Piece of Paper
The air is wintry and yet my perspiration refuses to be
abated by the chilly breeze enveloping me. I stand just a few steps away from
the door. It was not a particularly dim night. My guess was, right that moment,
the world was having a full moon. But none of these details matter. Nor do I
care even if they do. Clutched in my left hand is a piece of torn paper. A
piece which appears insignificant from someone who possesses no idea of what it
contains - a series of badly written sequence of numbers that I have thought I
would never ever dare, if I would have it my way, look upon ever again. And yet
here I am attempting to reawake the power that lies within them. They are mere
numerals, far from getting upset about. The one who owns them, however, is who
I am wary of.
I do not understand why I decided to keep this paper and
allowed it to lie dormant and hidden from plain sight for the past four years,
roughly. I have long been firm in my stance never to associate myself with that
person again, but for the last few weeks I have been weak. As each day passes,
my iron will is being slowly melted by the flame of something I have feared of.
For the longest of time, I have been avoiding its blaze. But now it finally licked
a minuscule of its heat on me. And as moments tread forward, it shows no sign
of mercy upon me. It is resolute in its aim to consume me and manipulate me, to
do things I would not in my strength, even dare let my finger move to its
completion. Even as I write this, I find my words, incoherent and incomprehensible.
That is how weak I have become.
This will be quick and yet I suspect it would take longer
than I wish it would be. I do not even know what I would say. I do not even have
a definite purpose on why I have set myself in engaging in this nonsensical
act. But my heart that throbs turbulently caused me… just to do it. I then
inserted the Globe Sim card which I predict shall experience its first and last
usage.
“Who is this?”
A woman’s voice. My mind which seems like a whirlpool on a
vicious torturous cycle swiveled faster. My frustration escalated. It now
appears that I have lost the last means of contact I have left when I seem to
need it the most. And yet despite of my aching soul borne out of the sharp
thorns of unwelcome emotions tormenting me from the past few weeks, I pressed
on.
“Is Nettik there?” I asked.
“I’m sorry but he is asleep.” She responded.
I felt the reply was a bit delayed. I know he was there and
awake.
“Tell him it’s… Prize.” I demanded.
I heard a series of indiscreet voices until finally my
quarry allowed itself to be heard.
“What does a renegade pupil want from me?”
At least he still calls me a “pupil”… sort of. His sarcasm
can be felt miles away.
“I wanted to know your thoughts on… some matter.” I told
him.
“Well, well, well”, his sarcastic speech continues, “Let me
guess, your stubbornness finally took its toll on you?”
After all these years, he still harbors bitterness toward
me. But I must admit I am impress by his guess. He is correct. I have been
noted, hailed, and scorned for my unpredictability. And yet at that moment, Nettik seems like
he had me wrapped around his fingers. When someone appears to know your every
move, it can get really disarming. Hardly surprising for he is my former
“master” after all.
He believes he is superior to me in every way. Thus one can
only imagine what would happen when someone would impertinently suggest that I
am somewhat ahead of him in some respect. That is utter blasphemy. A sacrilege which placed an insurmountable
rift between us that can never be bridged ever again.
But that is nonsense. I could never ever replicate his
skills with women. You could practically point any woman in the crowd and he
could smoothly get that woman to like him. If the circumstance is right, even
get that girl to sleep with him that same night. It seems like magic. It is
like he could practically put a girl under some sort of a spell. Such an
ability I never once claim I possess, nor do I think I could ever have. All I
ever cared about is making a woman feel special and feel good about her self
when she is with me. Whether it leads to something more is something I could
only hope and could never willfully influence at my whim. He has slept with
more women than I could ever hope to aspire in my lifetime. But for some
reason, he seems to be threatened by a socially inept introvert such as I am.
To this day, I never understood the rationality of such allegations. Even I am
willing to concede that perhaps he is the best seducer in the country. He ranks
among the best in the world, I may boldly add.
But when asked whether he felt I am a threat to his
greatness, he simply scoffs and asks back how someone like me could ever pose
as a hazard in his throne. He is right, how could I? Maybe I am just full of
it.
“Haven’t learned anything at all. Foolish as ever.” He
riled. “What the fuck are you doing focusing your energy on one woman? Look at
the mess you are in, shit head.”
I was silent.
“She feels the same way?” He finally asked.
“I don’t know.” I uttered weakly.
“You know full well that IDK means no.” He scorned. “Who’s ‘The
Prize’ supposed to be?”
When I heard those words I wanted to bang my head on the
nearest wall. In this situation I trapped myself in, I am no longer “The Prize”…
she is. I feel like a war weary warrior dropping his bloodied sword with his
broken shield being the only quivering support remaining to keep myself from
succumbing to the cold ground. I have been mourning this truth for the past few
weeks now. I have been denying it for months. But I truly love her… so much. In
this span, I have declined every offer, I have halted every opportunity, I have
rendered immobile every advance other women had brought upon me. Why am I
acting as if I am in a committed relationship when I am in fact not in anyway obliged
to do so? And the worst of them all, I have the vaguest of idea if she even
feels the same way. All these, Nettik found to be simply moronically stupid.
“Getting rusty, ‘The Prize’?” He mocked. He seems to be
enjoying every minute of this. It appears to me that he finds some form of twisted
vindication from every word I would say as if each of them is cumulative proof
of how superior he truly is to me. Indeed, even the most successful of players
have their own set of insecurities tucked away under the mask of their
seemingly unstoppable confidence.
“Tell me, why can’t you make her fall in love with you?” His
tone now shifted from despised dismissal to concerned seriousness. I knew I had
to be careful. The sudden shift was alarming.
“I wasn’t trying to make her fall in love with me. You know
my ways. I just wanted her to feel loved, respected, and adored. Even from a
far, this is what my heart…”
Then I heard a laugh of mock.
“You are truly fucked up Prize. From a far???” He asked with
amazement. Right then, I knew I should have heeded my own advice to watch my words.
“You are more stupid than I thought. Not only did you fall
in love with an imaginary girl, you no longer possess any taint of seduction
prowess. You are a disgrace to me… to us”.
My anger started brewing. I could tolerate such barrage of
disdain and derision against my being even in my weakness but to hold the girl
that I love as a travesty is insolence to the core.
“Fuck you. Dare not your impudent mouth foul the lady I love
and respect.” This is one of the things I never thought I would ever regret
until now. My cussing skills are nothing short of terrible. But the fire of my
anger burns from each and every word of that statement. He knows I am serious, still
calm but grim and unsmiling.
“Whoa, what you gonna do? Smite me? You don’t even know
where I am, moron.”
“I only demand that you refrain from your boorish and
uncouth treatment of her.” I felt my voice began to sound deeper.
“Fuck you, overreacting fucktard.”
I have heard enough. I terminated the call, drew the sim
card away and disposed of it, along with the piece of paper I have crumpled
tightly from my hand. The fire ate them away, melting them without any hint of
clemency. There is no turning back. Alas, our contact has finally been severed…
permanently.
As I gaze upon the piece of paper as the flame devours it to chemical oblivion, I cannot help but realize the lack of difference we both share in our present state - we both suffer a similar fate.
