ALISON
The days blend together in a blur of anxiety and sleepless nights. Anthony has been a cockroach for almost a week now, and with each passing day, my worry grows. I wheel myself to the window and stare out at the bustling streets of Manila, trying to distract myself from the gnawing fear in my chest. The city moves on, indifferent to my silent turmoil.
Dani leaves early for work, his brow furrowed with concern. He doesn't say much, but I know he worries about me. I put on a brave face, but the weight of my anxiety is becoming harder to bear. The moments of silence between us stretch longer each day, filled with unspoken fears.
"Try not to worry too much, Al," Dani says, ruffling my hair before he heads out the door. "He'll be back to his arrogant self soon enough."
I force a smile and nod, but as soon as he's gone, the facade crumbles. I spend my days in a haze of restless waiting, unable to concentrate on anything. My eyes constantly scan the room for any sign of Anthony, the small, dark shape that has become both a source of comfort and a reminder of the bizarre reality we live in.
I can't help but feel a deep sense of guilt. If it weren't for me, would Anthony be stuck in this form? Was there something I could have done to prevent this? These thoughts plague me, gnawing at my sanity.
"Where are you, Anthony?" I whisper to the empty room. "Why haven't you changed back?"
The apartment feels eerily quiet without him. I miss his presence, the way he used to fill the space with his larger-than-life personality. Even his arrogant comments and teasing were better than this silence.
In the afternoons, I find myself wheeling over to the small table where he used to sit. I touch the chair, tracing the lines of the worn wood with my fingers. Memories of our conversations flood my mind, and a pang of longing pierces my heart.
One evening, as the sun sets and the sky turns a deep shade of orange, I spot a small, dark shape scuttling across the floor. My heart leaps, and I wheel myself closer.
"Anthony?" I call out softly.
The cockroach pauses, its antennae twitching. It's a small movement, but it fills me with a strange mix of relief and sadness. I lower myself to the floor, my fingers brushing against the cool tile as I try to get closer.
"Why haven't you changed back?" I ask, my voice trembling. "What's keeping you like this?"
The cockroach makes no sound, offers no answers. It just sits there, a silent witness to my unraveling.
The days stretch into a week, then two. Anthony remains a cockroach, and my worry turns into a gnawing fear. Dani continues to go to work, his concern etched deeper into his features each time he returns home. He tries to distract me with stories from his day, but my mind is always elsewhere, trapped in a cycle of worry.
"Al, you need to eat," Dani says one evening, setting a plate of food in front of me. "You can't keep going like this."
"I'm not hungry," I reply, pushing the plate away. My stomach churns with anxiety, making the thought of food unbearable.
"Alison, please," Dani's voice softens, his eyes filled with concern. "You're going to make yourself sick."
I know he's right, but I can't help it. The fear of losing Anthony, of never seeing him return to his human form, consumes me. Each day he remains a cockroach, the weight of my guilt grows heavier.
In the quiet moments, I find myself talking to him. It's absurd, I know, but it brings me a strange sense of comfort.
"Remember that time you brought over those pastries?" I say one afternoon, my eyes fixed on the small shape in the corner. "You didn't say much, but I could tell you were worried about me. I miss that."
The cockroach remains still, a silent companion in my one-sided conversation.
"Why did this have to happen?" I continue, my voice breaking. "I don't understand any of it. I just want things to go back to normal."
As the days drag on, my strength wanes. Dani's concern turns to frustration, his attempts to cheer me up falling flat. He doesn't understand, and I can't blame him. How could he? This situation is beyond comprehension.
One night, as I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, a thought crosses my mind. What if this is permanent? What if Anthony never changes back? The fear is paralyzing, and I find myself unable to move, unable to breathe.
I roll over, burying my face in the pillow as sobs rack my body. The weight of my guilt and worry threatens to crush me. I cry for Anthony, for the uncertainty of our future, for the helplessness that consumes me.
The next morning, I wake with puffy eyes and a heavy heart. Dani is already gone, a note on the table saying he'll be home late. I wheel myself to the kitchen, determined to at least try to eat something. But as I sit there, the food tasteless in my mouth, my thoughts drift back to Anthony.
I can't keep going like this. I need to do something, anything, to break this cycle of worry and despair.
"Anthony," I say aloud, my voice echoing in the empty room. "If you can hear me, please... give me a sign. Let me know you're still in there."
I wait, my breath held, but there's no response. The silence is deafening, a reminder of my helplessness.
In a desperate attempt to find some semblance of normalcy, I force myself to focus on my writing. The pen feels foreign in my hand, but I push through, scribbling down thoughts and ideas in a frantic attempt to distract myself. The words come slowly at first, but gradually, they start to flow, and for a brief moment, I lose myself in the familiar rhythm.
Hours pass, and as the sun sets, casting long shadows across the room, I find myself feeling a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things will get better.
That night, as I wheel myself to the window and look out at the city, I spot the small, dark shape of Anthony in the corner. My heart aches with a mix of longing and hope. I roll over to him, my movements slow and deliberate.
"Anthony," I whisper, tears welling in my eyes. "I miss you. Please come back to me."
I reach out, my fingers brushing against his small form. For a moment, he remains still, and then, almost imperceptibly, he moves closer. It's a small gesture, but it fills me with a strange sense of comfort.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this," I admit, my voice trembling. "But I'll keep waiting for you. I'll never give up on you."
The days continue to blur together, each one a test of my patience and resilience. Dani does his best to support me, but I can see the strain it's putting on him as well. He worries about me, about Anthony, about everything we can't control.
"Al, you need to take care of yourself," he says one evening, his voice gentle but firm. "Anthony wouldn't want you to waste away like this."
"I know," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "But it's so hard, Dani. I don't know how to keep going."
"We'll get through this," he assures me, squeezing my hand. "Together. Just like always."
I nod, trying to draw strength from his words. But the uncertainty continues to gnaw at me, a constant reminder of the fragile balance we're trying to maintain.
One evening, as the sun sets and the apartment is bathed in a warm, golden light, I find myself reflecting on everything that's happened. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, and I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally.
I wheel myself over to the small table where Anthony used to sit, and for the first time in days, I allow myself to hope. Maybe there's a reason for all of this. Maybe this curse is a test, a challenge we need to overcome.
As I sit there, lost in thought, I feel a sudden warmth against my cheek. I turn, and there he is—Anthony, in his human form, kneeling beside me. His blue eyes are filled with concern and something else I can't quite place.
"Alison," he says softly, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry."
Tears well up in my eyes, and I can't help but smile. "Anthony... you're back."
He nods, his expression a mix of relief and guilt. "I don't know how it happened, but I'm here."
I reach out, my fingers brushing against his cheek. "I missed you."
"I missed you too," he replies, his voice breaking. "More than you can imagine."
For a moment, we just sit there, holding each other. The weight of the past few weeks falls away, and all that matters is that we're together again.
****
The days that follow are filled with tentative steps toward normalcy. Anthony and I talk late into the night, catching up on everything we missed during his time as a cockroach. Dani watches us with a mix of relief and lingering worry, but he's supportive, helping us navigate this strange new chapter of our lives.
Anthony explains that his transformation was tied to a curse—one he hadn't fully understood until now. He had been watching over me, not out of
malice or curiosity, but out of a strange sense of duty. The guilt I had carried was unnecessary, he assures me, but I can't help but wonder if things could have been different.
"We can't change the past," Dani says one evening, sensing my inner turmoil. "All we can do is move forward."
He's right, of course. Anthony and I slowly rebuild our relationship, one conversation at a time. There are moments of awkwardness and uncertainty, but there's also a newfound closeness that binds us together.
"I never thought I'd say this," Anthony admits one night, his hand in mine, "but being a cockroach taught me a lot about myself. About us."
I smile, squeezing his hand. "I guess we both learned a few things."
And so, life goes on. The city outside continues its relentless pace, but inside our small apartment, we find peace in each other's presence. We don't know what the future holds, but we face it together, stronger than before.
As I wheel myself to the window one evening, watching the lights of Manila twinkle in the distance, I feel a sense of gratitude. For Dani, who never gave up on me. For Anthony, who found his way back to me. And for the journey that brought us here, scars and all.
"We'll be okay," I whisper to the city below, feeling Anthony's warmth beside me. "No matter what comes next, we'll be okay."
And with that simple truth, I let go of the last traces of fear and uncertainty, embracing the future with an open heart and a renewed sense of hope.
*****