two.

Chapter 2,

Five rings, and then the shallow breathing of the person on the other end of the line filled his ears, calming him as it did so.

 “Pierre?” Liv’s concerned voice broke the stillness of the early morning and his then labored breathing was coaxed into a steady rhythm as he heard her utter his name. He woke up from a very bad dream, and almost like a reflex, he reached for his phone on the bedside table, automatically dialing the only person he can think of calling at that unholy hour.

The only person he knows would still answer.

“Pierre…” It wasn’t a question unlike the first that as if by merely staying quiet Pierre was able to send the message of why he called.

He waited for a few seconds before talking and sat on his bed, roughly removing the blanket covering him from the demons people think they had when they were much younger. In a way, they never seemed to have abandoned Pierre. They are always there, waiting for him to crumble, to show a little sign of falling before they attacked at his fragile times. They did attack that night; they managed to invade even the most innocent part of his every day—sleep.

But Pierre wouldn’t let them, and he knows the girl on the other end of the line wouldn’t either.

“What is it this time?” Liv whispered to the phone, one hand wiping sleep from her eyes.

“I saw my father,” he stalled for a bit, reliving the horror still fresh from his dream. He didn’t know why he still bothered to call Liv, besides they both know he wouldn’t tell her anything. But the mere fact that she’d be picking up his call calmed him. Hearing the steady breathing over the phone stops the galloping of his heart and his desire to relinquish his distress through other inappropriate means.

He was okay with just that; just her breathing over the phone, that is.

Images flashed before his eyes. In one iridescent image his smaller self was in a black suit, standing by his father’s grave, his aunt’s hand planted hard and menacing on his shoulder. He didn’t dare look at her; he knows what that firm grip means, ‘It’s okay, Pierre. He’s in a better place now. We’re here for you.’ He was sure that the latter statement wrong, but he really wanted to know if indeed, his father’s in a better place. He wanted to choke on the sad stares everyone around gave him, he wanted to shake the thoughts of cherubs and some paradise from his mind, so he just stood, temporarily consoled with the stupid ideas of a place the elders called heaven.

He wasn’t seeing, he was focused on the white lid of the coffin but he didn’t saw anything but that white piece of wood slowly meeting the brown earth. But words flooded his mind; it corrupted him until the present time, ‘You killed your father. Look at him, bastard.’

It wasn’t a dream, then. It was a recollection, and before everything else came into focus once more, he stuttered, “I-I’d go back to sleep now.”

Liv clutched the phone in her ear, covering herself up with her blanket. She waited for him to talk, to elaborate further, but she knows he wouldn’t. She always thought she can read people as clearly as she read books; one look and tons of ideas about them will cloud her mind, making it easier for her to judge them as if she was judging a book. But she doesn’t stop there; most of the time she’d try to dig deeper in her own silent ways, especially if what she sees doesn’t satisfy her, or if it disappoints her.

But Pierre refuted that idea. He was a mystery, and as years went by when she thought she couldn’t, Liv learned to exist with the enigma that is Pierre.

She just smiled to herself before saying, “I’ll sing you a lullaby, then.”

He grinned, finally letting sleep roll by, knowing that even if her voice hitched at different places throughout the entire song, he would still be able to sleep peacefully.

And that over the next few hours, sleep will be okay. During that early morning, he was saved—again.

She kept the monsters at bay, and she deliriously hoped she can continue doing it for as long as she can. For as long as he was willing to let her.

And as she whispered the song which sounded hauntingly familiar to them both, Pierre slumbered.

<:>

“She wasn’t in our class today, Pierre. I really think they’re in trouble, their marriage, I mean.” She stood by her locker, features masked with worry. They were basked in the conditional scenes unfolding in a typical high school—jocks checking out innocent girls, students littering the hallway, occasional profanities swayed back and forth from one corner, the scent of cafeteria food wafting from another direction.

He didn’t try to mask irritation as his eyebrows creased, even though he knows it is unfair to cast his irritation on her. After all, she had always been careful about her actions—his exact opposite, and it wasn’t right to be angered by it. But he just had enough; the whole morning he saw nothing but the disappointed faces of teachers, as if grieving for him.

He wanted to wipe it off their faces; the faces of grief, those faces reminded him of an event from before.

Liv faced him, her light brown eyes scrutinizing the look he was giving her. He stood taller as if to test her, and she fell back to walk by his side before finally resting a hand on his shoulder. “I know you wouldn’t do anything unless provoked. But you know, maybe you pushed the limits this time. It wasn’t your problem anymore.”

“You’re right; it’s not my problem anymore. Stop making it seem like it is.”

“Besides, don’t you think she should be thanking me? If not for me she could still be living in a lie.” He was heaving now, his blood already at the point of boiling.

“I just wish…” Pierre stopped midsentence, realizing where he was headed.

I just wish somebody told my dad, he never should’ve suffered the emotional aftermath of seeing mom under the skin of another man on their own freaking bed…

She softly knocked on his head, suddenly bringing him out of the trance and whispered, “I’m reaching for the rational Pierre. I know he’s in there, somewhere. Now will he please come out and be a man?” She always did it when she’s on the verge of losing her patience, she’d knock as if to get to the recesses of his brain, asking a rational Pierre to come out of his senses and talk to her like a man and not like a kid. Although he doesn’t know if there’s even that man inside of him, he’s still amazed at her faith and idealism. But seriously most of the time, her being idealist irks him, too. It confutes his being misanthropic and cynical.

He crossed her hands and grumped, eyes glassy and serious. The siren rang out the whole campus, signaling the end of lunch break, and in a way, it meant the end of the conversation, too.

Her grip on her bag tightened; it is getting harder and harder to get through the rational Pierre. “I know, Pierre. I know. All I’m saying is that it wasn’t right for you to say that, not in front of the whole class. She was embarrassed by your sudden outburst.”

 “As if I wasn’t,”

She felt her face heat up, and he saw the adorable pink tints slowly reveal themselves on her cheeks.

 “Sometimes I hate it that you think of others’ expense.” And not mine alone.

A sad smile masked her face, and she cupped a delicate hand on his cheek before saying, “I just want you to change.”

But I can’t. No matter how much I tried. I couldn’t alter how people see me.

No matter how much I tried. He wanted to say, but instead all he did was remove her hand from his face. They reached his room, his classmates already filing in one by one as if chased by demons. He slowly made his way to his chair, not even looking to check if she already went to her own class.

I just hope nothing of great importance happens that you would be forced to change your attitude. Liv thought, and with one last glance at her best friend, she whisked to her next class, with the thoughts of formulas and the Cartesian plane evading her mind.

- - -

I was out early, had some things to do. Talk to you tomorrow. Or tonight.

He suddenly felt sad albeit irritated at the message. The three remaining periods after lunch was hell for him; his classmates and he all had to deal with curt but subtle sermons about respect to authority from their teachers, thanks to what he did the day before to their colleague.

But like always, he thought it was stupid. For him, all of the teachers are just protecting their own skins from landing in the same embarrassing position. It’s like stopping the forest fire that burned a portion from engulfing them, too—the remaining patch of green land. He could see it on their nervous glances, eyes tensing as they grazed over his, prospect preys hiding from the largest predator.

It’s as if everyone in the faculty included the preaching in the official syllabus for that day.

Knowing the hypocrisy behind just made it more interesting—and cringe-worthy in Pierre’s perspective.

Because at the end of the day, they’re all just saving themselves from foreboding shame, he pondered. It took him all his control not to sleep the whole afternoon off and shut the world out.

He revved up the engine, the lazy afternoon and the sight of the disappearing sun permanently sealed the irritation in his system. But he knew all it took was a message from the only person he thought would erase those gloomy clouds hanging above his head.

It has been long since he felt the bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth, the taste that told him someone could’ve saved him that afternoon but had chosen not to. But thinking about this made him more spiteful of himself; it isn’t Liv’s problem. And he wasn’t her concern.

And even if he tried, he can’t be mad at her. Not her.

It’s good enough that she chose to put up with someone like him for about ten years, when she could’ve chosen to be with somebody else.

Pierre knew the look on Princeton’s face yesterday triggered a set of emotions inside him, evoking the guilt from a son who saw his deceased father’s disappointment over his actions from the face of another man.

Another gentleman who wanted nothing but to change him for the better.

He drove around the city, getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the fast lane. People said driving helped clear their minds, and Pierre knew it only clear his mind off driving itself.

But instead of stopping somewhere to get a hold of his real thoughts, all he wanted to do right then and there was to crash against someone else’s car.

And get away from everything.

He wasn’t suicidal, atleast not by societal standards, nor did he try to end his life before. But the idea was just sitting there—tempting.

But then she crossed his mind, the possible look on her face if she’d see the bloodied body sprawled on the ground. Pierre couldn’t do it, not to Liv.

Not to her. It wasn’t worth it.

As the first clump of stars dot the black canvas of the sky, he drove back to his abode.

- - -

“Why hadn’t he brought you home? Is something the matter?” Liv snapped her book shut at the sound of her father’s voice. She looked up to meet his eyes, only to end up chuckling at the sight of her father’s face. She reached out and wiped the cheese hanging from the side of his mouth before finally downing her glass of soft drink.

“The pizza’s so good.”

“Good enough to leave cheese hanging from your mouth?”

“You bet.” He thanked her daughter before getting serious once more. “What happened to Pierre?”

Liv tucked her hair behind her ears and stretched her numbing arms; staying in the same position because of reading for hours does that to her.

“You didn’t fight, did you?” Mr. Green gathered the boxes of pizza lying on the kitchen table and Liv helped him wipe the table off pizza crumbles.

Honestly, she’s used to Pierre’s attitude. But something’s really bothering her. She never really thought about it before, but now that Pierre’s issues in school are beginning to be serious, she feels something inside tug at her.

“No…I don’t think it’s anything serious.” Mr. Green was forced to answer his own question after he was met with her silence. She was probably pensive about something else.

The soft hum of her father calmed her, and Liv stopped to ask, “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do we stay with people whose values and attitudes opposed ours?” He smiled before looking at her. He was used to her being wistful and the thought that he managed to rear his daughter the way she turned out to be appeased him.

“Because we choose to subtly compromise our ideals when we want somebody to stay in our lives. And yes, even if that somebody managed to act oppositely from the way we do.”

 “Especially if we know that that person also wants to be in our lives. And it’s mostly the thought of them wanting you the way you want them that makes us stay,” he added and brought the glasses to the sink, running the lukewarm water to them.

It was his turn to be pensive. He surprised himself with his answer.

Liv thought about it and the fact that her father stopped moving. She knows he was thinking of his failed relationship with her mother.

“I know that things didn’t work out for you and mom, but I need you to know that I don’t regret ever choosing to stay with you.” She said and went to kiss his father’s cheek, his wrinkling face coming in contact with her lips.

His lips twitched in a smile, “…is it because I’m an awesome father who allows you to eat all the pizzas and doughnuts that you want?”

“Because of that, too.” She muttered.

“And because all in all, you’re just a great father,” Her eyes glinted with honestly, and Mr. Green felt his insides warming up to her words.

“Promise me you’ll never go, okay?” A hint of dread was in her voice, but she still managed to smile up to him. As if by merely asking him to stay, she’s already doing something that might trigger him to actually leave. She’d seen it in movies and had read so in books; settings and scenes like the one happening right then always trigger mayhem.

She wished her mind was only playing tricks on her. Or that she had just been reading too much book lately.

The old man pinched the bridge of her nose, something he usually does to extend his adoration to his daughter. For him, she’d always be the little girl who came up to him crying because of broken dolls once upon a time.

“As long as you want me in your life, princess.”

- - -

Two hours later, Liv was on the phone with Pierre, her heart thumping with anticipation.

“I’m sorry.” She started, letting the last word trail.

“Don’t be.” It was curt; he’s serious.

“I didn’t mean to flush my opinions down your throat. If that’s how it seemed to you.”

He grinned, relaxing as he heard the apologetic tone in Liv’s voice.

“You can’t always be sorry for saying the things you believe in.” Liv relaxed a bit, too, although she wasn’t sure if that statement was supposed to be for her or more of a reminder to himself.

She knew it would take him hours to get around to it and call, but she still felt the need to apologize when he finally did.

Knowing that dwelling on the subject more will bring them no good, he decided shift the topic, considering he didn’t want to cut the conversation just yet.

“Liv, can I ask you something?”

“What is it?”

He breathed in, “Why Crimson?”

She blinked away the sleepiness already creeping into her system. “Huh?”

“Why do you call me crimson?” It used to bug him before; not knowing why he was addressed like that. But he knew deep inside that whatever her reasons may be, it meant something before, and may still have the same meaning until now.

She closed her eyes, one hand still clutching the phone. She tried to picture the deep color of crimson and how she always believed that it seemed darker than black. It was indeed, the color of blood—of life and of death itself. Liv’s weird, she knows that. She couldn’t see with crimson. It’s just…mundane, boring even. But the color itself breathes a different kind of life in it, well, at least in her perspective.

But that’s not the reason she called him that; it’s the mere fact of not seeing anything from it that had her addressing Pierre as Crimson.

The color’s like a barrier, clouding her from seeing what’s really in it or what’s about to come out of it. She stopped thinking because suddenly, all she can perceive is his face, swimming in that deep pool of crimson.

“Because I couldn’t see.” Inside of you.

She was giving him vague answers again. He didn’t push her, knowing that he has all the time in the world to figure out what she really meant.

What crimson really meant.

But maybe that was only what she intends to tell him; an open ended description as to why he was referred to as that.

“And why do you call me clover?” her bedsprings creaked as she shifted her weight, reaching out a hand to the bedside table for her book. She’s not going to read, but having a book with her when she sleeps calm her. It’s like having a companion while she sleeps.

Leafing through the pages, she waited for him to speak.

“Because you’re soft inside,” he started, and almost like a slideshow remnants of fading memories from before played before his eyes.

A playground,

A wobbly 8 year old,

Shrieking and shouting children,

A gentle smile,

A reached-out hand; soft in his own.

Another set played, this time focused on one setting alone.

Hesitant Pierre,

A stuffed four-leafed clover,

Smiling Liv,

And a budding friendship.

He kept himself entertained with those images flushing before him that he almost forgot he’s still on the phone with her.

“Clovers seemed soft. And warm; and good. Like it’s the salvation of the…plant kingdom.” Like how you are my salvation. It wasn’t supposed to come out too technical, or too stupid, but honestly he couldn’t put to words how he really sees her as a Clover.

But they both know that it means more than a stuffed four-leaf clover he gave her before.

She chuckled, not expecting his answer. “Does it bother you?”

“It does most of the time.”

“I know…” She breathed in.

“I hope you’re not being sorry again.”

“I won’t be. You said so yourself; I should never be sorry for saying the things I believe in. I do believe it involves acting the way I do, too.”

“Can I ask you one more thing?” he silently muttered, waiting dearly for her response, if she’s still up for one of his questions.

“Of course.”

“Why do good people stay friends with bad ones?” Why choose to be a friend of someone like me?

She caught the substance behind the question, and she couldn’t help but smile. For a while she couldn’t answer, so she said what she thought will keep his mind at ease and appease him.

“Because we choose to subtly compromise our ideals when we want somebody to stay in our lives,” He gripped the phone tighter, waiting with expectant breath what she might add to it. She kept quiet, knowing full well that he needs to take in what she just said.

“Do we change for them?” he started. After a few seconds, he added, “Do we need to?” he felt his hands shook, but he steadied it on his ears.

“Figuratively, we do. But I wouldn’t call it changing, it’s adapting to them and their ways. It’s accepting them, soaking our lives with theirs.” Her voice wavered a bit, he’s losing her. In minutes he’ll hear her gentle sleeping breaths over the phone once more, but before that, he heard more things than she could possibly want him to hear.

 “Don’t do that. Compromise your ideals for my sake, that is,” He felt anger building inside him, maybe he was doing her no good, maybe he’s being a bad influence to her; he’d already managed to alter her ideals just to suit him.

But a tiny voice in his head thought him that it’s not like that, that he is important to her. Whatever he is or whoever his parents were.

“But promise me you will stay no matter what.”

“If you still want me to, then I will, Pierre.” Liv assured him, knowing that’s what he needed to hear the most.

She was met with his all too familiar silence. He had chosen not to respond, for there are no more words left to speak. That’s all they needed anyway, just a knowing silence, a silence that screams ‘I’m here.’

And that neither of them is leaving the other anytime soon.