["PLAY THE KING" IS ACT TWO OF THE "PLAY" SERIES. PLEASE READ "PLAY THE QUEEN" FIRST.]
It's been four months since Priam Torres, the once unpopular president of the Elysian University Student Council, assumed office. Thanks to his chief-of-staff Cas...
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally, a PTK update! I know that some of you have been waiting for me to update this story, so I apologize for making you wait. I still can't say if the updates will be regular—as I did when I started writing PTQ—but I will try to post a chapter as soon as circumstances allow me.
CONTENT AND TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains references to self-harm and suicide that may be upsetting for some readers. Please be mindful of this sensitive theme and other possible triggers. Remember to practice self-care before, during and after reading.
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CASTIEL
IF SOMEONE were to jump from the rooftop of Clark Medical Center, that would surely make it in the news. That's what I thought a year ago right after the life-changing accident, thanks to Alaric "the Prick" Esteban. I didn't know when my sister would wake up—not even the top doctors in the hospital could tell. I didn't know if I would ever walk again the same way that I used to—not even the top physical therapist could make that promise to me.
Tandang-tanda ko pa noong nakatayo ako sa dulo ng rooftop, nakatingin sa parking lot sa ibaba kung saan ako babagsak. My Physics class in senior high taught me that my body would hit the white car directly below even with the expected amount of air resistance. Kailangang tumama ang katawan ko roon para ma-activate ang alarm ng sasakyan at makaagaw ng pansin. All I wanted to attract was attention. Kapag natagpuan na nila ang katawan ko sa bubong ng kotse, maa-alert ang ospital at daragsa ang mga tao. Some of them would take photos and videos of me, and share it on social media. I would become a news item in the evening.
People would begin to wonder who I was and why I jumped off the building. They would investigate what I was doing in the hospital. Soon enough, they would find out that I was a patient and a relative of another patient here. More digging would lead to the discovery of my note that I left in my room. There I namechecked Alaric Esteban and his grandfather Aldous Eliseo—who happened to be the chancellor of the university that I was attending—just so everyone would know the truth that they tried to bury. I couldn't say anything because of the non-disclosure agreement that my parents signed. So I was hoping that my death would open the lid of the box that they wanted to remain sealed.
