Hamartia

Here’s me using exacerbate in a sentence: I thought attending my sister’s wedding would take my mind off of things and make me feel at least slightly better but it did nothing but exacerbate my depression.

Abby’s dream wedding went without a hitch, although I wasn’t quite sure because I honestly had no idea how perfect weddings go. But neither of them stuttered and no one tripped or anything so I guess it went just as how Abby wanted it to. She was like a Disney princess— so perfect and flawless in her white gown that I almost didn’t want to look at her. All this time she had this dreamy face on and I was thinking, “What would it take for me to be happy just like her?”

It had been two weeks since and Abby was kind enough to let me stay in their house for a while. I had also talked to mom about my plan on going to college which almost gave her a heart attack. I still had no idea what was the big deal. She said yes and I was jubilant— but not until I was drowning in a pool of college applications.

“Now, which university would you like to go to?”

Mom had always been the supportive one, while my dad was more like a nodding machine and he remained to be one until the fault in his brakes caused him his life.

I looked up to mom from the kitchen counter and found her pulling out a tray of brownies from the oven. I shifted my gaze towards the papers strewn in front of me again. There were a bunch and I honestly have not made up my mind yet but there was this one that had a coffee stain on its upper-right corner.

“Arizona State University.” I read the header and my smile was so wide that it almost hurt. I didn’t wait for my mom’s go signal because I was fairly sure she was going to say yes and even if she wouldn’t, it won’t stop me from filling out the application.

A week after, I was finally out of my sister’s house and now basking in the glory of my new-found independence. My mother had gone back to New Jersey despite the given chance of settling here for good. A stubborn woman she really was.

My roommate was a full-pledged, die-hard fan of Mulan. The strong smell of incense engulfed me as soon as I had entered room 218 and up until now, I was still in the process of grasping the fact that I had to get used to her wake-up call (a recorded voice of a man chanting something Asianover and over again) and her habit of waking up way before you could see a hint of light leaking out in the horizon. Obviously, I had an Asian for a roommate. She’s Chinese and you don’t know a recluse and reticent until you’ve met her.

My first day in college started off fairly well, although my inadequate sense of direction in almost everything yet again reigned supreme, costing me a 500-word essay on tardiness for being late for my first class. 

What is this, high school?

So while almost everyone was at the new club just a few blocks down, I was pitifully hunched over my desk with a pen in hand and without nothing in mind to write. Much to my surprise, even my roommate, Julie, was out there partying, although I found it quite hard to imagine her outside the two meter radius of her books.

I felt really sorry for my life or more accurately, the lack of it. Even though partying didn’t exactly qualify as a life, it’s unarguably better than expanding “Tardiness is not good” into 500 words.

Then I did something I’ve never done in my life: I procrastinated— and it felt very liberating.

An hour later, with a handful coaxing from Garrett through SMS, I was already weaving my way through the crowd of inebriated people who were more like feeling each other up rather than dancing. The strobe lights that came in eclectic colors were blinding but no one seemed to mind. They were too caught up in their world of lust.

I pushed myself to the stool in the corner and was about to order a drink when I was abruptly stopped mid-sentence by someone who shamelessly hugged me from behind. Rude.

“Let’s get out of here.”

I smiled to myself as I pushed back my plans for tonight that mainly consisted of getting drunk which would, I though, be a great form of catharsis after a stressful week. Fingers entwined together, I let Garrett drag me outside where his car was waiting for our arrival. Turned out he had his own plans. And I didn’t mind.

“It’s my turn to pick.” Garrett eyed me mischievously while cradling a stack of DVDs in his arms. “It’s going to be a long night, Robin.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve blood, I’ll—”

He cut me off with a laugh. “As I said, it’s my turn to pick.”

“Knowing you, you’d probably pick one those lame zombie movies and torture me with the lameness of it.” I pushed my knees to my chest and rested my head on the wall while he set up the TV and CD player.

What I didn’t see coming was this: Garrett speeding towards me and jumping on the bed, saying, “You know me too well.” I laughed, but I was again stopped short when he kissed me on my forehead and pushed me closer beside him so that my head was already cradled on his shoulder while his arm was firmly wrapped around me.

And for the first time in my life, I was thankful for the movie producers of Zombieland because the whole bloodiness of it just gave me an excuse to scoot closer and to delight in being embraced my Garrett. I didn’t even pay attention to the movie.

His heartbeat lulled me into a peaceful slumber.

When I woke up, I wasn’t consumed by guilt or fright but rather utter blissfulness. Too see Garrett beside me first thing in the morning was enough to make my day and forget about the write-up I have yet to make.

“Stop staring.”

His croaky voice which was laced with sleepiness was undeniably sexy and I couldn’t help but grin, which made me look  undeniably dorky. He pushed himself on one elbow and kissed my nose in one swift motion that made me wonder if it really happened.

“Good morning.” He mumbled groggily.

I was in a daze so early in the morning and it was all because of Garrett and his antics.

“Pancakes?”

I volunteered to make breakfast— her mom wasn’t around and won’t be until next week— because that was the least I could do after he saved me from my imminent death (read: write-up on tardiness) last night.

“You know how to cook pancakes?” Now fresh out of the shower with his hair dripping wet, he teasingly came closer to me.

I pointed the spatula at him in defense and bit back a laugh. “Are you questioning my kitchen exploits?”

Without any warning, his hands snaked around my waist and I found myself too close to him. I caught his eyes flicker to my lips and the intensity of his gaze as he brought back his gaze to mine was so strong that I almost lost my balance, if it wasn’t for his hold that was the only thing keeping my steady. My heart was drumming wildly against my chest and we both knew what was about to happen. One of us just had to—

The thoughts that were running in my head in meteoric velocity ceased as he finally crashed his lips into mine with such overwhelming passion, then I was already kissing him back with the same urgency, my fingers tangled in his hair— spatula already dropped on the floor— while he pushed me against the kitchen counter. He begged for entrance which I heartily granted him but our intense new level of intimacy didn’t last long.

We separated in an instant as soon as we heard the door open.

“What— what are— were you two doing?” John asked incredulously, his eyes boring into mine with suspicion.

“Making pancakes.” I blurted out almost immediately, making Garrett stifle a chuckle beside me. I nudged his side while I blushed all shades of red as I realized that he wasn’t going to let me live this down.

Making pancakes would be our personal euphemism for making out.