A TRUCE

26th March, 20??

A Truce. 

Dear Dia, 

I think I stayed staring at your pages for minutes, unable to go beyond 'Dear Dia'. Maybe I dreaded telling you about the recent turn of events, or perhaps I wasn't ready to let you in on how I said one thing and allowed circumstances to coerce me into doing the opposite.

One could say that I traded something of great value for another trivial thing like a certain young man did in one of those stories Granny M, told me. According to her, a boy named Esau had traded something of great value– his birthright for something as trivial as a plate of porridge. 

Mine wasn't really like that, but perhaps it came close… anyway, when I'm done telling you. I will allow you to be the judge of that.

For what must have been the dozenth time, I tried to go downstairs and sneak away anything edible, chips, cake or even protein bars, but dad remained unmoving where he sat on the couch watching basketball games. I doubt he had even taken a bathroom break or left that couch since Felicia and Henry left the house. 

I knew he was stubborn, but this was extra. Could I have been that bad last night to push him to this? 

The thoughts reeled in my mind, getting more complicated with each new trail of thought. Until I blocked them out and went back into my room. Dad may be stubborn, but I was more headstrong, there's no way I would give in first… that's just impossible.

Again, I surveyed my room, wishing there was a way to escape. At that moment, I longed for Ginny Miller's room, at least her window provided a way out. Whereas mine was a dead trap, attempting a jump meant a fracture. 

I must've dozed off after pacing to and fro, wishing dad would leave or doze off, but none of that happened. The last attempt I made, I saw him face timing with an associate and laughing his ribs off. With my gnawing worms, my frustration, my firm resolution not to give in, weariness came crashing down on me like a waterfall and I allowed it carry me away.

Waking up, I saw that it was evening as the sun gradually made its descent into the horizon. It bathed everything in gold like a midas touch and the sky was scattered in arrays of colors ranging from gold, orange, purple, pink, magenta and other hues, I was too hungry to care about their names. Time moved yet I hadn't eaten anything. My head throbbed, my throat was parched, my mouth dry and possibly foul-smelling, my stomach was empty and pain ached all over my body. 

Making another attempt was futile. I could hear dad and Felicia's voices echoing downstairs, but I needed another scenery from my room. I doubt there hasn't been any part or corner my eyes hadn't rested upon. 

Slowly opening my door not to alert the attention of those downstairs, I almost jumped out of my own skin. Leaning on the rails on the passageway, his back to the stairs, Henry stood crunching an apple. 

I felt his eyes travel the length of me before he shook his head and said,

"Well, you look like shit."

Rolling my eyes at him, I kept mute. I needed my energy and Henry wasn't worth a joule. In spite of myself, my eyes stayed glued to his mouth, watching as he crunched that apple bite after bite, its juicy scent lingering in the air. The sight aggravated my stomach, and it grumbled– rather too loudly I must add.

Henry smiled at my predicament before tossing me an apple he had left on the rail. I caught it but couldn't give him the satisfaction of showing how hungry I was, so I held it even when my mouth salivated at the thought of it's juiciness on my tongue. 

He shook his head at my restraint and said,

"You don't think I poisoned that, do you?"

His question made me inspect the apple again, and I hated myself for not considering that he might have. Before I could say anything, he said,

"You do know that I don't hate you, right? Even with how cruel you are to me, I doubt you hate me too, you're just hurt and, because of that, you lash out at anyone who tries to get close to you, just so that they would feel pain and hurt like you do."

"That's not what I do…" I had started, but he was already moving, dismissing my words with a wave of his hands like he didn't need to hear them.

Four stairs down, he turned and said,

"I will see you after dinner, but you know being grounded doesn't mean starving yourself, it just means limiting your movement to the house… um, like a house arrest. But you are stubborn. I give you that,  and at times that can be stupid."

Before I could lace him with one of my stinging poisons, he was well into the dinning. And I boiled. How dare he call me stupid? What even gave him the right to speak to me like that? Has he forgotten that I was two years older than his stupid ass?

I didn't blame the dipshit, all this was dad's fault, and he doesn't seem to care, sitting there delighting himself with a plate of Mac and cheese while hunger gnawed at me. He even had the guts to be happy. From where I was, I could hear his irritating laughter and spy on the happy features that lined his face. 

At least, I had been right about one thing last night– he no longer loved me. That realization shouldn't pain me because I already knew and felt it. But it did, like a bullet to the heart.

The walls of my room echoed how alone I was in my life. Mom's pictures scattered all over was just a reminder that she was not here, and the laughter downstairs reverberating in the walls of the house meant I didn't belong in that bubble.

 I read somewhere that a trigon is the strongest shape. With just three angles, it can withhold anything. We used to be like that, mom, me and dad. Nothing could break us and dad had been right about him and mom. They truly loved each other, and since he accused me of being naive about their relationship, the memories have haunted me ever since. The kisses in the kitchen, the giggles I heard in their room when I woke up at night from a nightmare, the flowers and the way they often stared at each other. How could I have forgotten all that? How could I accuse him of not loving her when he had? I allowed his absence to cloud and shadow those moments they shared, but is it really love if he disappears when she needed him most?

Could it still be called love when he deserted her because she was a shadow of whom he had married?

When mom died, our triangle lost the angle holding the other two in place and now, those two angles are completely divided.

Oh, if mom could see us now. I'm now a straight line. Alone. Isolated. Stark and running on without joining another… while dad seems to have found his new triangle.

Even though there's a family portrait of the four of us hanging in the sitting room. It was taken after the wedding, yet it doesn't take a keen eye to realize that I didn't belong.

Wave upon wave of emotions rushed through me and I sagged against my closed door and allowed them an outlet. 

I hadn't even realized that their laughter had died away, didn't hear the clearing of the table or footsteps coming up the stairs until a banging knock veered me back to reality. Hastily wiping my tears, I inquired who it was with a voice I tried to keep neutral. 

It was Henry, and he stood with a tray of food– my food, but I barely had an appetite anymore. So, I took the tray and, without thanking him, I slammed the door in his face. Laying it aside, I still sat by the door and resumed crying. I didn't even realize that Henry must still be at the other side of the door until I felt his weight pressing at the door as he sat.

Surprised, I was about to open the door and demand privacy when I heard him say,

"You know it was like this for me when my dad left." Pausing to see if I was listening, I sniffed as a way of response and he continued,

"I think I was worse actually, I retreated into myself so much that my mom feared leaving me alone. Anyone who came close was burnt by my fury. I didn't want their company… I just wanted my dad."

His voice from the other side bore so much hurt and pain that I almost apologized for being so hard on him. He never gave me that chance, as I felt him shrug and resume in a voice void of that hurt, I noticed earlier. 

"Mom tried to help me… to remind me that even though he left, she was still here. I didn't let her, I kept pushing her away and everyone in my life until I was utterly alone. His absence made me feel like I didn't matter— like I wasn't enough… as if I didn't deserve to be loved and for a long time I believed that… until I met your dad. He went through hell in my hands when he wanted to marry my mom."

I laughed with him as he recalled how he cursed out my dad time and time again, telling him to fuck off, get lost, crawl back to the hole he came from and other hurtful words he threw at him. 

"Your dad didn't give up, if for anything, the more I shoved him away the closer he came until he breached my walls with his love. I agree that he didn't marry my mom because he loved her, neither did my mom because she loved him, but l think they did it for us, to create a family– a safe place for two broken kids… to remind us that we are still loved and can still know happiness. All you have to do is give my mom and your dad a chance as I did, and you will see…"

"I… I… I… Um…" I found myself stuttering, words failed me after hearing all that… or maybe I couldn't… just wasn't ready to offer that chance he spoke of.

Saving me from my lack of words, I felt him rise, heard him dusting his pants before saying,

"It's alright… Um, can I call you Anna?"

I imagined he must be scratching his head as he waited for my response. Totally uneasy at his question and dreading my denial. 

"Um… I don't know– I guess you can, considering how much you've revealed and the length you've gone to prove that you don't hate me. I think you've earned it."

His sigh of relief was audible even from the closed door, then he added,

"Okay… Anna, that's something at least… and I know you still need time, but please could you consider it at least."

"I will think about it." Was all I said before rising to devour the food he brought.

I heard him retracing to his room before he stopped and came back. I heard his feet shuffling outside my door, as if he wanted to say something but lacked how to express himself. 

Moments went by, he still stood there, his presence casting a shadow on the door while I ate, wondering what he was waiting for. I had to open the door, and he froze on his shuffling, momentarily stunned. I raised my eyebrows at him in question, and he smiled while saying,

"I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted us to be in agreement after tonight, perhaps call it a truce… shake on it or something. Who knows you might be needing me to watch your back now you are a target for the Divas and some people still haven't forgotten about your birthday incident. As you would be coming back to school after your… break, we can still pretend to hate each other while I watch your back. That way, people would let their guard down around me because they won't suspect that I am. But I heard you eating and seeing that you haven't eaten in God knows how long, I decided to wait."

When he was done, I could barely hold my laugh. Not at his words, mind you, but the way he uttered them. His stance. His uneasiness. The way he couldn't stand still. His hands stuffed in his pockets. The way he paused at intervals as if dreading my response and denial.

I had wanted to say that I would think about it when he stuck out his hand, and I was left with no choice but to shake him and call it a truce. 

It was when I was done eating that I realized what I had done. How I had gone from never wanting to talk to him, to calling a truce with him. How I had traded my words for a sliver of kindness.

Now as I write to you, Dia, I still don't know why I did what I did. Could it be my hunger? Was it the factor coercing me into it? Could I even say that I was coerced into it? Did I let my guard down? Could he have also found a way to breach my walls? Did my loneliness make me more accepting? Perhaps too eager to accept anyone who showed me even the slightest ray of love and kindness? 

 Dear Dia, I have to ask, have I gone soft? And why do I regret it now? Was I wrong in agreeing to a truce and if I was to relive it, would I still say yes, or would I still be the cold-hearted bitch I am and say no?

Even as these questions charge like a herd of bisons through my mind, I know there's no going back. What's done is done, I will have to tolerate him and, hopefully, I won't truly regret it.

Now, feel free to judge me, Dia and never you worry no one can take your place in my life. We are bound for life, you and I.

Till the next entry, nighty, night, Dia.