Kabanata 6

Mistook

Weeks passed. Palagi ko siyang hindi naabutan. Kapag dumadating siya, tulog na ako. Kapag nagigising naman ako, wala na siya—nakapasok na sa trabaho.

Katatapos ko lang mag-shower. Tanging ang itim na roba ang suot ko nang biglang bumukas ang pinto ng kwarto ko. Nakalimutan ko pa lang isarado iyon. Mabigat ang bawat hakbang ni Lisandro palapit sa akin. Mapungay ang mga mata niya, nakatingin sa akin ngayon.

Is he drunk?

Lisandro crashed his lips onto mine with brutal force, silencing every breath I had. He pinned me hard against the wall, his kiss savage and demanding. I tasted the bitter burn of smoke and alcohol on his lips, then felt the harsh slide of his tongue invading my mouth without warning, dominating every inch inside. His lips moved slower now, but no less intense—each kiss deliberate, as if marking me.

A low cry escaped me when he sucked my bottom lip fiercely. My hands scrambled up, clutching the back of his head, one hand tangling in his hair, the other gripping his jaw tight. I tilted my head to follow his rhythm, but he only pressed me harder—my skull nearly slammed against the cold wall, but I didn't care. I was drunk on him, drowning in the fire of his ruthless kiss.

Then his hand crushed my waist with harsh grip, sliding under the black robe's tie and tearing it open like he'd been starving for this moment. My bare skin burned under his scorching palm as it traveled up my body, settling on my aching breast. He pulled back from my lips, and I felt myself weaken as his mouth found my neck—biting, sucking, marking me like a claim.

His fingers kneaded roughly, massaging my breast while his lips trailed downward, hot and unrelenting. My knees buckled when his tongue flicked over my nipple, his grip on my waist tightening as he sucked like a man starved of everything but me.

He suddenly pulled away, eyes wild and dark with need, hair tousled, lips swollen and red. Without hesitation, he yanked me off the wall and slammed me onto the bed, my head banging against the headboard. I barely registered the pain as he ripped off his clothes—shirt, pants, boxer—until he stood bare, his hard, thick length already rising, glistening with desire.

I swallowed hard as he towered over me, rock hard and ready, his cock twitching with raw need, desperate to take me.

He straddled me, forcing my legs wide apart, eyes dark and burning with possessive hunger. His lips claimed mine fiercely, biting and sucking hard along my neck, leaving marks that burned like fire. His hand crushed my left breast, fingers kneading roughly as if marking me his. Electricity exploded through me.

His hand slid down my thigh, fingers teasing the slick heat between my folds. I arched instinctively, aching for more. His finger slipped inside slowly, twisting deep but gentle enough to not overwhelm me. My breath hitched, moans spilling out despite myself.

"L-Lisandro..." I gasped, voice trembling.

His lips traveled lower—over my stomach, careful not to press too hard, down my thighs—until his tongue flicked wet and slow over my dripping core. He teased me, slow and deliberate, building the tension. Then his tongue plunged deep, circling, licking fiercely. My back arched sharply, body trembling as his mouth and fingers ravaged me with fierce but measured intensity.

My hands tangled in his hair, desperate, pulling him closer, craving everything. But he held control, brows furrowed in focused hunger, intent on devouring me without breaking me.

Then I felt it—the hard, thick head of his cock pressing against my slick entrance. He paused, letting me adjust before pushing in slowly, stretching me inch by inch. I gasped, clutching the sheets tight as he slid deep inside.

"Fuck," he growled, pulling out just enough to make me whimper—then slammed back in, hard and deep, but with a steady rhythm that never pushed me past my limit.

His thrusts were brutal and punishing, cock pounding into me like he owned me, every movement sending jolts through my body. His grip on my hips tightened, fucking me harder and deeper with desperate hunger that made me tremble—but always aware, always steady.

"L-Lisandro... it hurts... ahhh!" I cried, but he didn't stop—he only moved faster, snapping his hips against mine with ruthless rhythm. Every inch dragged in and out, stretching me, testing my limits, but never reckless.

His fingers found my clit, rubbing rough, frantic circles as he drove deep, trying to take everything. My back arched, body writhing under him, pleasure and pain crashing together in a dizzying storm.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, eyes locked where our bodies joined, watching himself disappear inside me again and again. "You were made for this."

His hand slipped under my ass, lifting me just enough to slam deeper, hitting the spot that made me scream. My nails clawed his back, leaving red lines, but he didn't care. He wanted it. Needed it.

I saw the raw hunger and fury in his face as he fucked me into the mattress. Each thrust shook the bed, headboard banging against the wall like we were breaking it apart. I could barely think—just feel.

My legs locked tight around his waist. He groaned low, burying himself fully, grinding into me as I trembled beneath him.

"Say it," he demanded, voice dark and rough. "Tell me who you belong to."

"Lisandro—please—I'm yours," I gasped, voice shaking.

That was all it took. He growled deep and slammed into me one last brutal time, holding me tight as he spilled inside—hot, thick, filling me completely. My climax ripped through me like wildfire, flames consuming every nerve.

We collapsed, tangled and breathless, sweat slick and heavy between us. My body trembled from what he'd done. The room reeked of raw desire, and even with him still buried inside, it wasn't enough.

He grabbed my ass harder, digging in deep, pushing me beyond pain to a fierce, twisted pleasure. The earlier sting morphed into something savage and sharp. Pain and pleasure battled inside me, wild and tangled.

Our bodies crashed together, the bed's headboard banging loudly against the wall. We were about to tear it apart.

"Ahhh... L-Lisandro..." I moaned, lost in the storm.

My nails raked down his broad back, skin breaking under the desperate claws. My lips parted, eyes fluttering closed as my body lifted slightly, surrendering completely.

I matched every savage thrust, every brutal rhythm.

Our heavy breaths collided as we shattered together—his hot release filling me deep inside.

He collapsed on top of me, weak but possessive, burying his face in my neck, holding me tight as we both trembled in the aftermath.

"I love you," malambing niyang bulong sa leeg ko, habang dinadampian iyon ng maliliit na halik.

"I love you, Liliana..." muli niyang bulong sa akin.

Para akong nabingi. Parang tumigil ang oras sa paligid namin. Hindi ko magalaw ang katawan ko sa sakit ng narinig. Parang nanlamig ang dugo sa ugat ko. Nanuyot ang lalamunan ko, kasabay ng panginginig ng luha na pilit kong tinatago.

Muli niyang ipinasok ang sarili niya sa akin. Kanina pa marahas, ngayon ay mabagal — tila sinisikap niyang damhin ang bawat sulok ng aming mga katawan na magkadikit. Pero sa isip ko, iba ang tinatahak niya — isang alaala na hindi ako.

Nanatili akong paralisado. Pinoproseso ko sa utak ko ang mga salitang lumalabas sa bibig niya — habang sa ilalim ng katawan ko ay umuungol siya gamit ang pangalan ng ibang babae... ang babaeng mahal na mahal niya.

Hindi ko mapigilan ang pagdaloy ng luha, dahan-dahang lumalandas sa pisngi ko — malungkot, malamig, at walang pag-asa.

"L-Liliana... ahhh... fuck!" ungol niya habang unti-unting bumibilis ang kilos niya, pilit binabalewala ang sakit sa katawan ko.

"Fuck... I-I love you!"

Isinubsob niya ang mukha niya sa leeg ko, nanginginig sa paghinga habang pumipintig ang katawan sa ibabaw ko.

"I love you, Liliana... ahhh... fuck! I-I love you!" pabulong, na para bang naglalaban ang pagnanais at pagsisisi sa boses niya.

Kinagat ko nang mariin ang labi ko, parang may matalim na tinusok sa dibdib na paulit-ulit na bumubutas sa puso ko. Bawat salita ay isang patalim na dumudurog, bumabagsak sa buto-buto ko.

Nanginginig ang mga balikat ko, habang sunod-sunod na bumagsak ang mga luha — hindi dahil sa init o saya, kundi dahil sa sakit at pagkabigo.

Hindi ko namalayan nang makatulog siya sa ibabaw ko — ngunit para sa akin, gising ako sa pinakamalungkot na katotohanan.

He mistook me for someone else—his ex-fiancé. Why? Because I look like her? Does that mean... while our bodies were tangled, his mind was with her? Not with me? That I was never really his at all?

For two years, I haunted his world—watching from the shadows, memorizing his every breath, breathing in the space he left behind. I told myself it wasn't an obsession. It was love. Fierce. Unbreakable. Pure.

But now, his lips tremble with her name—Liliana—whispered like a prayer, like a curse. The cold truth crashes over me like ice.

No matter how much I worshipped him in silence... no matter how many nights I dreamed of being the one he chose—I'm nothing but a ghost. A hollow substitute for a woman he's desperate to forget.

This isn't love. It's a savage, twisted fantasy I spun to survive.

I wanted to believe he could love me—that the endless waiting, the aching hunger, would bloom into something real.

But all I've earned is his loathing.

And even as my chest shatters and tears carve burning paths down my cheeks, part of me craves the pain.

I crave the sting of rejection, the jagged edge of his disdain—because it means I'm still here. Still occupying the shattered corners of his life, no matter how broken or toxic.

I'm drawn to the torment, the bitter taste of being unwanted yet unable to escape.

I'm a masochist drowning in a love that kills. I would rather bleed a thousand times than live in a world without him—even if it means I'll never be loved.

Because loving him—even in this hell—is the only thing keeping me alive.

I know every slash of his words, every glance of disgust cuts me open. But I can't stop. Pain means I exist. Even if I'm just a shadow.

I'm painfully aware I'm not the woman he truly desires. I'm a cruel echo of Liliana—his whispered prayer, his silent torment. Yet, I'd rather be this shattered shade than vanish completely.

The darkest truth? My "daddy issues" feed this obsession—a suffocating hunger to be seen, to be held, to matter.

I never had a childhood. My mother was lost to grief, sinking deeper into madness the day my father died—before I could even know him. She neglected me, drowning in sorrow that no child should witness.

Everyone loved my brother more—because he looked so much like our father. The perfect son, the one who still held a piece of what she had lost.

I was invisible.

My heart rewired itself into fractured, desperate longing—an anxious, chaotic hunger that traps me in this endless cycle.

I'm not just obsessed with him—I'm obsessed with the idea of being loved. Chosen. Worthy. The things my childhood stole from me.

This obsession isn't love. It's survival born from complex trauma. My heart clings to pain because invisibility terrifies me more than suffering.

The more he pushes me away, the tighter I hold on. Because letting go means disappearing. And disappearing means dying inside.

My therapist says this is the curse of disorganized attachment and Complex PTSD—when early loss twists the brain into chasing connection, even if it's poison.

So here I am—drowning in a love that destroys me, addicted to rejection because it proves I still exist in his fractured world.

I tell myself it's not love. It's a cruel, beautiful nightmare. But I'm too terrified to wake up.

Without this obsession, without this torment, I don't know who I'd be.

Broken. Haunted. Terrified of disappearing.

So I bleed. I ache. I hold on—because this obsession, as poisonous as it is, is the only thing keeping me alive.