Hot Duda: Love For Rangga

Wounded

"Racid?"

I'm nodding. "Lumayan. Reasonable, right? I haven't done it in a week."

"Em, yeah." He was silent for a moment and seemed hesitant. "May I know why you locked me up? What am I wrong? Please say?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, then turned to look at Rhea who was lying beside me. "If you want to say something, say it. Maybe there's something you're covering up. Try to be honest with me."

Rhea quiet. I waited for him to open his voice, but a word did not come out.

I shook my head, a bit of annoyance began to creep in. "That's it. I won't discuss anything with you before you're honest with me."

"What's? I didn't do anything."

It's no use. After all, it's best that I don't talk about Rhea's affair with Biktor. It'll hurt myself.

And, yeah, the channeling of the passion I just had toward her, made me laugh at myself. Indirectly, I've been following the crazy idea of my friends -- making Rhea an outlet when my passion is tempestuous.

"Ask yourself what you've done behind my back." I got up, stood up and put my pants back on. "By the way, you're still delicious. Thank ye. I'll come again when I need your body."

I grinned, and came out of the room. At the same time Rhea shed her tears. I didn't know it was real or just pretending. Obviously, it doesn't make my heart touched. I have no pity on him, not one bit.

I closed the drawer and put out all the lights, except for the reading lamp on the bedside table, my desk. I sat down and opened the first page of the album.

The photos are laid out chronologically, a photographic timeline of my relationship with Rhea, the first and only woman I love other than my foster mother. Our first weekend in Bali. On the next page are our prewedding photos, and followed by our wedding photos. The following pages contain photos of our honeymoon in London in the winter of five years ago. Rhea really likes the winter. In between are memories along the way - parties, dinners, funny faces in front of the camera.

Then there are no more pictures.

Depressing. The only family I have, but not anymore. I don't have anyone, anymore - just like I used to.

I closed the album and lay alone in bed thinking about what had happened. End of this relationship. A moment later I got up, took the album to the backyard, set it on fire.

"Auntie's sorry about all this, son. Auntie doesn't know what's really going on. But seeing you sad like this, Auntie knows you're hurt."

Aunt Merry. I don't know when he's been standing behind me. Having her presence made me reflexively wipe away the uncontrollable tears, which were dripping at will.

"I'm okay, Bi. Everything will be fine with time." I'm standing. "Please, Bi, burn everything, don't have anything left."

I decided to go back to the room with a big glass of water and a few grains of sleeping pills - an antidote to stop my mind wandering into the past. Times I can't forget, but I shouldn't remember.