11. Even The Toxic Knows How To Say Sorry
EVEN THE TOXIC KNOWS HOW TO SAY SORRY
Christmas was only a week away.
Close enough that the city had already decided it was here—tiny lights wrapped around trees, café playlists stuck on loop, everyone moving a little faster, a little busier, like they were counting down to something that mattered.
But not close enough to feel real.
It still felt like something approaching. Something you could prepare for. Something you could fill with whatever you wanted it to be.
For me, Kyle became Christmas.
For a week now, I had been living in the soft, air-conditioned in-betweens of his hotel room.
He wasn’t from Southside anymore—not really. Manila had already pulled him into its orbit, faster and louder and more permanent than anything we had here. But he extended his stay.
“For you,” he said. Just until New Year’s.
And I let that mean more than it probably should have.
We saw each other every day.
It started casually, like all bad decisions do. A drink that turned into dinner. A dinner that turned into staying over. A ‘just this once’ that became a routine. And before I could even question it, I had a toothbrush sitting next to his in a bathroom neither of us owned.
I kept ending up there.
I would tell myself I’d only stay a few hours. That I had things to do. That I wouldn’t fall back into something I had already survived once. And then I’d wake up beside him anyway, sunlight slipping through the curtains, his arms draping over me like it had always known where to go.
We went on dates.
Real ones. The kind that almost convinced me this wasn’t a repeat of something that already failed.
Dinner in places that required reservations.
Coffee that stretched into late afternoons.
Walks that didn’t feel rushed. Conversations that felt easy again, as though we had skipped over everything that broke us once and landed somewhere softer…
or safer… or at least, something that looked like it.
We had sex.
Lots and lots of sex.
The kind of sex that I wanted from a man. The kind that felt less like a choice and more like gravity. The kind that pulled me apart and held me together at the same time.
He was good at it.
So good.
And maybe that was part of the problem.
Because it was easier to stay in bed with him than to ask questions I already knew the answers to.
Kyle had cheated on me before.
More than once.
I didn’t forget that.
I just… adjusted around it.
So, I didn’t check his phone whenever he was away from it. I didn’t ask who he was texting when he’s all of a sudden busy.
I told myself I was being mature about it. That I wasn’t going to be that version of myself again—the one who needed constant reassurance, or the one who kept looking for proof of something that already broke.
But the truth was simpler than that: I didn’t want to know.
Not this time.
And I wasn’t ready to walk away from something that still felt this good.
So I let things be easy. Quiet. Exactly what they looked like on the surface. Even if a part of me already knew better.
And then there was everything else.
The part I didn’t say out loud. The part that kept pulling me back into that room, over and over again, like I was trying to satisfy something that never really went away.
I craved him.
Not just the way he touched me—though that was part of it. Not just the familiarity, or the way my body still recognized his like nothing had changed. It was deeper than that. Quieter. Harder to admit.
I missed being wanted like that.
Completely. Insanely.
Kyle had always known how to make me feel like I was the only thing in the room that mattered. And for a while, I let that be enough. I let it drown out the parts of me that remembered why we didn’t work.
Because I did remember.
I just chose not to look at it too closely.
Not when he was still here.
Not when Christmas was coming.
Not when Victor’s name screamed loudly in my chest.
Kyle and I didn’t feel permanent.
But it felt good.
It was almost midnight when everything finally slowed down.
We were back in bed; the room dim except for the soft glow of our phones. The city outside had quieted into something distant—just the occasional hum of traffic slipping through the windows—but inside, it felt still. Comfortable. Easy.
Kyle sat beside me, scrolling through his phone like nothing in the world could touch him.
I was doing the same… or at least, pretending to.
I had Mel’s chat open.
She was online—the small green dot sat there like it was mocking me, blinking in and out every few minutes. I had already sent five messages. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to start a conversation or if she’ll respond.
She didn’t.
And it wasn’t just tonight.
Ever since Abacca, she had been… off. Distant in a way that didn’t feel like her. Quiet in a way that didn’t feel temporary.
I had asked the others about it—Honey, Andi, and Andre—but they all gave me the same answers.
“She’ll be fine.”
“She’s just shocked.”
“Give her time.”
None of it felt right. It felt rehearsed. Like they were all reading from the same script I wasn’t part of.
There certainly was something they weren’t telling me.
I stared at the screen a little longer, waiting for those typing dots to appear. But they didn’t.
But then suddenly, Kyle let out a deep sigh beside me.
It cut through the quiet just enough to pull me out of my head.
I turned to him. “What?”
He didn’t look at me right away, still staring at his phone. “Nothing.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
I waited still.
He sighed again. Softer this time. “Andre’s being weird.”
That made me sit up a little. “Weird how?”
“He’s… I don’t know.” Kyle shrugged. “Feels like a little mad.”
“At you?”
“Yeah.”
I let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “Join the club.”
That got his attention.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I hesitated at first, then turned my body to face him. “I don’t know. Everyone’s been acting weird lately. Not just Andre. Mel, too. Even Honey and Andi.”
Kyle frowned slightly. “Weird how?”
“Like…” I searched for the right word. “Like they know something I don’t.”
The words hung there for a second.
Kyle shifted beside me, then gave me a small shrug. “Maybe they’re just being protective.”
The moment he said it, I felt it.
Because being protective meant something specific.
Protective against him.
Kyle seemed to realize it too, almost immediately. He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, wait—that came out wrong.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“I mean—” he smirked, nudging me lightly with his shoulder, “I’m not that bad.”
I laughed. “Debatable.”
He grinned, leaning in just enough to press a quick kiss against my lips. Easy. Familiar. Disarming.
“Rude,” he murmured, still smiling.
Then he pulled away, stretching slightly as he sat up. “I’ll be back.”
I nodded, already reaching for my phone again as he walked to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And just like that, the room went quiet again.
I stared at Mel’s chat once more, like something might change if I looked at it long enough.
It didn’t.
No typing dots. No reply. Just the same green “online” status that didn’t mean anything anymore.
I exhaled softly and dropped my phone onto the bed.
But a few seconds passed, his phone lit up.
No sound. Just the sudden glow against the sheets.
Right there. Beside me.
I didn’t move.
Not at first.
I just stared at it.
Another notification came in.
Then another.
My eyes flicked toward it again, this time without pretending not to look.
Messages stacked over each other. All from the same name: Andre.
My chest tightened just a little.
What the hell were they talking about?
Another message came through.
I frowned, shifting slightly on the bed, leaning closer without fully committing to it.
What could he possibly be saying that needed these many messages?
I hesitated just for a second.
But I leaned in fully anyway. The latest message became clearer.
Answer me man
My brows pulled together at this. So I tapped the screen, and the stacked notifications expanded.
You promised me not to do that
You’re fucked up man
My stomach dropped.
Promised what?
I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of it… when something else caught my eye.
Below the Messenger notifications were Instagram messages from a username I didn’t recognize.
@calvin_babe
My body went still. The previews sat there.
When are you coming back, babe?
I missed you too.
And there were more.
Romantic. Intimate.
My grip on the sheets tightened.
And then, below that, more names appeared. More messages from different users.
Short. Direct. Sexual. The chats were familiar in a way I didn’t want to understand too quickly.
Fuck! I want that cock!
This pussy is waiting for you, daddy.
And many more.
Something pressed against my ribs. Not sharp. Not explosive. Just that slow, sinking feeling. The kind that doesn’t surprise you, but one that confirms something.
“Hey.”
I flinched.
I hadn’t even heard the door open.
I looked up quickly and saw Kyle standing there, with confusion and slight anger on his face.
“Why are you checking my phone?” he asked.
I froze for half a second.
Then I let out a scoff, shaking my head as I grabbed my shirt from the couch.
“I’m glad I fucking did.”
I didn’t look at him as I dressed up quickly, thinking that if I stopped for even a second, I might feel everything all at once.
Behind me, I heard him utter, “Fuck!”
Soft. Real. Like he had finally seen what I saw.
“James I—” His voice shifted. “Wait. Don’t go.”
I ignored him, reaching for my bag.
“It’s not what you think,” he said quickly. “Calvin—he’s just—he’s someone I’m seeing.”
I let out a hollow laugh at that, finally turning to look at him.
“Someone you’re seeing.”
The words tasted ridiculous. So I moved toward the door.
“James, wait—” He moved faster, stepping in front of me.
I stopped.
For a second, we just stood there.
And I could feel it now—everything I had been holding back, pressing up against my chest.
My eyes burned.
“You’re never going to change,” I said, my voice stiller than I expected, because I honestly wasn’t angry. I was just… tired.