The Contract Husband
By clefairy
Date: June 13, 2022
Ch. 4Three


I TOOK my phone in my pocket and saw Marcus' name on the screen. Instead of answering his call, I turned off my phone before I put it back in my coat pocket.
I grabbed the bottle of alcohol in front of me and chugged it as the doctor's word kept on playing in my head.
"I'm very sorry to inform you, Miss Buenavista. The result of the test says that you have stage three stomach cancer."
I wanted to drown myself in alcohol tonight. This afternoon, I found out I was dying. The results of my laboratory test said I have stomach cancer—stage three. And according to my doctor, I have more or less six months to live.
Six fucking months.
I closed my eyes. An entire minute passed and I realized tears were already streaming down my face.
"Ma'am…"
With blurry eyes, I looked up. I noticed a white handkerchief being handed to me. The bartender was looking at me with pity on his face.
"Ma'am, you're too beautiful to be crying over a guy."
Boyfriend? How I wish this was all just boyfriend problems.
I couldn't grasp the fact that I'm dying in six months. I couldn't die. I'm still so young. I still have so many things to do!
Why me of all people? Why me?
I didn't deserve to be sick! I was a good person. Twenty nine years of my life, all I did was try to be good—good daughter, good sibling, good student, good fucking member of the society.
Never in my life have I disobeyed my parents. I even enrolled in freaking business school for them. I couldn't move out of the house because I was worried about them. Now, I couldn't even tell anyone about my sickness because I'm so afraid that my parents would find out.
I looked at the bartender in front of me. I didn't correct him. I just silently accepted the handkerchief he was offering.
I wiped my tears. This is the first time I let myself cry outside. I just don't lose my shit in front of other people. That's why my father said that I was designed to be a good businessman.
"Thank you." I took my wallet and grabbed a couple of bills. I placed it on the bar counter before I stood up. "Keep the change. I'll take this okay?" I grabbed the bottle of vodka like my life was dependent on it.
"Ma'am, are you sure you're okay?" He asked me when I almost lost my balance when I got up from my stool.
I gave him a small smile. He was a good man. I appreciate these kinds of people. "I can manage." I know myself. I'm not yet drunk. I have a high alcohol tolerance. I never once got drunk in my life.
Well, to be fair, I was never a fan of alcohol. I only drink during occasions.
Holding the bottle of vodka in my hand, I headed to the exit of the bar. I went straight to the parking lot. But instead of looking for my car, I sat on the empty gutter.
I stretched my foot on the cemented pavement and looked at the dark sky. Then… tears started to fall from my eyes.
I was silently crying at first until it turned into loud cries.
"Why did you do this to me? I don't deserve this!" I said as I looked at the night sky.
"He must've hurt you a lot for you to cry like that?"
I stilled when I heard a manly voice beside me. From my blurry eyes, I saw a figure of a man beside me.
He was wearing a Spiderman costume, with a full spiderman suit with a mask.
"Why do you always think that when women cry, it's because of a freaking man?"
I saw him shrugged. "Well, I heard you talking—more like shouting."
Oh. "I'm not crying because of a man." I told him. "I'm talking to Him." I pointed my fingers at the sky.
"Who?"
I looked at him. I noticed he was so tall…and lean. What if he's really Spiderman?
I almost laughed at myself. Maybe I was really drunk. Or my mind was clouded due to cancer cells spreading on my body.
"To Him. To the creator of the universe. To the Lord."
"Oh," he said in a small voice. Like he didn't expect my answer. "You're shouting and crying," he said as he sat next to me. "What did He do?"
I inhaled a deep breath while wiping away the tears on my cheeks.
Then, there. I blurted it out. "He gave me cancer."
"Fuck. I'm sorry." The spiderman guy turned his head to me. I wondered how he could see with that mask on. But I didn't ask him that.
"I have cancer," I repeated in a small voice. I didn't know why I decided to tell this thing to him—a stranger.
I usually don't talk to people I don't know. Let alone share private matters.
Maybe because of the alcohol in my body. Or maybe because he was wearing a costume.
Or maybe it was the fact that I couldn't tell anyone about this so I decided to bared myself out to a stranger. I didn't have anything to worry about because we didn't know each other. I couldn't even see his face.
"I'm sorry." His voice was gentle. "That sucks."
I let out a heavy sigh. "I only have six months to live. I'm only twenty-nine."
"I know." I continued to wipe my tears.
"You're not ready…" I heard the man beside me say.
I managed to laugh despite my situation. "Of course I'm not ready. Who was ready to die, anyway?"
"Me?"
My brow furrows. "How old are you now?"
"Thirty-one."
"And you're ready to die at thirty-one?"
He shrugged. "If I'm gonna fucking die in the next six months, I won't have any regrets. Why? Because I live my life the way I wanted it to be. I did the things that made me happy. I'm satisfied with how my life turned out." He chuckled. "If death came to me, I would fucking embrace him."
"People who fear death are those who didn't really live their life."



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