“But you’re the one I pray for, and the sanctuary I will go back to; I might have to return you to the sky tonight.”

https://open.spotify.com/track/7Gju1wbqklcglziqjPIDVM?si=txwtoHvnRk-sENNcc5DQZw

I’m standing in front of Padre‘s & Madre’s room, my chest is heaving in pain.

I know they’re already sleeping soundly at this hour, but I could use a hug right now. A hug that mends me, like how they hugged me when I fell down from my bike when I was 5. But this wound is way more painful than the bruises on my knees; I doubt that even their hug will help closing it.

But it may help stopping the bleeding.

I open the door and quite surprised to find Madre’s awake; sitting in the sofa with a ball of yarn and crochet tools on her hand. She’s surprised to see me come in unannounced, and I can sense that later, worry follows. “Oceanna? Are you okay?”

I shake my head—and break down crying.

She throws away things in her hand and pulls me in a hug. I can hear Padre’s moving slightly—but frankly, the rest, I can’t remember. I keep on crying, and crying, until it feels like my eyes are drying out and I’m losing breaths. I can feel strokes on my back, and Padre hands me a glass of water.

“Ciccina, what happened?”

“I—I told him I love him, but he doesn’t believe me. I—I b—broke his heart. I broke the heart of someone I truly love, and even no matter how much I’m t—trying to tell him t—that I love him, he d—doesn’t believe me. I lost him. I lost someone I’ve been praying for. W—what should I do now…?”

I opened my eyes and found myself fell asleep on Madre’s lap. She’s still there, brushing my hair gently; and I can feel her lap is wet from tears—mine.

The pain in my chest starts to get loud again. So, last night wasn’t a nightmare. Last night wasn’t a dream. It’s real. My world starts to crumble upon realizing that this is my reality now.

“Sayang… You need to eat something. Mau sereal?” I faintly hear Madre’s voice—but I couldn’t think. I get up and frantically search for my phone.

His number is unavailable. All of his socials are gone.

“Madre… Where’s Padre? Can I ask him to contact Om Harris, Emma—or whoever—and at least ask him how’s Antares doing? I cannot reach him.” I look at the clock, it’s been 12 hours since last night.

Madre shoots me a look that I wish mean something else completely.

“Sayang… I’m sorry. Padre semalam memang langsung kontak Om Harris untuk cari tahu what happened… But he just replied with the same message, asking what happened. Coz last night Antares left and no one knows where he is right now. He will let you know once they can reach him.”

My tears start to fall. “M-Madre… What should I do…? What should I do now? How do I fix this?”

Antares’ defeated expression flashes again before my eyes and the agony tripled. I once accidentally cut my finger with a Japanese knife. I got my hand in a second-degree burn, courtesy of an exploding oven. Fractured my ankle when I got hit by a car back in Paris. Seeing Miles with different woman each month. Clara, sitting on the front seat. It was all painful—