PANDORA - Book 1 (NWC's 2nd place winner)

CHAPTER SEVEN

            “Seriously?” I raise an eyebrow.

            “Yeah, seriously,” He grins boyishly. “Hi, I’m Rohan Everett and I’m nineteen. I was born and raised in Chicago and went here in the Philippines for a vacation just a year ago, but got trapped for some reason that involves an unprecedented war. It was nice to meeting you, Hope Rivera.”

            He stretches his hand on me and I shake it sportily while chuckling. “My pleasure, Rohan Everett. You have a weird name for an American boy, by the way. It sounds Indian.”

            “Yeah, my mom got some Indian blood in her, that’s why.” We let go of each other’s hand. “So, may I know what your favorite song is?”

            “Still?”

            He nods considerably. “Yes, still.”

            “You first,” I say.

            “It’s not a hard question, why so elusive?” He frowns and shakes his head.

            “Well, it’s because I don’t really have a favorite,” I say with regret. Come to think of it, I was never a big fan of music. “I do listen to music but when asked with a simple question like this, I have nothing in mind. Really. I don’t even have a memorized song in my head that’s why I’m asking you back.”

            “Wow. How boring. I wonder how you lived all these years.” I punch Rohan on the shoulder. He raises his arms in submission. “Okay, okay. I’m vintage so you’ll probably cringe at my music choice.”

            I lift my chin to him. “Try me.”

            “Well, I like any song from Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix.”

            “Oh. Psychedelic and reggae. Nice,” I remark.

            “I thought you’re not familiar with music?”

            “I never said I’m not familiar with music,” I say. “I read a lot so most of the time I stumble on music-related articles, and just so you know, I’m into anything that came from the 60s to 90s.”

            Rohan nods considerably. He’s obviously pleased. A corner of his mouth is raised smugly. “Okay. How about a favorite book? Movie? Anything?”

            “The Lord of the Rings,” I answer without falter. To this one, I’m sure what to answer.

            “No way. Seriously?” His face lights up.

            “What, you’re a Tolkien fan, too?”

            “A big fan. I got bullied during freshman year for decorating my locker with photos of Middle Earth, though. ‘Said I was a dork.” He shakes his head while laughing silently. I remember calling him ‘dork’, too, when he compared me to that Pokémon character, Misty.

            “Really? ‘Bet you’re imagining you’re slaying Orcs instead of vampires.”

            “No. More like slaying multiple Gollums.”

            “Right, they’re not much different in looks.”

            “Yeah, and also because our blood is so precious,” Rohan imitates how Gollum says the word ‘precious.’ It’s so funny so we break into hearty guffaws. I cover his mouth because we’re too loud but we still into sniggers. Our laughs are interrupted by a bang on the metal gate. We both hurry up to our feet.

            The sight startles us. Outside, a small hemophage is growling between the bars. It’s groping the metal with a fierce look on its face. My chest tightens. It’s boy. A mere child. And it already turned into a monster. Rohan’s hand close onto mine. He grips it tightly; I know he’s thinking the same thing I do.

            “He can’t get in here. I think we’re safe for now. Even if he calls the attention of others, they cannot enter the clinic. We made sure of that,” he says false-calmly, but the way he grits his teeth suggests that it wasn’t what he really wants to say. He wants to scream. He wants to let his anger loose.

            I stare at the small body that’s been trying to squeeze itself inside with no luck. The familiar twinge of guilt chokes me. My eyes burn. Am I really supposed the one who can end this? What if there’s no cure? What if they cannot make an antidote out of my blood?

            “Let’s go. We should get to rest,” I say in a strained voice and I pull Rohan away from the gate. I cannot bear the sight anymore. Any second, I’m going to break down.

            We walk back at the pharmacy hand in hand. That gesture made me feel much better despite of my aching back and my still sore muscles and the unshakable image of the hemophage boy outside the bars. But Rohan is squeezing my hand too hard so I stop walking. He stops, too and looks at me questioningly.

            What should I say? I don’t know. But still, I find myself releasing the words out.

            “I think I know now what my favorite song is,” I say. He puckers his brow in puzzlement but I just continue talking. “It’s the ‘The Hobbit’ soundtrack, ‘I See Fire.’ A line there says, ‘If we should die tonight, we should all die together.’ It’s kind of depressing because it implies hopelessness but there is something in that line that reminds me of unity. Maybe, just maybe, it is what we need to end this.”

            Rohan doesn’t speak for a while. I can my palms getting sweaty. He takes both of my hands and looks me into the eyes. My throat dries up.

            “Sometimes, you don’t sound like you’re just seventeen,” he says. I smile at him and before I can figure out what’s happening, he moves closer and locks me inside his arms. It brings forth hundreds of conflicting emotions in me. For a while, we stay like that; me, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and him, resting his chin over my head. When he pulls away, he takes my hand once again and we walk into the pharmacy.

            Vaughn is already asleep with Jillian so Rohan and I occupy the other end of the room. Tonight, we will be sleeping side by side which is new and strange. No words are spoken again. As we lay on the floor, I’m totally aware of the warm body on the right. It doesn’t seem to bother him because within a minute, he’s already asleep. I decide to close my eyes too and the last thing I know, I’m dozing off with one his arms wrapped around me. Rohan Everett. It’s so hard to not like you no matter how I try not doing so.