Cercis

Years ago

The fluorescent lights buzz above me like they’re mocking my life choices. It’s late, the school’s empty, and somehow, I got stuck cleaning up the student council room, again. Everyone else bailed the second the meeting ended. Typical. I don’t even know why I still bother sometimes. Maybe I just enjoy the peace and quiet… or maybe I have control issues. Probably both.

I toss the last stack of papers into the cabinet and stretch, cracking my neck. From the window, I spot Iris and the others wrapping up their pageant practice at the gym. Sean’s with them, of course, and Iris looks like she’s having the time of her life. She’s been glowing lately, all smiles and sparkles ever since she found out she’d be working closely with him. Must be nice, having your crush reciprocate the attention.

Sean peels away from the group, heading toward my building. Probably coming back for his bag. I glance once more at Iris still chatting animatedly with her friends before slinging my own bag over my shoulder. “Great,” I mutter. “Guess I’ll bump into Mr. Charming before I can escape.”

The halls are quiet when I step out. The kind of quiet that makes every sound echo twice as loud. My shoes squeak faintly on the just-mopped linoleum, and the faint smell of disinfectant hits my nose. I’m halfway down the corridor when I hear it... voices. Muffled, coming from the stockroom at the end of the hall.

Normally, I’d mind my own business. But the thing is, it’s been one of those weeks, and a little distraction doesn’t hurt. Plus, I recognize one of those voices. Sean.

I pause, eyebrows raising. Interesting.

The door’s closed, but curiosity gets the better of me. I creep closer, pressing an ear against the cool wood. Can’t make out the words, just the tones, one’s calm, low… the other is sharper, authoritative. The Principal? What the hell are they talking about?

Before I can decide whether I’m officially crossing into “nosy” territory, my bag betrays me and slips off my shoulder, crashing to the floor like a gunshot.

I wince. “Perfect. Smooth, Cercis.”

I reach down to grab it, but the floor’s still slick from the janitor’s mop. My foot slides, and in a desperate attempt not to faceplant, I grab the doorknob.

Bad move.

The door swings open, momentum dragging me forward. I stumble in, catching myself at the last second—but not before making a very ungraceful entrance.

“Ouch,” I mutter, deadpan, straightening up. “Sorry about that.”

Sean’s standing there, eyes wide like I’ve just materialized out of thin air. The Principal’s expression is about the same, frozen, eyebrows climbing his forehead.

The silence stretches.

Sean opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He just stares at me, flustered.

The Principal clears his throat, obviously trying to regain composure. “Miss Aragon, this is—”

Sean 

(a little while ago…)

The day drags on longer than I’d like. Pageant practice finally ends, but the relief is short-lived. I didn’t even want to join this stupid thing in the first place, but when everyone starts chanting your name, and the teachers pile on the pressure, it’s hard to say no. Iris, of course, is having the time of her life, laughing, posing, acting like we’re all in some corny teen movie.

I smile when she talks to me, just enough to be polite, but my patience is wearing thin. The lights, the noise, the forced smiles, it’s exhausting. I just want to grab my bag and get the hell out of here.

As I walk down the dim hallway toward the other building, my footsteps echo. The place feels too quiet, too hollow. My thoughts drift to my mom and whether she’s eaten yet when I feel it, a heavy hand gripping my shoulder.

My heart drops.

“Sean, my boy,” he says, voice dripping with fake warmth that makes my stomach twist.

The principal.

Before I can react, he’s already steering me down the hall, one arm around my shoulder like we’re close. We’re not. The smell of his cologne makes me sick, expensive and suffocating.

He ushers me into the stockroom at the end of the corridor. The air inside is stale, thick with dust and something worse, memories. I hate this place. Every part of me screams to turn around and walk out, but the door shuts behind us with a heavy click.

“So,” he begins, leaning casually against a shelf. “You haven’t forgotten about our little deal, have you, Sean?”

I stiffen. “I don’t think I can help you this time, sir. I’ve got a lot going on with the pageant and schoolwork.”

He chuckles, a low, mocking sound. “Come on now, Sean. Don’t be dramatic. You know how this works. You do something for me, I make your life easier. Better grades, glowing recommendations… you name it.”

“I’m doing fine on my own,” I say quietly. “I don’t need your help.”

His smirk fades. The warmth in his tone disappears, replaced by cold venom. “Don’t play dumb. You know what happens when you say no to me.”

He steps closer. Too close. The air between us feels suffocating.

“I can make your life hell again,” he murmurs. “Want to repeat last year? I can move you back to the last section. Fail you. Make sure you don’t graduate. Your mother would be devastated, wouldn’t she?”

My pulse spikes, but I keep my face neutral. I’ve learned to hide fear around him, he feeds on it.

He leans closer, whispering, “You owe me, Sean. Don’t forget where you came from. If it weren’t for me, you and your mother would still be rotting on the streets. I gave your mother her little fruit business, remember that.”

That word, owe, burns.

He doesn’t understand that every “favor” he’s done for us came with a price. My mother never knew, I didn’t have the heart to tell her. She gladly accepted the so-called “financial aid” from my school’s principal, unaware of the cost that came with it.

“I really can’t,” I repeat, voice trembling. “Please… just let me go.”

Something flickers in his eyes, anger. He grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You don’t get to say no to me, Sean Ortiz. Or should I say—” he smirks, his grip tightening, “—Sean Kornblume?”

The name makes my blood run cold.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, wielding it like a weapon, reminding me of what I am: the bastard son of someone powerful, kept hidden from the world.

“Please don’t use that against me. I have no ties with them,” I say quietly.

The principal’s smile sharpens. “I used to work under your father. It’s… satisfying, really, having one of his sons, his bastard son, under my control.”

He slid his hand beneath my shirt and unzipped my pants. Trapped in this sickening scenario, I remained motionless, unable to resist as he kissed my neck and exposed more of my vulnerable body. The principal’s twisted words echoed ominously, reminding me of our past encounters and the fabricated sense of control he believed he owed.

No. Not again.

My eyes dart to my bag on the table. My fingers, shaking, reach for it, slow, careful, and I find something sharp inside. Scissors. My hand closes around it.

A sound breaks the tension... a loud thud outside the door.

He doesn’t notice, too lost in his sick control. Then, suddenly, the door bursts open, flooding the room with light.

Cercis half-fallen through the doorway, wide-eyed and completely confused.

For the first time all day, I feel air rush back into my lungs.

“Cercis?” I say, louder than I mean to. “You’re here! I’ve been waiting for you.”

The principal freezes, his hand immediately snapping back as he straightens up, switching to his practiced fake smile. “Ah, Miss Aragon. We were just having a little chat about Sean’s academics.”

Yeah. Chat.

I zip my pants, slip the scissors back into my bag, and force a shaky smile. “Right. Thanks for the talk, Sir.” I take Cercis’s hand, practically pulling her up. “Come on, Cercis, let’s go.”

The principal’s tone hardens. “We’ll finish our conversation later, Sean.”

Not a chance.

We rush out of the stockroom, my pulse hammering so hard I can barely breathe. When we finally stop down the hall, Cercis looks at me, confused and concerned.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she says slowly. “I didn’t mean to—wait, why were you waiting for me? What was that all about?”

I shake my head, forcing a weak laugh. “You just… showed up at the perfect time. Thank you, Cercis. Really.”

She frowns. “For what?”

“I’ll, uh… bake you croissants or something,” I mumble. “Just… thank you.”

She blinks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have.

Before I can explain, Jerry’s voice cuts through the hall. “Cercis!”

He storms toward us, Iris trailing behind him, and grabs Cercis’s wrist, pulling her away. “Back off, Ortiz,” he snaps, eyes full of misplaced anger. “Leave her alone.”

I try to speak, but Iris’s hand tugs on my sleeve, shaking her head. Her disappointment stings worse than I expect.

I sigh, give Cercis one last look, and walk away without another word.

As I pass by her house later, I glance up at her window. I remember the day she threw a slipper at those girls harassing me. The way she glared at them, fearless and unbothered. She’s been saving me in small ways since then, even when she doesn’t realize it.

As I head towards our apartment, I try to ignore the throng of people calling out to me. This is my everyday life... people constantly trying to get close to me. I try to be polite, as usual, but all I want is to get home. I can’t help but wonder if the only reason people bother me is that I’m underprivileged. It seems like being poor makes me more accessible, more ‘affordable’ in their eyes. I doubt that wealthy people face the same kind of intrusion.

When I arrive home, I push open the apartment door and step into the familiar dimness. The air carries a faint scent of dust and old cooking oil.

“Mom?” I call out, but only silence answers.

The place is quiet, but there’s a small comfort in that. On the table, I spot a few covered plates. I lift one lid and find rice and a bit of bitter melon from lunch. Not much, but enough for the both of us.

“Guess I don’t have to cook tonight,” I murmur, setting the plate down.

I sit at the wobbly table, my English workbook open in front of me. Between bites of cold adobo, I scribble answers. The words blur a little, my mind half on grammar and half on the silence filling the room.

Then the door creaks open.

“Sean,” my mother says softly as she steps in. Her hair’s messy from the wind, and her smile looks tired but warm.

“Welcome back, Mom,” I say, standing up. “I saved you some food.”

She waves a hand. “Later. Sit, anak. I have something for you.”

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a thick envelope. When she places it on the table, it makes a dull thud.

I stare at it. “What’s this?”

“Money,” she says, almost whispering. “You don’t have to work part-time anymore. It’s enough for your tuition… and more.”

My chest tightens. “Mom… where did this come from?”

Her eyes flicker away. “From your father.”

I hesitate, then take the envelope with both hands. “…I see.”

“He wants to see you,” she adds, her tone careful.

I force a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”

Truth is, I won’t. I don’t hate him, but being around him, around them, it feels wrong. The Kornblumes’ house, that perfect mansion, every corner of it made me feel like I didn’t belong. Seymour was the only one who ever treated me like I mattered. The others… their eyes always followed me like I was something they were studying.

And Persephone, my father’s legal wife. Just remembering her makes my stomach twist. Her fingers in my hair, her voice like poison whispering, Your mother is nothing but a whore. I was just a kid. I didn’t even understand what she meant back then, but I could feel the venom in every word.

After that, I told Mom we didn’t need them. We could live quietly, even if it meant struggling. And I meant it. I still do.

But Mom looks at the envelope with something I can’t name, hope, maybe. Or guilt.

“Mom,” I ask quietly, “why are you still talking to him? How did you two even meet?”

This question has lingered in my mind since childhood, but I never had the courage to ask her.

She looks surprised, caught off guard. Then she smiles that sad little smile of hers. “We met at an auction,” she says. “It’s a long story.”

I wait, but she doesn’t say more.

“Sean,” she adds, “don’t be too harsh on him. His hands are tied right now.”

I frown. “Tied?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “One day, we’ll live comfortably. You’ll see.”

I smile back, but it feels hollow. “Yeah… we will. Just not their way. I’ll make it happen on my own.”

She reaches over and touches my cheek. “You’re a good son.”

I glance at the envelope again. Maybe. But I can’t help feeling that every peso inside it costs more than it’s worth.