ALFRED DELA CRUZ

Short story 2 (revised)

TRAPDOOR

You have to fight your way through the day to get to the night; then through the night,
you have to fight your way to get to the day.

FOR SIX MINUTES Andrea stood in front of the stove, staring at her Spanish omelet turn from golden yellow to
dark brown and then black. And only then did she stir from the cloud of her thoughts and snap back to
reality, cursing as she reached to turn the stove off and stepped away to fan off the smoke from her newly
burned breakfast. How can you be so stupid? She thought as she placed the disaster in the sink and
turned away. She felt her eyes sting a little and tears surface, but whether it was because of the heavy
smoke that had just shrouded her or the pity she felt for herself, she couldn’t tell.
She plopped onto her couch and stared blankly into nothingness once again.
It was the morning after her separation from Max was finalized. With all papers signed and
property ownership settled, all that’s left of the almost eight years of marriage were digital photos,
greeting cards, wine bottles and plush furniture. I am finally free.
Andrea had never felt so guilty and ashamed of herself and wanted nothing more than to get out
of what she had gotten herself into… It was bound to happen, she breathed. But she suddenly
remembered something or someone and instinctively glanced at the wall clock. 8:17. She got up and
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considered the mess she had made in the kitchen but reluctantly and almost happily discarded the
thought and went to get ready to work.
After a lukewarm shower that did nothing for her mood, she toweled her hair first then body, and
dabbed the soft cloth onto her skin. She applied lotion on her limbs, the familiar aroma that in some way
reminded her of her ex-husband, filling the already vanilla-scented room. She stood in front of her full-
length mirror, inspecting her nakedness, turning sideways and admiring the perfect s-curve that stood in
front of her and which not many eyes had laid upon. She pulled her naturally chestnut locks behind her
ears, pushed her chin up, and stepped closer to her reflection, almost as if to kiss it. Up-close, her pupils
were perfect globes of dark hazel, nose more pointed, lips fuller, jaw bones more structured, and her pale
freckly shoulders broader. She stretched the areas around her eyes then released them as she hoped the
mild crow’s feet to suddenly disappear. I can’t believe I’m turning thirty-nine this year… Maybe I’ll pass
up as a thirty? Fine, thirty-five?
Suddenly feeling a sense of urgency, she rushed to rummage her closet—instead of going with her
usual blacks, she opted for a pair of low-rise jeans and cornflower safari polo, folding its arm-length
sleeves just above her elbows, and buttoning it so that it gives away just a little cleavage. How could they
ever say I’d given him all myself? I didn’t lose anything. He did.

IN FRONT OF HER in a small consultation room sat six sophomore college students—three girls and three
boys. The girls looked as if they were on the verge of tears, two of the guys simply stared at their feet while
the third intently gazed at her, unfazed. For almost an hour already, the girls had been desperately asking
her to allow them to work without the boys.
Two of the guys had merely been laughing at their distress.
“Okay. I see where this is going,” started Andrea. “I want you five to talk amongst yourselves. If
you choose to leave your team, you’ll have to work individually.” And as she said “See you all in class,” the
students left the room—all girls with scornful looks and the two guys still mocking what the second girl
had said. The third, however, stopped just as the others had closed the door behind them.
“Is there anything else, Miguel?” Andrea asked, already on her feet.
“You two are over, aren’t you?”
“I can’t do this now. You need to go,” she whispered but before she could add another word
Miguel rushed to her, pulling her in by the small of her back. And before she even realized, her lips were
pressed tightly against his, her ears suddenly ablaze and her chest seemed about to explode. Miguel was a
few inches taller than her, and his grip was too strong but strangely comforting. When he slightly
slackened she pushed him away, but she almost wished she never did.
“I’ll wait for you. Parking lot. After your last class,” Miguel said. He ran to the door and without
another glance at Andrea, he was gone.
The handle clicked, and she remained standing there. Frozen. The room was deafeningly silent
and she felt like its prisoner.
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THE GRAVEL CRACKLED was her stilettos walked the almost-empty parking lot. She reached for the keys inside
her leather purse, and as she neared her black sedan to unlock it, a guy in a navy blue hoodie with a black
backpack hanging on his shoulder was leaning against the pillar in front of her vehicle. It was Miguel.
She finally opened the locks and they both slid in. But before she could even drop her bag and
with keys still in hand, Miguel reached out holding her by the neck and kissed her. It all happened too
fast. Her eyes shut instinctively because of his force and she thought she heard another vehicle screech
from somewhere in the far corner of the lot. When she looked around, nothing seemed to have changed.
“Can I spend tonight with you?” he asked, eyes glistening under the dim lights. But Andrea turned
to the wheel, her expression becoming worried.
But she didn’t answer. For a long while, none of them spoke.
“I don’t understand,” he finally broke.
“You don’t understand what?”
“You! I don’t understand why all of a sudden you’re pushing me away!”
“I am not pushing you away. I just left my husband. What do you want me to do?”
“Isn’t that a good thing? He’s been hurting you all along!”
“Are you listening to yourself?” she laughed. “It’s not just us playing cards here… I have a career,
I have friends, and you have friends!” Miguel turned away from her. “You have your parents, Miguel…
And you’re just a boy, for god’s sake.”
“That’s all I am to you, huh?” he scoffed. “A boy. And this is all just a fucking game. Is that it? Is
that what this is?” He dropped his hands and looked at her with angry but sad eyes but she only stared at
him helplessly.
“Be with me.” He took both her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “I love you, Andrea.”
And those words coming from Miguel never failed to make her heart sink and exult in elation at
the same time. This time, she leaned in to kiss him.

Her husband had never told her anything like that in years. Max wasn’t like most men. When he
wanted something, he made sure he’s able to get it. And Andrea was just one of the things he’d badly
wanted to have. After all, she was from a wealthy family, and she’d always been at the top of her class. The
two had met in another country as she was taking up her masters and he touring and visiting some
friends. They had had a few drinks and hit it off quite often, and they were madly infatuated. When Max
had finally confessed to her his love—an emotion he himself admitted he was barely used to, it sealed the
deal. Andrea, of course, felt more than special to have been chosen—he, after all, fitted perfectly by her
standards: good-looking, ambitious, wealthy, bold, and intelligent enough for her. So when Max had
asked her to get married and live with him, it was the easiest ‘yes’ she’d ever made.
But as the years went by, she saw his true colors. He was a gambler and a sex-maniac, and he
didn’t want any children. And although there were also been many times he had promised to be better to
save their marriage, it never happened. It was only until Miguel walked into the picture that she gained
the courage to finally break free.
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And tonight, although special to both of them, is not an exception. For the first time, they can be
together without the fear of a possibly suspecting husband.

MAKING LOVE WITH HIM was always more sensual and passionate than the last. She thought that his age
automatically qualified him as a rookie in bed but he had always proven her wrong. Unlike how Andrea
had imagined, Miguel was always slow and careful with her, almost afraid as if one wrong move would
cost him his life. He would kiss her gently on the lips, moving to her ears and then her neck. The warmth
of his breath and the prickling sensation of his chin against her flesh electrified her in an exciting yet
soothing stir. His hands cautiously but effortlessly stripping off her garments gave her a liberating air of
thrill. And when they were both already stripped off from the smell of cologne or cigarette soaked cotton
or denim fabrics, it was as if they were reborn, both simultaneously cold and warm pressing against each
other’s bodies and akin to the fact that they’re as vulnerable as they could ever be.
“I cannot wait to graduate and do whatever I want,” Miguel said, watching Andrea comb her hair
from across the bed.
“Finishing college doesn’t give you all the freedom in the world,” she laughed.
“Still. I’ll have no one to tell me what to do, and I wouldn’t have to prove myself to anyone,” he lit
a cigarette that had once been on its box on the tabletop beside him.
“You’d have to be responsible,” she answered. He curiously stared at her.
“Don’t you think I’m responsible?”
“I didn’t say that,” she smiled, crawling back to the bed to lie inside his arms. Neither of them said
anything, both comfortable in each other’s silence.
She has always found marvel in Miguel’s features: his naturally reddish tan he had gotten from
years of being in the soccer team, his unshaved jaws that lead to his sideburns then to his unkempt, thick
crew cut, his wide but fairly coned nose that bowed down to his full lips. But her gaze had always
eventually remained focused on his huge dark round eyes bordered by those little eyelashes and some
fairly saggy eye bags that had perhaps been due to either cramming for term papers or his late night
adventures with friends or girls he had previously fooled around with.
“My god, you’re young enough to be my son,” she said, regret filling her as soon as the words
came out of her lips.
“Jesus, Andrea!” He got up from the bed and threw the cigarette into the tray.
“What? It’s true…”
“You just can’t help but ruin it each and every time, can you?” he shot at her but she turned her
back from him and laid there still, staring at the window.
“I just wish you’d stop looking at me as a kid, you know,” he added, now calm. “I’m not a kid
anymore, okay?” He still sounded annoyed but he finally crawled back behind her and drew her closer.
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HE WALKED INTO THE CLASSROOM using the rear entrance. Avoiding several stares—including hers—he took his
usual seat.
“Dude. You could’ve just cut this. It’s five minutes till bell,” whispered the guy who usually sat
beside him in History class. “She’s gonna eat you alive, wait and see.” But Miguel merely grinned.
“You do realize being this late is considered an absence, Mr. Santiago?” she announced. All eyes
were suddenly fixed on him.
“Yes, ma’am.” No one else said a word.
“I assume you can at least tell us something about today’s lecture?”
“I’m sorry. Last night, I… I had to take care of something—of someone, actually.” He nudged the
guy sitting beside him, flashing a mischievous smile that made the entire class break into laughter. Andrea
threw the class a scornful look and proceeded with her lecture.
You have no idea how she ate me alive, he laughed at the thought, looking at Andrea and thinking
about last night…

The bell rang and the students started leaving. Miguel began walking towards the teacher’s table.
“I wanna see you again tonight,” he said, glancing sideways and behind him to see if anyone was
listening. He was ignored.
Andrea continued fixing her things and was now ready to leave. She looked up, gave Miguel a cold
stare and shook her head in apparent disapproval. As she turned to leave, carrying her things, he blocked
her direction.
“People might be suspicious,” she finally whispered. “I will be there. Now do you mind?”

THE REST OF THE DAY went on as usual: one-hour classes and the usual NBA debate with his friends during
lunch. The obvious conflict between him and Andrea that morning barely even occurred to him that day.
Miguel understood there was no point crying over spilt milk.
Soccer practice made him feel even lighter. It wasn’t that his having fun playing the game made
him preoccupied. It was as if by being considered one of the most dependable players by his coach and
teammates made him feel triumphant and sure of himself. He was aware that his relationship with her
wasn’t normal, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. For him, these blurry times with her were worth the thrill of
their late-night escapades. And although she would more often be mistaken as his mom during the few
occasions they had managed to go out without being caught, he considered her the most beautiful woman.
It also didn’t hurt that she often helped him with his homework. The only thing, though, he knew very well
bothered Andrea—even more than being exposed and jeopardizing both their futures—was the fact that
neither of them was certain about the future they have together. Sure, they’d definitely want each other as
much but Andrea had always had so many ‘what-ifs,’ and he needed no epiphany to tell him he was
worried about this, too.
Realizing he had been waiting for almost an hour already, Miguel felt worried she might not want
to see him. He was sitting in her condominium building’s marble lobby, looking up with a sense of hope
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every time he heard stilettos approach. The receptionist kept giving him curious and almost suspicious
glances but he only nodded to acknowledge her and kept his casual sitting position on the huge,
welcoming sofa. And as he waited, he was filled with thoughts of making love to her again.

His trance was only interrupted by another pair of clacking stilettos but he sighed to see it was
finally her.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered agitatedly.
“I told you I—”
“Is there anything wrong, ma’am?” the receptionist cut in from across the lobby.
“It’s okay, he’s my student,” Andrea explained. “He just has to get something.” The receptionist
appeared unconvinced but she smiled, apologized, and turned back to her desk.
Following her lead, he entered the elevator as she pressed the number 17. None of them said
anything. As their altitude increased, his gut was overcome by worry and exasperation, and his thoughts
of embracing her under the cold sheets of her bed already seemed so long ago. Her face was as blank as
ever, and it made him even more anxious.
When they had both entered her unit, she slammed the door, immediately grabbed a pitcher of
cold water from her fridge, filled an entire tall glass so that water was splashing everywhere in front of
her. Shaking, she carelessly drank it, gulping and gulping until she gasped for breath when it was empty.
“Andrea! What the fuck is going on?”
“Lock the door. Take off your clothes.”
He did not move, but before he could retort further, she slapped him on the face, giving him a
shocking, burning sensation and he felt his eyes sting and tears surface. Still fidgeting as one after the
other she failed to slip the buttons of his shirt. She brutally ripped him open, the rest of the buttons falling
everywhere on the wooden floor. She got to her knees but before she could even try to unzip his trousers,
he pulled her up and took her face in between his hands. This wasn’t how he wanted to make love to her.
She looked away.
“Andrea, look at me,” he said softly. Water continued to well up his eyes and his voice started to
shake, “Please.” He pulled her in and hugged her closer as she began sobbing like a child.
After what seemed like an hour, he felt her breathing go steady.
“Can I ask what’s wrong?” said Miguel gently, half-expecting her to cry again but she merely
looked up at him with her bloodshot eyes, then stood and walked to the kitchen where she had left her
purse. She returned, slowly handing him her cell phone to show an MMS message from an unknown
number.
It was a photo of a couple kissing, taken in dark lighting, pixilated and almost blurred. The
woman was holding her keys and the straps of her purse still clung on her arm while the man wore a dark
hooded jacket, almost exactly like what he had worn the other night.