They Know The End

Russell

10:04 am

"Well. . ." I mumbled to Matt. "That was something."

"I'm still at the part where you're Russell," he replied, with a hint of disgust.

I sighed. "Did it feel like I was scamming you?"

He stopped walking. "No, but--"

I whirled to face him. "It doesn't matter. If you want to find a new Last Friend, there's still time."

He didn't say anything for a while. Then, he sucked in a breath. "I'm not gonna do that. We might not have time for it."

I smiled thinly. "Nice."

He decided to sit on the ground and gave a sigh of satisfaction as he did. I followed suit. I looked at him. His eyebrows were creased in thought. His fair skin told me that he was raised well, if the clothes didn't tell me enough. That, and he had never been in the sun for so long. That explained the sweat on his face.

I watched a bead of sweat trickle down his neck and into his white shirt.

"When was the last time you took a bath?" he asked me, interrupting my reverie.

"Uh." My cheeks felt hot. "About. . .a week ago?"

He made a face. "Ugh, okay. I definitely won't be getting my clothes back."

That made my blood boil. "Do you hate me or not? Because if you do, you could just leave!"

"No, I don't hate you. But. . ."

"Is it just because I'm poor?"

He was silent.

"You're disgusting. Even worse than me."

I looked past him and stared at the sky. The gray clouds and white sky implied storms.

But the storms were here, in between the both of us.

"Sorry," he finally mumbled.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with. I have some stuff I want to do, then after that, you can do your shit."

He stood up. "Okay. Do you want to visit the mall? It's. . .opening right now."

"No, we're visiting my dad."

"Oh."

"Does she happen to be dead?"

"She's getting there."

He shut up as we began walking back the way I came from. I sighed in relief. If he said anything else, I could've punched him right then and there.

Unlike earlier, the cars were more frequent than before. They zoomed past us without any second thoughts. One time, I ended up covering my eyes from the wind caused by them.

We passed by the huge bridge and my home came to view. I could already see kids playing along the edges of the village. I smiled at the thought of being as carefree and happy as them.

But like Matt said, we wouldn't have the time.

-

We crossed the street and stood in front of the cluster of houses. It was like we were facing our doom, our long-term enemy. 

Well, technically, it was my long-term enemy. Matt was just tagging along, for whatever reason. If he was so disgusted with the idea of hanging out with poor people like me, shouldn't he be finding someone else already? I shook my head in frustration and dismay. People are confusing sometimes. 

"We just need to find my house," I said. 

"Is it far in there?" he asked me. 

"Yeah."

Unlike last night, when I jumped down from the bamboo platforms, I walked to a more elevated part of the trash mound, where the platform and the trash met. He followed suit, albeit slowly. I noticed that he was always looking around. I guess he never went to do charity work or something because he probably never experienced this before. 

"Stay close to me," I hissed sharply. The people there stopped and looked at us as we passed by. 

I waited for him to get up to the platform and we walked to my house. The steps I took had become muscle memory at this point. When my family made our home here, I always got lost in the maze of concrete houses and metal roofs. But with experience and time, I remembered how to get to the house from different entrances of the place. 

For Matt, I watched for any suspicious movement. I caught three tall muscular people, huddled to themselves in a shady corner. When we passed, they gave me the side-eye. One of them even smirked. They were the ones who beat me up last night and for some reason, they didn't bother stopping us as we entered "their turf".  (Yeah. My house was located deep into their territory.)

But they did stop Matt. 

They gathered around him. One held his shoulder. "Hey, hey, hey," he said. "You look new around these parts."

"Um. . ." Matt swallowed nervously. "Yeah. You can say that?"

"Well, you are. . .intruding," the second one added, speaking with a Cebuano accent and chopping every word. "You must pay us."

"How much?"

"Fifty pesos," a third mumbled. "since you look so kind."

I turned and watched the events transpire. He looked at me as if to say he needed help. I wanted to, I really do. But I was frozen in place by my grudge against him. 

Matt reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather wallet, seemingly out of place from his getup. 

When he was about to get the money, one of the trio grabbed the wallet out of his grip. 

"Hey!" Matt said and tried to reach for it, but he held it out of Matt's grip and the others restrained his arms. They forced him to kneel on the ground as he opened his wallet and pulled out five hundred pesos. 

"I'll be taking this, then. It's the only bill inside. And we don't have change." He laughed, amused with himself. Then, he spilled the rest of the contents out. The two let him go and they left him to pick up what was left. Now, I helped him collect his stuff, only to lose some credit cards and a polaroid photo as it slipped through  

"No, no, no!" Matt screamed as the photo was carried down to the garbage pile underneath.

"It doesn't matter anymore," I huffed. "Let's go. I don't want to stay here for too long, just like you."

He pocketed his wallet and we continued walking in silence. 

"Why didn't you help me?" he asked eventually. "I could've gotten my five hundred back."

Several answers popped into my mind, but I settled for the most obvious one. "Can't get in the way of karma."

"Wha--" he sputtered. "Y--you're saying that that was for insulting you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Duh." 

He didn't say anything as I stopped in front of a doorway. The doormat in front of us was worn down and torn in several places, but you could still make out the word "welcome" written in fading yellow. 

"We're here," I announced. I took off my slippers and stepped in. 

It was still as empty as ever. There was barely any furniture, save for the counters and a small table. The mats were laid out on the wooden floor. There was a figure laying down, his back turned away from me. There was a palpable feeling of heat and the smell of fire around the house. 

And there was someone chopping food. When she turned to face me, her eyes betrayed several emotions; most of all, anger. 

"O, where have you been?" my mother growled. Unlike the boys earlier, she spoke with barely any accent at all. "'Nya kinsa man na sa gawas?" Who is outside?

"A friend," I replied sheepishly. 

She put down her knife. "And the medicine?"

I breathed through my teeth. I had a lot of explaining to do.