#multo

Humingang malalim, pumikit na muna At baka sakaling, namamalikmata lang (Take a deep breath, close your eyes Maybe your eyes are just playing tricks)

Pale eyelids cover bloodshot eyes as Sylus takes a jagged, stuttering breath, trying to anchor himself to the present. He is the leader of Onychinus; he is the man who fears nothing, yet here he is, trembling in a crowded terminal.

Not two seconds ago, a girl had drifted past him. She had the exact same silkiness to her hair, that specific shade that used to catch the morning light on the pillows. She smelled of the same rainfall and vanilla that used to cling to his skin after a long night. His head swerved with a violent, desperate hunger—a hunter spotting a ghost.

His heart hammered a rhythm of pure, agonizing hope. Why would you be here in the N109 Zone? Why would you walk past him with such cold, vacant eyes, as if the years of shared breaths and whispered promises were nothing more than static?

He blinked, his vision fracturing. When he looked again, the girl was gone. The space she occupied was filled by the gray, smog-choked air of the city. It wasn't you. It was never you. It was just another cruel trick played by a mind that refused to accept its own ruin.

“Sylus…!”

The voice was airy, a soft vibration that seemed to come from the very walls of the penthouse.

Sylus, who had been trying to lose himself in the dense prose of a book, froze. The silence of the room was suddenly heavy, expectant. His ears perked, his head snapping toward the empty doorway. For a heartbeat, the lethal edge in his eyes vanished, replaced by a raw, naked vulnerability that would have sent his enemies into a frenzy.

Then, reality settled in like a layer of ash. His eyebrows furrowed, a deep, bitter shame burning in his gut as he turned back to his book, glaring at the ink until the letters looked like crawling insects.

Who was he kidding? He was alone. The twins were out on a mission, and Mephisto’s cage was unnervingly still. The silence wasn’t a peace; it was a vacuum, sucking the air out of his lungs.

With a frustrated snarl, he slammed the book shut and stood, his leather chair groaning under the sudden movement. He paced to the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring down at the glowing, neon veins of the empire he ruled. On the mahogany table sat a crystal glass of whiskey, the ice long since melted into a watery grave. He grabbed it, downing the lukewarm amber liquid in one go, desperate for the burn to reach the places where he felt nothing but a hollow chill.

He had tried to bury it all. He had stitched the wounds you left behind with iron thread, covering the scars with expensive silk and cold indifference. But the stitches were rotting. Why did your voice still echo in the marble hallways? Why did you haunt the quietest moments of his life?

Sylus was a man of infinite means. If you had asked for the moon, he would have dragged it from the sky by tomorrow morning. If you wanted to own a star, he would have laid a map of the galaxy at your feet and told you to choose.

But he couldn't buy the one thing he actually needed. He couldn't command the one wish that kept him awake until the sun turned the horizon into a bruise.

The wish to let you go.

Because in every dark corner, in every reflection of the glass, your face was the only thing he could see.

The mission had been a success by every objective standard, but as Sylus stood in the wreckage of the warehouse, he felt like he was drowning in lead.

An innocent had been caught in the crossfire—a little girl, barely ten years old, with eyes too big for her face. Her father had been a coward, a man who traded his daughter’s safety for a few more seconds of his own pathetic life.

While the twins held the man into place, Sylus pulled out his gun and aimed for the man’s head. But as soon as that happened, a little girl came out from her hiding spot and guarded her father.

Of course, Sylus was no monster. He lowered the gun and told the girl to leave. But she stayed put and told Sylus no. Sylus reached out, his hand steady and slow, intending to gently move the girl behind him. He didn’t want her to see what came next. "Move, kid," he muttered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "This isn't your debt to pay."

But the father didn't see a rescue; he saw an opening.

As the girl hesitated, the man’s face contorted with a frantic, ugly desperation. Before Sylus could blink, the father lunged forward—not to save his daughter, but to seize her. He snatched her by the shoulders, wrenching her small frame backward to use as a human shield, his fingers digging into her arms.

But the father had tripped. A sickening, metallic thud echoed through the hollow warehouse as the girl was shoved onto the sharp, protruding steel corner of a crate.

The silence that followed was a physical weight. The girl didn't scream; she simply stopped.

Sylus didn't wait for an explanation. The fury in his chest turned into a lethal, blinding red light. A small, muffled explosion followed—the sound of a man’s life ending in a spray of bone and regret.

Now, hours later, the phantom image of that girl’s pale hand was burned into his retinas. He had someone to lean on once. Someone who would have held his face in their hands and whispered that the world was cruel, but he didn't have to be.

He got on his bike and rode until the city was a blur of neon streaks. He stopped at the furthest, most desolate edge of the N109 Zone and began to walk. He had walked this path a thousand times before.

The difference was, you used to be there. You used to walk on his right side, your fingers interlacing with his, swinging your joined hands back and forth as you hummed a melody that made the darkness feel less like a threat and more like a blanket.

Now, his right hand hung heavy and cold at his side.

But as the sun began to dip below the jagged skyline, he felt it. A pressure. The ghost of a sensation—small, warm fingers sliding into the gaps of his own. A warmth engulfed his palm, so real he could almost feel the pulse in your wrist. He looked down, his breath catching in a throat that felt like it was filled with glass.

A shadow filled the space beside him. A silhouette of a person, perfectly matched to his stride, holding his hand as if you had never left.

He squeezed back, but his fingers only met the cold, biting air. He felt like he was being buried alive, the dirt filling his mouth, his lungs, his heart, until there was nothing left but the suffocating weight of what used to be.

Sylus couldn’t let go—God, he was losing his grip on everything else, but he couldn’t let go of that.

Not when you broke into his mind every night like a thief who already owned the keys. You roamed through the corridors of his consciousness with a terrifying familiarity, moving the furniture of his thoughts until his head didn't feel like his own anymore. It was your home now; he was just the hollowed-out shell left to guard it.

Whenever he sought the mercy of sleep, your eyes were there, staring back from the underside of his eyelids—vivid, haunting, and agonizingly present. He couldn't even claim the sanctuary of a dream anymore; you were the only dream he was allowed to have, a recurring ghost that woke him up just to remind him that the bed beside him was cold.

In the pitch black, when the world disappeared, the sensory memory of you became a physical weight. He could feel the phantom pressure of your ghost-weight against his side, the static electricity of your skin that wasn't there. He found himself perching on the edge of madness, genuinely wanting to never wake up again. He wanted to drown in the darkness of his own "fucked up" head, because in the wreckage of his mind, you were still beside him. In there, the world hadn't ended yet.

But the haunting was cannibalizing him.

He was deteriorating, his iron will fraying like an old rope. Every time you "popped" into his mind, it took a piece of him back to the grave with you. He was a man dying in the light of a memory. He was starving for a way out, desperate for someone—anyone—to light a candle, to flick a switch, to burn away the shadows of a feeling he couldn't outrun.

He was being haunted by a presence he couldn't grasp, trapped in a house of mirrors where every reflection was a version of you he could no longer touch.

"Damn it, let me fucking go!"

The scream was a jagged thing, tearing his throat raw as he collapsed onto the dirty, frozen gravel. He clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp as if he could physically pull the thoughts of you out by the roots. His shoulders heaved, the first sob breaking through him like a dam bursting.

“I can’t go on!” he choked out, his face pressed against the grit of the earth. “I can’t live in this wreckage when you keep turning up in places you shouldn’t be!”

His voice was a wreck, cracking and splintering with every word. “Stop showing up. Stop making me feel you. Stop... stop fucking haunting me!”

The silence of the wasteland offered no answer. He slumped, his forehead resting on the ground, hot tears carving tracks through the dust on his face. “Just stop,” he whispered, his spirit finally snapping under the pressure. “Leave me alone. Please.”

He forced himself to stand, his eyes swollen and burning, the world blurring into a smear of gray and red. He took a long, shaky breath, tasting the salt of his own grief, and finally turned his head to look at the thing he had been avoiding all night.

The shadow was gone. There were no humming voices, no warm fingers.

Only the cold, unyielding beauty of a marbled gravestone.

Your name was carved deep into the stone, the edges sharp and clean, mocking him with its permanence. Below it, the dates of a life that had ended far too soon. Red daturas—the flowers of death and obsession—grew in a wild, suffocating tangle around the base, their petals looking like fresh blood against the white marble.

Sylus stared at the place where you really were, buried beneath six feet of earth and a million regrets.

“I miss you so much,” he whispered, the words sounding hollow and frail in the wind. “But you have to let me go. Because I don't think I'll ever be strong enough to let go of you.”

(Won’t you leave me? Isn’t torturing me enough? Will I ever be at peace? Will I ever be at peace?) Hindi mo ba ako lilisanin? Hindi pa ba sapat, pagpapahirap sakin? Hindi na ba, ma-mamamayapa? Hindi na ba ma-mamamayapa?

You visit me every single night.

Breathing in deeply, closing my eyes for now

And perhaps I'm just daydreaming

There is no single second of my waking day without you occupying my mind. It’s you. Always you. You were here last night and as soon as I woke up this morning… you’re still here?

Will I ever be at peace?

I open my eyes and groan at the glaring afternoon sunlight that escaped through my what is supposed to be some black-out blinds. I must have opened a window to let in some fresh air in the room because I was so sure to be suffocating, no, I was drowning, and you were just there staring at my hopeless attempt to sleep.

You used to soothe the tangles out of my hair and that lulls me to sleep. At the same time, that is how you also wake me up from my deep slumber. It is your hands that calms me, and it was the drink and my wandering hands to be blamed as to why I am currently not feeling your gentle hands on me.

I miss it. I miss you. I miss us.

It’s you. God, nothing will ever be like you.

Why am I worried? Aren't I alone?

I think I will be alone for the rest of my life because of that damn stupid mistake that one night in Paris while on tour. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I did it. It was stupid. I was stupid. If I could just fucking go back in time, I would ban myself from ever entering that city, maybe, just maybe, that will make you be here with me, right back in my bed, where you should be.

I must have been awake for an hour now as I can feel my brain sending different signals in my body. The need to relieve my bladder, the growl of hunger of my stomach, and the buzzing pain in my temples from the whiskey I have drowned to finally push myself to sleep. I feel serene. Finally, calm. It’s a new day, maybe this day would be the day to move forward. The day where I will be seeing the world in colour and whe—

“Alex! I said a decaf!”

I snapped my head towards the sound of your voice. The once white wall is now not empty as you are there standing, laughing at me as your arm reaches out to emphasise the cup of coffee you are holding.

I thought it was calm, but your voice is still calling

Just around the corner of our flat, there’s this your favourite coffee shop that at the same time is a mini bookstore plus sells flowers. It’s your dream to have a 3-in-1 establishment like this, and we were planning on it. I always get your coffee wrong because their menu is in French, and your coffee order is always different every day as you choose your drink of the day based on how you feel, and to hell I know French words, but you love French. You love Paris. You want to stay in the City of Love, but I broke your heart in that very same city we were supposed to build our home one day.

You were destroyed as soon as I confessed that I had slept with someone else. It was the after show in Paris and I, well I had a couple of drinks. Okay, I think I had more than a whole bottle and when I saw her, I don’t know what came over to me to even think it was you. You were in Asia, backpacking with your friends and I have been on tour for months now and we haven’t seen each other that long and I missed you so much my brain was not thinking properly I don’t know, I really don’t know.

And I know it was not an excuse, will it ever be an excuse.

What I know clearly is the next thing that ensued. She went up to me and I can vaguely remember her praising me for the show. It’s a lapse of judgement. It’s an irrevocable mistake. It’s a guilt that would haunt me with your ghost forever.

I kissed her.

I imagined it was you, and when I did, it was the most abominable and the worst thing that ever happened. I slept with her thinking she was you. I saw your face when I pushed my cock into her. I kissed her in the places I know you are sensitive with. I pleasured her just the way you’d plead me to. I called your name when I reached my end.

It was abominable, because at that moment all I was thinking was how it was great to be with you again and was imagining you as I pound into her, and at the same time it was the worst because she did not feel the same as how you would feel, and that brought me back to reality.

What have I done?

Everything has been buried

My wounds have been covered, but why are you still here?

You were not angry at me. Fuck, why weren’t you angry at me, baby? Why didn’t you slap me? Punch me? Shouted at me? Why didn’t you hurt me back the way I have hurt you when I uttered my pathetic stuttering confession to you.

You should feel disgusted by my abominable act. You should feel that deep and burning hatred in your bones. You should be cursing my name to all saints by now.

Instead, you stood there nodding, tears freely flowing down your angelic face as if completely accepting and understanding what I have done. You shouldn’t. You should not have forgiven me so quickly. I was down on my knees and saying the words “I’m sorry” over and over again like a broken record. I don’t know what to do to erase it, but what I know is I will be at your complete mercy for the rest of my life, double it, because even before I am complete already yours to begin with.

You shouldn’t have fallen down on your knees to hug me. You shouldn’t have comforted me as I descended to a breakdown. You shouldn’t be wasting your precious tears on me and cradling my face with your little hands and wiping the tears below my eyes. You shouldn’t have peppered my face with kisses to calm me down from a near panic attack that was about to happen. You shouldn’t be here, be with someone who’s a pathetic excuse for a boyfriend.

And you need to be free from me.

So I broke once more your already broken heart that night.

I broke up with you. I’m someone who is falling back to that chasm of old habits. I’m someone you don’t want to talk about to your family and friends. I’m someone who is unworthy of you: of your attention, of your presence, of your love. I’m falling, baby, and you don’t deserve to fall with me.

And I can’t take it back.

A month later, we met at your favourite coffee shop. I was to give you the last box of your things that you have left from the apartment that we won’t share anymore. You look breathtaking, as always. You look tired, but nonetheless, angelic. You smiled as soon as you spotted me in the corner, immediately making your way over the table. I was at a loss of words, but as always, you always know how to start the conversation.

You asked me how I was and you, you…

You said you’d always care for me, and that you missed me too, because the very first thing that came out of my mouth was those three words floating in my mind for every day in the past month:

I miss you.

Our coffee cup is empty, and it pains me, because this is about to end. It kills me now because we have run out of things to say, and that is an indicator that this has come to an end.

And with one lingering kiss on the cheek from you, we bid each other goodbye, and you walked out of the coffee shop, carrying the box I have prepared, effectively, walking out of my life.

That was the day where it all started. How ironic that your presence has left me yet that was the day I’d be forever haunted by the ghost of you and you will be permanently settling in my heart where there is a hotel suite specifically made for you.

So I went back to my old ways to bury it all. To bury everything. I embraced despair.

I have a tour. We were supposed to do the last leg of the tour and I cannot do it. I cannot pretend that I am one song away from crumbling and breaking down on stage. I cannot act around my bandmates that you were just a momentary fling and I was not affected by our separation. I cannot sing without dedicating every show to you. I’m well aware I have made a lot of songs about you. May it be not the typical love song, but every song that is now on the setlist, there’s a memory I have attached it with you. You dancing to ‘The View From The Afternoon’, you doing air guitar riffs to ‘R U Mine’, you rocking it with me to ‘Body Paint’, you tearing up and pointing at me back to ‘Suck It and See’, and I could honestly go on to my whole discography.

Because I may have made the other songs about other people, but ever since you came to my life, all of my songs have been crafted and made for me to only think about you.

So I covered my wounds to get through this last leg of the tour. I might be the living embodiment of ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll’ plus the booze.

What am I now? Certainly, someone I don’t want to be around.

It's so hard for me to understand

With just this prayer, please let it go, because everywhere

I look, your face is what I see

It’s torture, but maybe I like pain that’s why I let it happen or maybe I deserve to be tormented and be in anguish.

It’s been months.

A successful tour and party and drugs every night. I’m such a lucky man. So what I don’t understand is why do I feel numb? Why do I feel irritated whenever I see couples who are publicly displaying their love to one another? Why do I fuck girls with their face down on the pillow because I can’t bear to see their faces? Why don’t I like the thought of kissing another person on the lips?

Why have I stopped having sex one night because I started to imagine it was you who I’m fucking with and I felt like I was cheating on you?

Why do I prefer going back now as soon as I can to my hotel room alone after a show where I know you will be there with me and visiting me with your shadow?

Why have I started praying at night?

At night I do not even know what I’m praying for. Do I want you gone? Do I want you to stay? Do I pray you will be erased in my memory, because I know there’s no way I’ll be able to live a life in this world without you being mine? Do I wish the universe to align or some sort of miracle to happen for you to fall right back into my arms?

It’s been a year.

What have I been praying for every time I see your beautiful face?

No matter where I go, your shadow clings to my hand

I am slowly being buried alive

I need to get out.

Go out? Get out? I just need to be outside. I must have been on my bed for hours now, because the sun is starting to set by now. I need to stop rotting in this bed, because I feel like I am slowly being buried alive the longer I lay motionless on top of this duvet cover.

These duvet covers you specifically picked.

I went to the bathroom and placed the shower at the max setting, making the water heavily pour down from the shower head and it drowns your giggles effectively my ears are picking up.

I quickly made my shower routine as this time, I feel physically drowning the longer I stand in under the pouring water. It feels so hard to breathe… maybe it was the water or maybe because of the chamomile scent from the body wash that you have chosen for us before.

Yes, I kept buying back the same body wash that you love.

Right now, it smells like you are here in the room. I can smell you on my skin.

You are here. Your shadow darkens where I am standing right now.

Wait, aren’t you really here?

I pat myself with a towel and sigh heavily as I leave the bathroom, the cold air hitting my damp body, consequently making me shiver in response. I hurriedly dressed myself and proceeded to dry my hair. It is getting long now, longer than I have ever had in my life, and maybe I should cut it off? Or maybe I should go bald.

Or maybe I should let you decide?

How would you like my hair styled, baby?

I grabbed my wallet and keys and proceeded to wear my boots, stumbling in the process. I head for the front door and as I open it, I finally exhale a breath I was not aware I was holding in as the fresh air from the outside greets me in the face. The sun has finally set, the surroundings are starting to darken with only traces of a bit of sunlight seeping from the sky. The moon is present, it’s a full moon, effectively shining and making its presence known for tonight.

I start to make my way to the familiar pathway that would lead me to a familiar establishment. I keep my head down and carefully walk so as to not trip on my own feet.

“Alex, dear!”

The familiar soft voice of the coffee shop owner greets me as soon as I enter your favourite coffee shop, and where I have last seen you.

“Hey Barbara,” I put on a smile, something you would have given to this old woman whom you have loved dearly.

“How are you feeling? You good?” She asks as always.

No. I feel worse than yesterday, Barbara.

“Good. Getting better, getting there,” I lie, widening my smile to cover up the deception.

She seems to buy it as she reciprocated the mile and proceeded to make me my usual order. Tea and some croissant, my usual meal before getting blackout drunk.

I truly wish it wasn't torture to go about my day, because everywhere I go, I swear, I still see your face.

Like right now.

My eyes widen at the figure sitting at the back of the shop, I swear it’s you. My heart jumped at my throat as my legs were moving on its own without my brain’s permission, and I swear…

Oh my, it’s you? You are wearing my favourite brown Celine leather jacket, the jacket that you kept of mine and that I gladly gave you, because everything I have and own is all yours.

I am completely yours.

My feet stopped in front of the figure and the figure looked up.

Oh, it’s not you. They were eyes I didn't recognise.

How could I have mistaken you for another person once again?

Am I going insane? Am I forgetting about you? Am I losing it?

“Sorry,” I apologise and sheepishly smile, turning my back and hurriedly going back to the counter where my order is now waiting for me.

I swear that I saw you there.

I looked up at the moon as I sip my tea while my legs absentmindedly made its way to the pub, where I spent most of my nights now. I cannot help but wonder if this is how my life will be forever?

I threw my cup on the rubbish bin and lit a cigarette before going inside.

You loved me smoking.

“Give me a shotgun kiss, Al!”

I looked over my shoulder to look at the source of the voice, the sound of you.

And there you are, in your white baby doll dress and knee socks, pointing at your lips mischievously.

I blinked a couple of times and shook my head to ascertain if I’m dreaming. I rubbed my eyes and soon, you are gone.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself. I finally went inside the pub to ground myself on reality.

Shots after shots as appetisers. Glass after glass as the main course meal. I cannot believe I’m getting cheap drunk from these bottles at the corner pub, a few meters away from the flat.

How did holding your hand turn to holding an empty cup?

The drinks are not doing it for me. I need something stronger. Something that will make me forget about you even for one night.

The question is, do I even want to forget about you even for just a couple of hours?

No, I want to see you just for tonight. Please, baby. Come back to me.

I let my forehead hit the marble countertop of the bar and close my eyes as the noises in my head do not quieten even with all the drinks I have consumed for tonight. If anything, the noise seems to be amplified. I clutch the glass on my hand and press it on my temple, the coolness soothing it lightly.

Maybe it’s time to go home?

I open my eyes and finally lift my head and pay the bartender. At this point, he knows me well enough not to talk to me and just gives me that sympathetic look as he serves me drinks after drinks.

As he swipes my card, I twist my body so now I am facing the crowd and suddenly, my heart starts to race. The hair on my arms starts to raise and seems like the butterflies on my stomach have been set free from its cage, a feeling I usually get before going on stage.

Or whenever I’m with you.

And there you are.

There seems to be a spotlight focused on you as you walk in the room. Every head is turned to you, in awe and admiration that you are gracing us with your presence. You walk effortlessly and throw your head back in soft laughter about the person beside you who has whispered in your ear. Those lips of yours are etched into the biggest smile that would always make my heart flutter and how I would make it my mission to have that happiness painted on your lips every day and vowed to myself to do it for the rest of my life. My body still remembers and knows how to react whenever you are near me.

Have I hit my head too hard?

However the warm feeling that blossomed in my heart is substituted with hot flashes of anger and jealousy as I notice the guy beside you, his arm wrapped around your waist and keeps tugging you on his side, and that made me scowl in dissatisfaction.

Because that should be me. It should be you and me. It should be us who walked in together in this pub for everyone to know that we are together.

And just like before, you always know how I feel. Even the slightest change in my mood, you would know. I never outwardly show my emotions, but you, you always get me.

Because I just met your eyes from across the room for the first time in real life. Those eyes that held me captive, but I have surrendered to be yours completely willingly. Those eyes that have seen me at my best and worst moments, yet never judge me even for one instance. Those eyes that would bring peace and calm in my heart that a storm was previously brewing and waging to happen. Those eyes that cried a river because of my doing yet fought to be with me.

That last thought made me frown in embarrassment. How dare I look at you? I have no right to ever even breathe near you, because I was the one who broke it off. I was the one who broke your heart that in turn I have broken my promise to myself that I will never ever hurt you intentionally. I was the one to tell myself that I did it because you deserve someone else who is far better than me and what I can give you.

However, I cannot take my gaze off of you, because you are finally here in front of me. How have I longed for a moment like this to happen again?

I bite my lip to feel pain and to ground myself once more but this time, I ground myself to sanity, and as I start to break our stare from each other…

You smiled.

Baby, you smiled at me.

And I must be dreaming, this cannot be real. Moreover, it can’t be real that you are making your way over where I am at.

“Alex? It’s been so long!”

I watch as you excitedly jump in front of me, reaching out to touch my shoulder, and your touch brought me back to reality and made me realise I am indeed not dreaming and you are truly right in front of me.

Finally.

“Hey love,” I croak out, cheeks instantly warming up. I could not help my lips from smiling widely and to breathe a sigh of relief from the warmth and familiarity that you bring to me.

You start to open your arms and pull me in for a hug. Arms around my shoulder, and I could not help but instinctively wrap my arms on your waist, rest my cheek on your shoulders, and just like before, everything fits perfectly.

Right now, it’s us and nothing else. In a third person’s point of view, it’s just a guy and a girl, turnеd strangers, nothing more. For me, I see us as just a guy and a girl standing in front of each other, and a couple strangers in this room.

And baby, It's still you, it's still me, everything's just like before.

“How have you been? I missed you!” Your eyes lit up as you scan my face, as if memorising me once again.

I could tell you the truth and everything that has happened to me, but that would be unfair on you. So instead…

“Doing great, love. Just finished the tour and now just having some time off before heading back to the studio,” I answer.

You know it was a lie because you always can call on my bluff, but you accepted my response and pretended that was the truth.

Or maybe you do not know me at all anymore the way you used to?

I shake the creeping negative feelings starting to make their way out of my system and instead focus on you.

“How about you? I haven’t seen you here for a long time. Tell me, what have you been doing, love?”

And just like before, you proceeded with your animated story telling. I love it. I enjoy it. I longed for this. I love how your eyes light up at every happy moment and widen at important key facts, the way your soft hands come into action to support your narration, your inviting lips stretching to enunciate every word for my ears to listen beautifully.

You’re talking to me right now, and as you continue to talk, catching me up on what has happened in your life, there is this demon in my ear creeping and whispering, making me get the feeling that you will never need me again.

That probably is true, and probably for the best.

Suddenly a figure appears behind, situating himself just right beside you, where I should be.

You stop with your chatter and turn to give the person beside you that ‘look of love’, our friends always tell me how you used to stare at me before. You introduced him to me and this guy had the audacity… to smile? Not a sarcastic nor arrogant smile, but a genuine and kind smile, offering his hand for me to shake that it would make me look like a jerk not to take.

“Big fan of yours man! Since the debut album!”

It would be better if he is a dickhead, but God, he may be the nicest man I have ever met.

“Need you back at our table, baby. We’re about to sing Carolina a happy birthday,” he informs you, smiling sheepishly at me for interrupting our moment of conversation.

Yes, be sorry. Not because you interrupted us, but because you called her ‘baby.’

I should be the only one who should be calling you that, baby.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” you softly reply to your fiancé. He gives you a peck on your cheek before giving me a pat on the shoulder and finally returning from where he even came from.

“You look happy. I’m happy for you two. Congratulations on your engagement,” I swallow the bile that has risen at the back of my throat and plastered the biggest grin I could muster to hide the lie I just uttered.

I want you to be happy, but with me, not him.

Your lips widen into a smile at my words, accepting those words like a genuine compliment. We fell into a comfortable silence despite the loud chatter of the people in this bar. You are gazing at me and I cannot for the life of me remember the last time you used to stare at me like this. I took this time to scan your face, every detail, every freckle, every curve, every colour. Every part of your face, memorising you and having the image of you burn in my brain permanently. Every detail that has changed ever since you walked out of our favourite coffee shop a long time ago.

God, it’s still you.

It’s still me.

But it’s not us anymore.

“Thank you, Al. It means a lot to me, especially coming from you,” you touch my arm, keeping it there. The warmth of your touch starts to seep in through the fabric of my shirt, burning me in a good way. Your hand moves from where it is resting and starts to rise, at the same time walking a step forward and closing the distance between us, and resting your hand on my cheek. You tiptoed to reach my height, like you always do before, and I watched you as I stood here frozen, bringing your lips at the shell of my ear. Hot breath fans my ear as I feel your mouth presses on it delicately, as if you are about to tell me your deepest intimate secret.

“You know my number, Al. Call me whenever, alright?”

And as quickly as I have felt your warmth filling up my body, how fast was it as well the burn was replaced with the gritting cold as you step back, increasing our distance. Our eyes have met and I do not want to look at anything else other than what is in front of me. I nod at your request, wanting it to be a command for me to fulfil. Your hand leaves my cheek, rising further to tuck a strand of my long hair out of my face, behind my ear, then it goes back to cup my cheek once more, your thumb rubbing it for a second, and all of this without our eyes being disconnected to one another.

You start to nod and we both know it was a bid of farewell.

You should stay.

But you didn’t.

Or did you?

You finally turn your back and proceed to walk back to your table. Oh, everyone was staring at us. As they should be. However, instead of him giving me a death glare, what I might be hoping for, he gives me a smile from the distance, and welcomes you back to your group, finally joining in and starting to sing the birthday tune to your friend.

I break my focus on what is happening in your area and shift it to my surroundings.

It’s the same faces. It’s the same place. Baby, the only thing that changed is… you still feel like mine but, I'm not yours. Even if I want to, even if I keep telling the whole world I’m yours…

But, it's not us anymore

It’s time to truly go home.

I walk out of the bar, not daring to turn my back just to catch a glimpse of you, because if I do, I don’t know what I would have done just to make you stay with me.

The long way back home, no, not a home anymore, back to the apartment is an arduous journey. I don’t know why it is, maybe it’s because every step I take further away from you, my body is literally resisting and my mind is against me leaving you.

Flashes of moments of you start to play in my mind from tonight, every single detail seems to be saved in my brain from our one encounter. Just one encounter. The only real encounter I had with you since that one afternoon where I gave back your box full of your belongings.

Hot tears start to cloud my eyes as my fingers shake, not being able to open the door. I grit my teeth in frustration and bang my fist at the front door of my apartment, the apartment that we do not share anymore. I start to calm myself down and slowly unlock it, finally succeeding. I closed it shut and rested my back on it, tears now streaming down freely on my cheeks. I proceed to remove my boots and walk towards the bedroom, stripping off my clothes in the process and leaving myself down to boxers only before reaching my room. I opened the room and met with the familiar sight of my messy bedroom, just how I left it a couple of hours ago, but what has only changed this time is I can feel you even stronger this time with me.

I hurriedly shut the window and pulled the black out blinds so that no trace of light would even dare to seep in the room. I turned off all the lights before I blindly made my way to bed, putting myself under the thick duvet, as if hiding myself away from the world.

But then there’s you.

I can't be freed

You visit me every night

And so it begins.

Carousel of memories starts to play before my eyes, as if someone pressed the play button and the roll of films starts to project right in front of me.

The first time I ever laid my eyes on you.

The first date.

The first birthday of yours we celebrated.

The first time you went to my show.

The first fight over time zones.

The first anniversary.

Second anniversary.

Third anniversary.

Fourth anniversary.

The last time I saw you before I embarked on tour and you went backpacking.

The time I confessed and the guilt I had when I saw you that night.

Your face as you cry.

The sound of your heart breaking as I end it.

The smile you left at the coffee shop.

And tonight with the way you look so happy, so alive, so in love.

Not with me, but with another man.

No, stop. Stop it, Alex…

I can't see anything

But I can still feel your touch in the dark

I can feel you. All of you. Your heart beating as you press your front on my chest, the way your warm breath fans my neck just right, your soft cheeks resting on my shoulder. The way you play with my hair results in some electricity shooting up my body.

The way you touch my skin right now raises goosebumps on its trail as it glides on my body. The way your soft palm descends and makes its way from my chest down to my abdomen, subsequently playing with my belly before dipping down further to play with my happy trail. The way you rub oh so soothingly and so familiar, stirring something deep in my loins, being translated into something pathetically, as I feel my dick coming alive.

God, no. No, no, enough!

What is happening? Sleep, Alex.

Sleep. Close your eyes, maybe it will work.

No longer dreaming

Can't even wake up

I thought I could get away with you when I close my eyes, but God, you haunt me even more so.

It was the morning after. The way all of the blood on my body seems to have left and all I am is a cold corpse as my heart stopped beating simultaneously. I did not realise the way I had stopped breathing as my hand shakily removed the hair covering the face of the person I had found beside me the moment I woke up.

I know it’s not you. I know you like the back of my hand, baby. The way you sleep, how you feel, how you look as the sunlight slips in between the blinds and shines on you perfectly, how my heart would come alive with just one look at you in the morning.

And right now, all I feel is dread and coldness. The feeling multiplied when I confirmed that the face does not belong to you.

Oh my God. What have I done?

I swallowed dryly as my brain further made me realise not only was it bad enough there is a stranger’s face on my bed, but the fact as to how it came to this position.

I had sex with her.

And I imagined it was you last night.

How could I do that to you?

How dare you, Alexander.

The guilt followed me for days. The way it became routinary as I perform every night on stage when all I want is to finish this God damn leg of tour and see you and confess everything and beg for your forgiveness.

Every ticking second, the guilt becomes heavier and heavier that it is physically weighing me down.

And finally, I went home. Our home. Where our field of dreams have been planted and grown.

“It can’t be that bad, Alex.” You giggled as I stood frozen in front of you, feet cemented on the ground. I looked at you and you knew it was serious, but showing none of that and still trying to calm me down.

“I’m sorry.”

Was the first thing that came out of my mouth, and your face morphs into confusion, eyes blinking up at me innocently and I could not further keep it inside me as the dam I have built inside of me that carries all the guilt I have had since that morning after breaks open and there’s nothing left to be done but let it flow freely, drowning me and you in the first place.

You cried. I cried. We wailed, but mine seems to be louder. I could still remember the way the light on your eyes leaving and being replaced with dark and emptiness. The way I have extinguished the look of love reflecting on your eyes, the fire of your love that keeps me grounded and alive.

But you were trying. You were trying to hold both of us together as we fell apart and keep ourselves from being on the brink of tripping down the chasm. The way your face turns into understanding, into accepting. The way the love you have for me starts to bloom full once again as you are preparing to surrender, the way you kiss all of my sorrows away, and, and…

Your face is something I would never forget and would haunt me forever.

You look so broken yet still angelic beautifully. Tears won’t stop flowing freely from your cheeks, but your mouth is painted into a reassuring smile, making me feel that everything will be alright, as you peck my cheeks, as much as the tears fall from my own.

It hurts to see you this way, and that I am the cause of it.

I didn’t realise I’m no longer dreaming and the tears I was revisiting from that night are happening in real time. Hot tears flowing continuously down my face, seems like acid as it painfully burns as it trickles down the pillow I have buried my face into. I burrow my face further in the pillow, suffocating myself in turn as I heave a breath at the same time, contradicting the two actions. The carousel of memories starts to replay, faster this time. Each memory is a stab on the chest, over and over again.

Over and over and over again. The tears. The pain. The guilt. The love. The laughter. The hardships. The guilt again. The stranger. The guilt again. The pain again. The pain all over again. The pain over and over again electrocuting my body right now and having me shake like a pathetic little boy in his bed and I cannot… I can’t do this anymore.

Hot tears are literally burning my cheeks, and my nose is clogged from sobbing so hard that I did not realise I was crying heavily in the first place and clutching on my pillow for dear life.

Just like any other night.

But this time, it’s worse. The worst. This might be the worst breakdown I have ever had since that night I have broken up with you.

I can’t… I can’t breathe, please.

Please what?

Turn on the light

I'm haunted by my feelings

Of my feelings

“Open the lights please, please, please,” I say out loud, not even realising that I am speaking to myself.

I hurriedly strip off the duvet that is trapping down my body and jump out of the bed. I blindly make my way to the light switch, tripping down on every object that lays haphazardly on the floor. The bright lights made me groan as it hit my eyes, making my way now to my dresser where I am face to face with the mirror.

This might be the first time I have stopped to look at my own reflection. First thing that stared right back at me was my bloodshot eyes, dark bags of circles underneath them. My long greasy hair that stops at my shoulder is framing my head and covering my pale as a ghost face. My beard has gotten longer than I have ever had before, hairs poking at my dry-cracked lips. Cheeks are sporting a natural blush and stained with tears, and my nose is red from, same way it would be from the snow, but it’s from sniffing and trying to breathe through my clogged nose.

Bloody hell, this is what I looked like earlier this evening? This is how you have seen me, darling?

God, what a pathetic old sad man.

In one swift motion, I swing my arm and sweep all the contents placed on the top of my drawer. Several items clash and fall through the ground, glass bottles breaking from the action. I bang my fist on the wooden closet, screaming not in agony of the punch, but from the emotional anguish I have set myself for tonight. The physical pain feels lighter than the heavy suffering I am feeling inside of me.

And there you are with me right now.

Standing in front of me, wearing the red dress you wore on our first date. Your hair is falling effortlessly on your back, hands on your hips as you giggle shyly at me. Your eyes hold me captive, as you gravitate towards me, closing our distance and I could almost feel you, your warmth in front of me.

“So where are you taking me out for the night, rockstar?”

I open my mouth to respond, but you start to fade… everything starts to get blurry and hazy and you are suddenly not in front of me.

“What? No, no! Baby, come back!” I reach out to where you were standing and fall to my knees. I look up and there you are once again, but it was the night I confessed everything to you.

You are staring down at me, with your distraught face.

“Why? Al? How— how can you do this?”

“I’m sorry, please forgive me, baby. I-I’m sorry please I do-don’t know I’m sorry. I’m sorry p-please forgive me baby, take me back. I am so-sorry,” I stammer out, saying apologies like a broken prayer.

“You have broken my heart, Alex.”

I whimper out a while, clutching the carpet floor as the pain throbs inside me, seemingly pinching me from head to toe. I gasp for air, heave for a breath, and collect myself as I stand up and go back to the mirror, grounding myself to reality. I am once again having trouble reminding myself that this isn’t real and this is just all in my head.

Or is it, Alex?

“Please stop,” I beg out loud, covering my face with my hands and rubbing my eyes harshly as white spots start to dance around my vision.

Are you not going to leave me?

Isn't this enough torture for me? (My feelings)

MERCY.

I continue to stare at the mirror but instead of my own reflection, I am met by your eyes.

It was you who was staring right back at me and all I could do was cry.

“Are you not going to leave me…” I plead to particularly no one in the room, but at the reflection of my eyes in front of me.

But I know I am imploring it to you.

Your eyes seem to be mocking me right now, and all I could do is to hit my palm against the mirror, slightly breaking a part of it. Small shards of glasses impaling my wrist and blood starts to flow from the site.

“Please” I sob pathetically.

I don’t know what I am even begging for. Please. Please what? Please get out of my head? Please never leave me? Please come back to me?

Mercy, please?

Can I ever be at peace?

Can I ever be at peace?

I hate you.

I love you.

“I hate that I love you,” I croak out dryly, wincing at the pain from saying the words out loud. The pain of my sand dry throat begging to be hydrated, making me reach out the unfinished bottle of whiskey on the floor.

Your voice starts to echo in the room. Your laughter bouncing off the walls. Your cries haunt me even when the lights are on.

I scream out loud, a hand gripping my hair tightly, before facing the doorway and absentmindedly throwing the bottle of whiskey I am holding in the direction of where I have seen the last shadow of you.

“MERCY, PLEASE!” I grit out my teeth harshly, pacing the room like a madman.

You were gone when I threw the bottle, because I would never ever even attempt to throw something at you even if it is just the ghost of you.

But now, you are here once again. Staring disappointedly at me. I could not bear seeing your disappointed look at me so I pinched my eyes shut and turned around to face the dresser back again.

“Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy,” I repeat the word as if it would work like wonders instantly.

I could feel the urge, signifying I am close to the final moments of my breakdown. As this happens every single night, I have already memorised all the stages I go through. The urge is the last step I need to fight through, before I know I will fall into deep sleep from the physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion I just survived.

The final stage is the urge to call you.

I have always successfully not pressed the dial button on my phone sitting beside your number and called you. I have memorised your phone number from constantly looking at it every single night on the little cracked screen of my mobile phone that the numbers have been carved on my brain already.

But tonight is different. Different from most of the night. The best night I have had since I don't even remember when, because I have seen you for real, but simultaneously being also the worst night of them all.

I need to call you. You are the only one who can save me.

You are the only one I need. You are the only one I want. You are the only one that will keep me alive.

How can you look at me earlier as if we are back to being friends and pretend we have not shared a bed? How can I live a life knowing that one day there will be children of another man that will have your eyes, the eyes of the girl I have fallen in love with and will not ever forget even in the afterlife.

You are in it for me. You are my heaven. You are my forever. You are my eternity.

Even when I die, you are who I will reach and long for. You will always be who I will go back to as I become reincarnated.

Most especially, you are my peace.

I remember what you said earlier. My body starts to move around the room, my hands begin to blindly search for my phone.

When you call, this will be a never ending cycle, Alex.

But you… you are my peace.

Fuck it, I am tired of this. I am tired of telling myself I am doing this for you, that you deserve someone better, that what you need is someone not me, because baby…

You are made for me. I am made for you.

“Hey” I swallowed away the negative thoughts and finally caved in. All of the thoughts in my mind have suddenly disappeared, all the red warning blaring signs have been turned off.

It’s you.

“Finally, Alex. I have been waiting for you to call.”

And maybe… maybe everything will be alright.

Or maybe, he is just hallucinating or imagining the ghost of you.

Hello you!

So this one was inspired by 3 songs, but the main one is called ‘Multo by Cup of Joe.’ I translated it in English as it’s in another language and the bold italics on this one are the translated lyrics from the said song. I have been obsessed with this song when I saw the edits on Tiktok (yes, I’m not only down bad for Alex Turner, but also down bad using the Tiktok app) and when I learnt about the lyrics, I just can’t seem to get it out of my head until I made this, together with the 2 other songs, which is ‘Falling by Harry Styles’ and ‘Not Us Anymore’ by Bradley Simpson (you should go and give these songs a listen! What a tune).

If you have any comments or suggestions, feel free to tap me! I have a free month and aiming to write as much as I could! :)

If you are reading far enough on this, honestly, I’m grateful someone is reading a creation of my imagination.

y'all seeing this first because tiktok kept on muting it so now I'm annoyed but anyways yes PELEPENS 🦅🇵🇭🦅🇵🇭 also something went wrong with the text but i can't figure it out but i hope y'all enjoy it