious. She knew she couldn't try to run. He would outpace her quite easily. She was so tired.

  "There's nothing more to discuss, David. This conversation is over."

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  "Is he harassing you?"

  She heard a solemn voice. It wasn't David's. His mouth was tight shut. The familiar yet strange voice came from behind her. She turned around to see Peter standing graciously a few steps behind her. She didn't hear his footsteps nor notice his presence over her loud arguments with David. She never thought she would be more happy to see him. He was staring right at David with the familiar cold dead eye he gave her earlier.

  "Is he harassing you?" he asked again.

  "Nope."

  "We were just done with the conversation. He's about to leave," she said, looking at him.

  His eyes went from David to her then to David again. What he said next was something she never expected him to say. "Why don't I walk you home?"

  "Me?" she asked.

  "Yes, you. Or perhaps I shouldn't bother."

  "No... I mean yes," she blurted. "Please walk me home."

  He started walking. There wasn't a shred of hesitation as she grabbed her bag and hurried after him. He was already moving up the path. She took one last look at David's face. He was livid. She knew he couldn't touch her nor stop her again for fear of Peter. Peter was twice his size. Perhaps David presumed they were close and might hit him if he tried to stop her again. She didn't care about his assumptions. Anything beat staying with David here.

  She quickened her pace to catch up to Peter, who moving quickly down the lonely path.

  "Wait up!"

  His steps slowed just slightly. She caught up to him.

  "Do you know what time it is?" he asked. "It's half past midnight."

  He was right. It was really late. She didn't realize it was that late. She'd wasted so much time with David, she thought. Her mom would kill her. She wondered why her mother hadn't been blowing her phone up. Then she remembered her phone was dead. She had a habit of leaving her phone uncharged. A habit her mom had reprimanded her for on several occasions due to cellphone being unreachable in important situations such as this.

  "Are you fearless or just plain clueless?" he asked.

  "A bit of both," she said with a laugh that died when he gave her that cold look again.

  "Do you know how dangerous it is to be walking alone? Anything could happen." "Yes, I do."

  "No, I doubt it. You wouldn't be here if you did."

  "Don't you have parents that would caution you from attending late night parties with a psychotic boyfriend?"

  It stung a bit.

  "I was working and he's not my boyfriend," she blurted out.

  She was more concerned with clearing up the latter, and for some unhinged reason, she felt inclined to say it again.

  "He's not my boyfriend."

  He didn't make any comments about the new information she just gave him. He didn't care. He simply turned and continued walking.

  She was almost running after him.

  "You are walking too fast," she said.

  "No, you are walking too slow."

  He stopped abruptly in front of her. She also stopped to see why he did. He stared at her with a blank expression.

  "Where's the way to your house?" he asked.

  She realized they were at a crossroads. He didn't know which turn to take. She pointed him in the direction of the way home.

  He walked in the direction. She hurried after him again. It was quite chilly outside. Other than the fear of being harmed, there was a soothing feeling that came with walking at night. Staring at the city lights, walking under the blinding lights of the street lamps, feeling the serenity of nature at its peak. There were still a few people left on the road walking seemingly aimlessly.

  There was still an underlying feeling of puzzlement. Why did Peter offer to walk her home? She didn't bother to think about it earlier. She was more eager to get away from David.

  "Why did you offer to walk me home?" she finally summoned the courage to ask.

  "Would you rather I leave you with him?" he replied coolly, still walking ahead.

  She walked slowly behind him. She knew it was a stupid question. He would have done that for anybody. Perhaps she should just shut up and walk. She watched as his muscles flexed as he walked. He looked so handsome with his face fully illuminated under the street lights. Her eyes kept drifting to his smooth silky hair and his smoothly shaved rigid jaw.

  The silence was becoming awkward and uncomfortable for her. She tried again.

  "So, what are you doing outside at this hour?"

  No response.

  Was it a stupid question, she thought.

  "Are you exercising for the next football game?" She cringed right after she said it. That definitely was a stupid question. His mom just died. Football was probably the last thing on his mind. But sport was a good way to get over grief. It wasn't that stupid a question. He did have some jogging boots on.

  She cleared her throat to cut out the conflicting voices in her head.

  "It's quite a beautiful night, isn't it?"

  "Yeah," he replied coldly.

  His reply was so nonchalant. She regretted she asked immediately.

  "Communication goes two ways, you know," she told him. "I say something, you reply. That's how communication works."

  He stared at her with a blank expression and continued walking.

  "I don't have to, if I don't want to."

  Perhaps Janet was right. He was indeed a jerk. Who did he think he was?

  "You are very rude," she blurted out. "That's a bad way to treat people, you know. Yelling at people who try to empathize with you and being rude for absolutely no reason."

  He stopped in his track to look at her with a blank expression. She expected him to stop escorting her.

  "I'm sorry for being rude," he said.

  It caught her off guard. Did he just apologize to her? Was her mind playing tricks on her?

  "And I apologize for yelling at you today," he said. "I didn't mean to. It was nothing personal. You approached me at a bad time."

  She felt all the anger and irritation she was harboring earlier diffuse out of her. How could she stay mad at him?

  "I understand your pain."

  He shook his head sternly. "I'm sick of people telling me they understand when they certainly don't. You can never understand the pain of losing a loved one till you do."

  "I have."

  At that she got a reaction.

  He hesitated for a moment. He turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow and continued walking.

  "I lost my dad two years ago in an auto accident. He was my whole world. I was at rock bottom and sank even further with every realization I won't get to ever see him again. The feeling of being alone. I thought I would never be happy again."

  "I know how you expect this to go. You'd tell me your grief and I'd tell you mine." He looked up. "I'm not doing that."

  She was hurt a bit but said nothing. Trying harder was a waste of effort. He didn't want to open up, and that was fine. She shouldn't expect him to open up to a total stranger because that was simply what she was to him. She was the one getting ahead of herself.

  She continued walking in silence.

  He suddenly stood still and turned to face her. "Pardon me. I should have aired my thoughts better. I'm sorry about the death of your dad. I really am. But I'm not in the mood to talk about grief or talk at all. I've had quite enough of that for a day."

  "Talk about something else. Perhaps you could humor me. I'm willing to listen."

  She looked up to his face and for the first time tonight she saw traces of emotion on his cold blank rigid face. It looked so true. Perhaps he really wanted to listen to her talk.

  And so she did. She talked to him about the funniest moments she could remember. She talked about the amusing moments she'd experienced at work. She talked about her friends, Jane and Phil. Their crazy and hilarious moments. To her greatest joy he gave a snicker on few occasions.

  Coupled with the serenity of the night and watching him smile, she wished the moment could last forever. It was a delusion, for her house soon came into view. She contemplated walking around the house, taking him in circles just to make the moment last longer. She cringed at her thought.

  They stopped a safe distance from her house. "This is my stop," she said with a smile. "Thank you for tonight. I really appreciate it." "You are welcome," he nodded.

  "Goodnight," she said.

  "Night," he replied.

  She walked towards her house. She resisted the urge to take a look back at him and watch him walk away. She finally yielded at the doorsteps. She turned to see how far he had walked. Surprisingly, he was standing there staring at her. She felt really awkward and clueless about what to do. She wasn't expecting him to watch her walk home. She waved at him. He waved back. She gave a little yelp after he turned away to leave. She turned to open the door.

  A sudden rush of nerves swept through her. She remembered what awaited her behind the door. She braced herself to open it.

  "Priscilla?"

  "Is that you?"

  "Yes, Mom."

  "Where have you been? What took you so long?"

  She heard her mother's footsteps approaching. She braced up for a tongue lashing. She saw her face. It had worry written all over it and seemed pallid. Perhaps she had overworked herself again at work today. Her mother hugged her.

  "I was so scared," she said, breaking the hug.

  "I called your cellphone. It was unreachable. I feared the worst. Do you want me to have a heart attack? What happened to your phone?" she asked.

  "It's dead," Priscilla replied faintly.

  "Why are you coming home at this hour? What took you so long? Do you know how late it is?"

  "There were a lot of customers. I couldn't leave till we were done attending to them."

  Priscilla was quiet for a second. She watched the lividness disappear from her mother's face, replaced by a gloomy look. She felt sick to her stomach. She would rather have her angry than sad. It always throbbed her heart to see her sad.

  "It's totally my fault, isn't it?" her mother asked.

  "I can't believe I'm allowing you to risk your life for a couple of bucks. I'm a bad mother, aren't I?" "No, Mom."

  "Please, don't say that."

  "But it's true."

  "I'm so glad I've been given a chance to change that and you weren't hurt first before I could come to my senses."

  "Come on, Mom."

  "I understand you've been working so hard to help me out and I appreciate your efforts. I really do, but I'm afraid this would be the last time you are going to work," she said.

  "I have also come to realize your grades have been slipping. How could I have been so blind to this? I was so happy at the idea of you helping me out. I've been oblivious to how it has been affecting you." "Mom, it's not like that.

  "If you would love to help me, get your grades back up and stay safe. That would be enough help. I'm your mother. I would take care of the responsibilities even if it's the last thing I do. I will work more shifts at work if I have to."

  "But Mom?"

  "Listen to me, Priscilla. I understand how stressed you've been, working yourself out. Allowing you to continue will be the most selfish thing I could have ever done as a mother. Get your grades back up, then perhaps I could allow you to work. One that doesn't involve night crawling at that."

  "And leaving you to work alone would be the most selfish thing I could ever do as a daughter," Priscilla retorted.

  Her mother was quiet for a moment. Priscilla moved closer to her.

  "I'm okay, Mom. I promise."

  She looked into mother's eyes. They looked so sad it broke her heart. She hated seeing her sad. It seemed it was all she ever was since her husband died. Priscilla had forgotten the last time she'd seen her genuinely happy since then. She looked so frail. She had probably overworked herself again today.

  Priscilla hugged her tightly. She hugged her for every love and affection she felt for her. For every love and affection she deserved as the most hardworking woman and caring mother.

  "I will be fine, Mom. I promise."

  "Don't ever make a promise you won't keep."

  "I won't."