Kit Castille didn't want to be one of the girls who worshiped Matthew Rondillo in college. She doesn't want to be one of the girls in his little black book now. But she gave her heart to Matthew all those years ago. Driven by revenge, she's on a mis...
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On a scale of 1 to 10 – with 10 being the highest – I deserve a 20 rating for being a wretched friend. I ended up meeting Matthew that night, leaving Tristan at the party with all the other beautiful people in his life, a life that I could be part of if only I had chosen the light.
I wanted to tell Matthew that I can't, that I was actually someone else's date and that I wanted to stay in all that golden light. Maybe it'll make me turn my back on him once and for all. But I couldn't. My heavy heart gravitated towards the wicked, towards the unknown, towards the darkness, towards him.
The stunt I pulled that night deserves to be in the list of 101 ways on how to be a jerk to someone who had been nothing but kind and supportive all these years. Instead of politely telling Tristan that I needed to go, I hailed a cab after ending Matthew's call and traveled from Makati all the way to Matthew's office in Quezon City.
I could have called Tristan in the cab, which would have been the decent thing to do. But instead, I went online and sent him a Facebook message that just said I needed to go. When he asked where I was headed, I told him I needed to see Matthew. He 'seenzoned' me. I felt bad.
But all the guilt vanished when I arrived at Matthew's office and saw what was left of the man I pined away for all these years. He looked like he had not seen better days. Or rather, he looked like he had not seen the light for several days.
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He had a duffel bag filled with clothes and some shoes. Takeout leftovers filled the trash bins near his desk. Everyone else had gone home, if he does really have an editorial team somewhere. He dragged himself to the door and let me in.
He gave me a soft peck on the cheeks after giving me a look over from head to foot. He probably liked what he saw because his eyes lit up a bit when they settled on my chest. I felt scrutinized, but this scrutiny was somehow welcomed. I didn't know what else to do when he sat down again in front of his laptop and typed away.
I looked around his office, careful not to touch anything, intrude or break the streams of consciousness that enabled him to write. I knew what it was like – to sit down and not know how to start when you really need to finish a piece that was due yesterday.
