Chapter 5

• The tension in the hallway was thick, palpable. Their eyes locked for a beat, and everything else seemed to fade.
• Barbra's expression shifted in an instant. Seeing Frederic wasn't around, she dropped her false politeness and smirked at Vilma.
• "You heard everything, didn't you?" she said, her voice icy. "Well, it's probably better this way. You wouldn't want to stay in the dark forever, right? Let me put it this way, you're just a side character in the drama between Frederic and me. My advice? Get out while you still can."
• Without waiting for a response, Barbra strutted off, leaving Vilma standing there, stunned and speechless.
• The hallway remained silent except for Frederic's brothers awkwardly mumbling apologies.
• "Vilma, it's not what you think... It's... it's complicated," they stammered, clearly uncomfortable.
• Vilma could see the discomfort in their eyes, but she didn't need to ask any questions. The truth was already glaringly clear. She didn't want to make them feel worse, so she simply turned and walked away.
• Outside, as she stepped onto the street to hail a cab, a bright magenta sports car came speeding through a puddle, drenching her in dirty water.
• She looked up in shock, only to see Barbra's face behind the tinted windows, her lips curling into a malicious grin.
• "You're still just a side character, aren't you? You still don't know your place. You'd better get out of here before I make your life even worse!" Barbra called out, her voice dripping with venom.
• With that, she sped off, leaving Vilma standing there, soaked and humiliated.
• Vilma wiped her face with a tissue, her hands trembling. She tossed the tissue in the trash and looked up at the clear blue sky above, a single tear slipping down her cheek, unnoticed in the breeze.
• A side character?
• No. She'd never been anyone's side character.
• Frederic had been the one in her story all along. But now? Now it seemed his chapter had ended, sudden and painful.
• Back at home, Vilma ate a small meal, washed up, and then lay down to rest, the weight of everything still pressing down on her.
• It was 3 AM when the bedroom light flicked on without warning.
• Stumbling into the room, Frederic, drunk and disoriented, collapsed onto the bed and pulled Vilma into his arms, catching her off guard.
• "Why do you have to torment me like this?" he slurred, his breath heavy with alcohol. "You know I can't get over you. Why won't you just give me another chance?"
• His voice was thick with frustration, and Vilma's chest tightened in silent pain. "I care about you so much," he continued, his words raw. "But you keep going on these blind dates right in front of me. Is it some twisted pleasure to watch me fall apart like this?
• "I'm in agony, can't you see?" His voice cracked, desperation creeping in. "Tell me what you want, I'll give you anything... as long as you're still mine."
• Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at his pitiful, intoxicated face. Slowly, she pulled away, pushing gently at his chest. He slumped back onto the bed, murmuring Barbra's name as he fell into unconsciousness.
• Vilma let out a bitter laugh, bitterer than she'd ever imagined. So, this was how he looked like when he was really into someone.
• "All those years we spent together... they meant nothing to you," she murmured.
• Her heart shattered, but she didn't let him see it. Red-eyed, she grabbed a pillow and left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. The darkness swallowed the space, and Frederic's drunken ramblings faded into the night.
• *****
• The next day, Frederic didn't wake up until noon.
• The alcohol had him nursing a brutal headache, his body aching from the night's chaos. He groggily sat up, trying to focus, only to find Vilma near the window, tidying up some small jewelry.
• His mind was foggy, but flashes of the previous night slowly pieced themselves together. He turned toward her, his voice raspy, "Did I... did I say anything ridiculous last night?"
• Vilma didn't turn around, just shook her head silently. Frederic let out a small sigh of relief, though the weight in his chest wouldn't go away.
• He rubbed his temples, wincing as his fingers brushed over an open wound on his hand. His heart skipped a beat.
• Vilma saw the untreated wound on his hand. It was inflamed due to alcohol.
• Frederic was the captain. He had to fly a plane. At this moment, he finally remembered to deal with the wound.
• "Where's the first aid kit?" he muttered, wincing again at the pain in his hand.
• Without a word, Vilma left for the living room and came back with a small box. "Here. It has everything."
• Frederic opened it, surprised at the contents. He couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh. "Everything? You're not serious, are you?"
• But as he looked inside, his surprise deepened. There was cold medicine, digestive aids, and even bandages, and ointments.
• "You... you prepared all this?" he asked.
• Vilma nodded, her tone flat. "You're a pilot. You can't afford to get hurt. I kept everything stocked, so if you needed it, it would be ready."
• The weight of her words hit him like a ton of bricks.
• He remembered all the nights he'd come home drunk, with Vilma waiting up to help him sober up. She'd made soup for him, learned to cook whatever he craved, and always been there when he was sick as if it was second nature to her.
• He remembered a conversation with his sister, Desiree, early in their relationship. She'd warned him about Vilma, calling her a pampered young lady who didn't know how to take care of herself.
• Yet, in their relationship, it had always been Vilma taking care of him, not the other way around. Guilt surged through Frederic like a tidal wave.
• He opened his mouth to speak, but Vilma was already getting ready to leave. She grabbed her bag and slipped on her hat, not sparing him a glance.
• "Are you heading out?" he asked, surprised.