Kabanata 2

Creep

Looking back at my past actions, I realize how much of a brat I was… how immature I was to blame Mama and unload all my pain on her. Yes, I was hurting. But I was selfish to think I was the only one suffering.

Hindi ko nakikita noon na mas nasasaktan siya—si Mama.

It was painful for all of us, but deep down, I know it must have been a hundred times harder for her.

To lose your life partner—losing your husband, your children’s father—that’s a pain that’s not easily overcome.

Pero si Mama? She did it. She survived. She held us all together.

I never hated Mama. Never. But what I did was transfer all my frustration onto her—frustration because I never met Papa. I never had a real father figure. And because of that, I keep searching for that kind of love and protection from older men now. Sometimes, sobra akong obsessive.

Even though nandyan si Kuya Aziel, doing everything to be a father figure for me, it’s still not enough. It’s just not enough. Kasi yung hinahanap ko—yung pagmamahal at atensyon ni Papa—I don’t have a single memory with him.

Si Kuya, kahit sandali lang, may mga alaala siya kasama si Papa na pwede niyang balikan. Pero ako? Wala. Wala akong kahit isang alaala kasama si Papa.

And that gap… that emptiness makes me feel so insecure. Parang hindi kumpleto. Parang may parte ng puso ko na laging naghahanap, na naglalakad sa dilim, naghahanap ng pagmamahal na hindi ko nakuha.

I know it’s wrong to feel this way… but I can’t help it. It’s not just wanting a father. It’s needing him. Needing someone to tell me that he loves me, that there’s someone to guide me—not just an absent figure—but someone truly there.

And maybe that’s why I act the way I do. Kasi deep inside, I’m just a broken girl desperate for the kind of love only a father’s arms can give.

“Stella, what you’re feeling is valid,” Dra. Mariano said gently, her voice steady but kind. “But we have to remember that some things happen beyond our control.”

I nodded, trying to absorb every word she said.

“Everyone has their own struggles, their own trauma to carry. No two people cope the same way. Your way of coping is valid. You don’t have to blame yourself for it.” She paused, watching me carefully. “From what I observe, it seems like you sometimes pass your frustration and pain onto others. But does that make you a bad person? No. I see that you’ve been trying your best to be a good daughter.”

I looked down at my hands, feeling a little exposed.

“Sometimes,” she continued, “things become overwhelming. Our emotions can flood us, and we say or do things we never really mean. This is called displacement.”

I looked up, confused.

“Displacement is a defense mechanism,” she explained patiently. “It’s when you transfer your emotional pain or frustration from the real source onto someone or something else, so you don’t feel completely overwhelmed. It’s your mind’s way of coping when the feelings get too much.”

Her words made sense, but it didn’t make it easier.

The session lasted for an hour and a half. I’ve been in therapy for a while now. Kuya Aziel was the one who made me see a psychiatrist—he was worried about my obsession with older men, that it might spiral out of control. He knew I needed help.

He was scared that I might become a victim of pedophilia. After all, I was still so young, but I was always eager to be close to older men, to have their attention, and to seek intimacy in ways that worried him.

I’ve always had this intense, uncontrollable fantasy—a desperate need to be with older men. Part of that fantasy is about being forced, even raped. It sounds strange, but sometimes just the thought of it turns me on. It makes me feel confused—and sometimes disgusted with myself.

When I was fourteen, because of my extreme daddy issues, I didn’t know how to protect myself. Someone took advantage of that. He slowly earned my trust and then crossed the line—he groomed me, and eventually, he sexually assaulted me. Back then, I didn’t really understand what was happening. I just thought maybe I was finally noticed, finally wanted. But now I see how much I was hurt.

Dra. Mariano told me that having fantasies like these is actually common for survivors of sexual trauma. It’s not that we want the pain or the violence—it’s our mind’s way of coping, trying to take control over something that once felt completely out of control.

Having these fantasies doesn’t mean I loved what happened or enjoyed being a victim of sexual violence. It means I’m trying to find some control in a situation where I once had none. For many survivors of sexual assault, molestation, or rape, it takes time—and often therapy—to recognize what happened to them and understand their feelings.

In my case, with my daddy issues fueling a deep need for love and protection from older men, these fantasies became tangled with my trauma and my desperate search for connection. It’s complicated and painful, but it’s part of how I’m learning to survive and heal.

Sunod-sunod ang mabigat na paghinga na pinakawalan ko sa sarili ko. Naipit ako sa gitna ng traffic nang biglang nakita ko ang pamilyar na sasakyan. I knew whose car that was—Lisandro’s. Mabilis ang takbo nito patungo sa isang lugar, at walang pag-alinlangan akong sinundan siya.

Nakarating kami sa isang sementeryo. Kumunot ang noo ko nang makita siyang bumaba ng kotse, may dalang bouquet ng pink tulips. Tinanaw ko siya mula sa loob ng aking sasakyan.

Bigla akong natigilan nang tumunog ang cellphone ko.

Lisandro💗:

Are you following me?

Bumalik ang tingin ko sa paligid, pero wala na siya roon. Mabilis akong bumaba ng kotse at luminga-linga, naghahanap sa paligid. Nang biglang may humawak sa pulso ko.

Marahas akong hinila ni Lisandro papalapit sa kanya. Halos tumama ang noo ko sa kanyang matigas na dibdib. Mahigpit ang pagkakahawak niya sa akin, nasasaktan ako sa paraan ng paghawak niya.

Ramdam kong namula ang pulso ko dahil sa higpit ng hawak niya.

Paulit-ulit akong napalunok, hindi ko magawang tumingin nang matagal sa mga mata niya. Umaapoy sa galit ang mga titig niya sa akin. Sinubukan kong bawiin ang pulso ko, pero lalo lang niyang hinigpitan ang hawak.

“Who told you to follow me here, huh?” galit niyang bulong.

“L-Lisandro, nasasaktan ako...” tanging nasabi ko. “Sinundan lang kita kasi nag-aalala ako sa’yo! Mabilis ang takbo mo! N-Natakot ako na baka may mangyaring masama sa’yo,” saad ko sa maliit na tinig.

“Concern lang naman ako sa’yo... kasi m-mahal kita.”

The words left me in a broken whisper, trembling as I confessed what had already devoured me from the inside. 

“Lisandro, I’m in love with you. I know it—I feel it in every shattered part of me. Every breath, every second, it’s all you.”

I didn’t care how pathetic I sounded. I didn’t care if I bled for it. I needed him to hear it—even if he tore me apart right after.

“I chased you like a stray... like something wild and starving. I begged for scraps of your attention like I was nothing. And I’d do it again.”

My voice cracked, tears stinging my eyes. “Call me disgusting. Call me garbage. But I love you. This isn't an obsession—it’s the only thing keeping me alive.”

He laughed—a cruel, low sound that felt like claws scraping down my spine.

“You want to know what you are?”

He stepped closer, the heat of his body overwhelming, his presence like a storm ready to consume. His voice dropped—sharp, ice-cold. 

“You’re filth. You’re a disease, Stella. A parasite feeding on a man who could never love something like you.”

His words hit harder than fists, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“You threw yourself at me like a dog in heat,” he sneered. “You begged for my touch, my attention—offered yourself like a whore just to feel wanted. And I took it. Because I needed something from you. Not you. Just what’s inside you.”

I bit down the sob crawling up my throat, but he wasn’t done.

“You think there’s something romantic here? That I ever wanted you?”

His jaw clenched, voice like broken glass. “I used you. For a child. An heir. That’s all you are—a walking womb.”

He ripped his sleeve from my grasp like my touch was filth.

“And you think I’ll ever love you?” His laugh cut through the silence like a blade—cold, bitter, cruel. “You are nothing to me. A mistake. A stain. You disgust me, Stella.”

I broke, shattered by the venom in his voice. Tears spilled silently, hot against my cheeks. But I didn’t leave—I couldn’t. I wanted his hatred more than I ever craved someone else’s love. That was my curse.

His voice dropped again, rough and low—deadly, like a predator closing in on prey.

“And if I ever fall for you—” he leaned in, face inches from mine, his breath burning against my skin, “—then may God fucking help me. Because it’ll mean I’ve lost everything I am. You would be the worst damn mistake of my life.”

He stepped back, shaking his head like I was filth he couldn’t scrape off.

“You’re not special. You’re not wanted. You’re not loved. You’re a parasite clinging to a fantasy that will never happen. You’re loathed, Stella. Completely.”

My knees trembled. I lowered my gaze, unable to meet the abyss in his eyes.

“Why… why do you hate me so much?” 

The words scraped out of my throat, barely audible, as if saying them aloud would crack me open entirely.

He didn’t answer.

When I dared to lift my head, his stare pinned me down. Cold. Emotionless. Like I was something he wanted to crush under his heel. His lips parted slightly—then nothing. Just a long, slow exhale, like I wasn’t worth a word.

When love turns into obsession, it becomes possession. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. And maybe… this was never love at all.

But I kept telling myself it was.

That I loved him. That I needed him.

That all the nights I followed him in silence, every photo I hid in a box under my bed, every breath I took in places he used to stand—was because I loved him.

Kinagat ko ang pang-ibabang labi ko, pilit pinipigil ang hikbi. Bumagsak ulit ang tingin ko sa sahig habang nanginginig ang kamay kong humawak sa laylayan ng kanyang long sleeve.

"B-Bakit ba ayaw mong maniwalang mahal kita?" Mabasag-basag ang boses ko, puno ng sakit at pagmamakaawa.

"A-Alam ko kung anong nararamdaman ko sa'yo, Lisandro. Alam kong mahal kita... k-kaya ba nagagalit ka sa'kin dahil malayo ang edad natin? Lisandro, twenty-five na ako... h-hindi na ako bata. Alam ko kung anong ginagawa ko. At alam ko rin kung gaano kita kamahal."

Pilit kong nilunok ang pait habang tuloy-tuloy ang pag-agos ng luha sa pisngi ko.

Pero imbes na malambot na tugon, malamig at nakamamatay ang narinig ko.

"You're obsessed with me." Tumawa siya, mapait, halos parang galit.

"You think I'm a fool? You think I’ll believe all that bullshit when you're my fucking stalker? You’re a creep, Stella. You follow me everywhere—like a damn shadow I can’t get rid of."

Nanigas ako. Parang binuhusan ng malamig na tubig ang buong katawan ko.

"Tang ina, sa tingin mo maniniwala pa ako sa'yo? Get some fucking help, Stella," malamig niyang bulong na parang kutsilyong pinagsasaksak ang puso ko.

Tinalikuran niya ako. Walang kahit isang sulyap. Walang awa.

Sumakay siya sa kotse at pinaandar ito nang mabilis—palayo sa akin, palayo sa lahat ng ilusyon ko.

Naiwan akong nakatayo roon, basang-basa ng ulan at luha. Nanginginig. Gumuho na ang lahat.

Nakakabaliw. Nakakainis.

Hindi ko maintindihan... bakit hindi niya kayang maniwala?

Hindi ba sapat ang lahat ng ginawa ko?

Hindi ba sapat… ang sakit?