Capítulo 19: 'Accusations'
It was near 5 in the afternoon, everyone was busy discussing the brand clothes which Tristan signed to endorse. They were all seated on a long oval 18 seaters table. Tristan on the edge, Whifler on his left side, the brand clothes manager on his right, and five more members perched on both sides: 3 on the left and 2 on the right.
They all looked to the glass door as one of the staff knocked. Whifler permitted her to come in so she wasted no time and opened the door immediately.
"I'm sorry to interfere, Manager Whifler. But... There's a bunch of reporters outside," the staff informed in panic.
"What? Why?" Whifler stood up, bemused and alarmed at what the staff notified him. They saw Tanya, through the glass walls of the meeting room, running from a distance to the door where the staff was standing.
"Manager Whifler, Tristan... Watch the news," Tanya butted in as she came all sweaty. She looked at Tristan worriedly.
Whifler immediately turned on the television in front of them. Their eyes dilated as they saw the news. Whifler jolted at Tristan who was dumbstrucked, watching on the television.
"Tristan..." Whifler mumbled.
[On the news headline: The famous model Trish Fuentavilla physically harm her co-model Gale Sebastian.
Reporter: Gale Sebastian said at a press conference this morning, 11:00 am, that her co-model Trish Fuentavilla caused her the injury in her arm. It was clearly seen on the picture, which was flashed on the screen, that Ms. Fuentavilla's arm was stretched to Ms. Sebastian's shoulder. And it was seen that Ms. Sebastian's face was grimaced in pain. Gale Sebastian claimed that she was hardly shoved by—]
Whifler turned off the television. He looked at Tanya.
"Tanya, please escort the guests outside."
Tanya nodded and then politely accompanied the visitors. As soon as their visitors left, Whifler closed the glass door and came closer to Tristan.
"Tristan... What did you do?" Whifler asked.
Tristan lowered his head, he was still aghast by the news.
"I... I didn't do it... I didn't hurt her!"
"When did it happen? That picture. When was it?"
"Yesterday... When I went to the bathroom. She called me over. But, I swear! I didn't hurt her! I don't know why she was blaming me for that goddamn injury, but it's not me!" Tristan insisted. It was all written on his face.
Whifler stared at him for a moment.
"Was she the one who told you about Trish?"
Tristan looked at him and then averted his gaze. "Yes... She confessed that she planned it."
Whifler was taken aback. He felt his blood boiling. "DAMN THAT WOMAN!".
He looked at Tristan.
"Was it the reason you h—"
"I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T! I ONLY HIT THE WALLS! THE WALLS! NOT HER!" Tristan burst.
They both looked at Tanya as she knocked on the glass door. She mouthed 'open the door' since the door was soundproof.
Whifler went towards the door and unlocked it.
"The reporters are getting out of control," Tanya worriedly informed. Whifler massaged his forehead, aggravated.
"This is insane," he mumbled. He looked at Tristan. "Let's talk about this at Trish's place."
"Tanya, ready the car at the underground exit. Bring Tristan with you and wait for me there," he added, looking at Tanya.
"Okay," Tanya agreed.
"Where are you going?" Tristan asked Whifler confusedly.
"I'll try to pacify the chaos outside." He replied.
"Let's go, Tristan," Tanya told him then held his hand. He didn't say anything else and just followed her.
After Whifler dealt with the turbulent reporters, he immediately went to Tristan and Tanya, then left the Fuenta Glamouroza without anyone noticing. He didn't fully control the crowd, but he made it less chaotic at least.
"Ghad! We were like on an apocalypse!" Tanya enthusiastically said as she got off the car.
"Shut up, Tanya. We're not playing games here," Whifler seriously remarked then walked ahead.
"I know. I know." Tanya rolled her eyes.
Tristan just followed them until they went inside.
Whifler was taken aback as he saw Mrs. Fuentavilla—Trish and Tristan's mother— in the living room with Trish, they were currently watching the news. (It was actually all over the channels).
"Mrs. Fuentavilla," Whifler called her in surprise.
Mrs. Fuentavilla—Sharrie Fuentavilla—looked in his direction. Her gaze darkened as she saw Tristan come in. She turned off the television and walked toward them.
Tristan—who didn't notice his mother's mood—approached her to greet her.
"Mom I—" Tristan's face swayed to the side as he received a walloped slap from his furious mother. Tristan couldn't react at the moment, he was dumbfounded.
Trish and the others were also flabbergasted at what Sharrie did to her son. Like Tristan, they didn't know how to respond.
Tristan slowly looked at his mother, he was still fogged at the same time hurt. He didn't expect that greet.
"M-mom," he muttered, staring at his mother who was now shaking in anger.
"HOW DARE YOU RUIN YOUR SISTER'S IMAGE!" Mrs. Fuentavilla flared. Her fist was closed and her lips were pursed. She was glaring daggers at Tristan.
"Mrs. Fuentavilla... Please calm—"
"Stay out of this Whifler!" she exclaimed, cutting off Whifler's words while pointing a finger at him.
Tristan gaped at his mother. Sharrie's eyes were looking at him like he was some stranger ruining their family's reputation. The slap he just received felt like he was someone unrelated. Tristan bowed his head. His thoughts were jumbled.
"I TRUSTED YOU TRISTAN! I TRUSTED YOU ON THIS! YOU BASTARD!"
"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO YOUR SISTER? YOU really didn't CHANGE!"
"Ever since you wanted to do this! Now you achieved it, are you happy now?! HUH! YOU SHAMELESS RASCAL!"
"What was it? Battery Charges? BATTERY?! For Heaven's sake! Who do you think will suffer for that?! Of course, not YOU! Damn you, moron! You dragged your sister's name to hell! And worst, you might send her to jail!!"
"This is ridiculous! Thanks to you my DAUGHTER'S LIFE is now ruined! UNABASHED FOOL"
Tristan clutched his fist while listening to his mother's berating. Every word of her was like a knife stabbing him nonstop. He couldn't blame his mother, of course, she will be furious about it. But... Shouldn't she have asked him first? Or know his side? Wasn't it too unfair to just believe in one's point of view only? What about his explanation? His reason? Who will listen?
Tristan was deeply hurt... He was innocent, wasn't he? But, their accusations were too much to take. He didn't commit any but, why were they treating him like he did something inhumane?
Tristan's mind was filled with painful Whys... Why does no one try to know his part? Why everyone was accusing him that quickly? Why were they assuming the lies as truth? Didn't he also have the right to justify himself?
He wanted to cry but he couldn't... He wanted to clear himself but, what's the point? In his situation, was there anyone open to believe him? Was there anyone willing to hear him out? None... No one was even taking his side, or just even standing for him. They were all silent... Their eyes were shut. Their minds were closed. No one wanted to hearken.
His heart crumbled in anguish. He was yearning for someone to hold him. To sympathize or just even told him they understand even if they didn't. He needs someone to cling to. He didn't want to be alone anymore. Just once... Even just once. He was too tired. Was it too much to ask?
"Mom! Please. Cooldown! This won't solve anything!" Trish exclaimed, her mother just glared at her.
"Shut your mouth!" she warned then got her attention back to Tristan. She couldn't control herself. Just by looking at him, her blood simmered even more. She couldn't believe her son would cause humiliation and misfortune to their family.
"Shame on you! Why did I give birth to you? I'd rather have none than have you!"
Tristan flinched. Those words from his mother were like a grinder, crushing his heart into pieces.
She was ashamed of him. She regretted giving birth to him. She didn't want a child like him. What else was there to tear him up?
Tristan suddenly became numb at everything. He couldn't shed tears nor grieve. The pain completely enveloped him that he barely recognized the other emotions. His agony was too much that he couldn't give room for more sentiments anymore. He was truly overwhelmed.
Who would not? After hearing those words from a parent, and the worst, he knew it wasn't just expressed out of anger but, a plain fact which tormenting him ever since. The fact that had been thirsting him and made him desperate. The reason for his jealousy and suffering.
Tristan scarcely sank in the hurtful confession of his mother. He thought he could only feel that upsetting treatment but, he didn't expect he would hear it directly from her. And unfortunately, it was more heart-rending.
Tristan slowly lifted his head and looked straight into his mother's eyes. Both of their aqua-colored optics locked onto each other. Sharrie Fuentavilla—his mother—recoiled as his son emitted a strong aura. His gaze was unusually stony.
"I didn't do anything wrong," Tristan started with that deep and serious voice, his gaze was still pierced to his mother's.
"But... I know you wouldn't believe me, right?" he added. Still, that intimidating, fierce, and frigid atmosphere was emanating from him.
"I apologize for destroying..." Tristan shifted his gaze to his sister. "YOUR daughter's life."
Trish gripped her wheelchair's arm and felt a slight pang in her chest as Tristan emphasized the word 'your'. She immediately understood what Tristan was implying. She lowered her head. Guilt and Pain slowly resonated with her system. Shivers climbed up her spine. Again... That petrifying Tristan she encountered yesterday was slowly showing up.
Sharrie—their mother—couldn't utter a word, looking at Tristan. It seemed like her son—which she was scolding just earlier—was gone in a snap. It felt like she was looking at a different person. Someone who she never met, someone which completely stranger to her.
Did he have this side of him before? That eyes. Look. Tone. Vibes. What else did she miss?
"Excuse me," Tristan told, then left. He was about to open the door but, Whifler—who rushed to follow him—grabbed his wrist that prevented him from leaving.
"Let go, Manager Whifler," he warned while his head was lowered. He was holding back his tears and acted tough. But, now that Whifler's delaying him, he might burst anytime.
"Tristan, please... Don't be like this. We c—"
"You doubted me, too... Right?" Tristan asked which shut Whifler up.
Whifler bowed his head. He couldn't deny nor admit it. He didn't want to lie. But, he also didn't want to hurt him.
He wanted to believe in him, but Gale's statement and the proof against him were also persuasive.
Whifler's thoughts were muddled up. He didn't know anymore. He didn't know the truth. Where should he stand?
He lifted his head as he heard Tristan chuckle bitterly.
"I was waiting for you to deny it. But, expecting too much was indeed hurtful."
Whifler flinched. Now, guiltiness gradually swallowing him up. "T-Tristan..."
"I don't want to be rude. Please, let go," Tristan once again warned him but, Whifler held his wrist even tighter. He was hesitating, he was worried about what might happen if he let go of Tristan's hand.
"Let's talk about th—" Whifler's words were cut off and his eyes broadened as Tristan drastically pulled his hand back. Tristan stood confidently, still, his back was facing Whifler.
"I warned you but, you didn't listen. I don't want to be rude but, you provoked me," Tristan coldly stated.
Whifler just sighed in defeat... Yes, when did he win against him?
"Fine... Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. I... I promise... I'll fix this. Wait for it Tristan."
Tristan was silent for a moment.
"How could something be fixed with doubt?"
Tristan left after saying those words, leaving Whifler speechless.
Tristan drooped to the floor after he closed the door. He gripped his chest as he felt it tighten even more. Why did it always like this? Why was it always him? Was he born just to feel this unbearable pain? The pain that no one could understand unless they put on his shoe. Tristan was baffled, whether to resent himself or his life... Or probably both.
'Oh great' he thought as the rain poured heavily. 'Are you hurting too, huh, gloomy sky?'
He weakly stood up and started to walk. He didn't care if he will be soaked or even drown. Where would he go? He didn't know either. He was like an empty can, thrown to the road because it was useless.
Now that he thinks about it, when did he become useful? He was nothing like an empty can either. Because cans became useful before being dumped, wasn't it? He wasn't also like garbage. Because again, it was used before being thrown.
He chuckled painfully, he insanely getting envious of the things that had been ditched just like cans. Well, at least it was needed and wanted once, compared to him. He'd always been unwanted. How unfortunate.
.
.
It was around midnight, Summer woke up from the nth ring of her phone. She stretched out her arm and got her phone.
"Hello?" she sleepily answered as she picked up the call, half-asleep.
[Summer! I'm sorry to disturb your sleep. But... Is Trist—I mean... Trish there with you?]
Whifler asked jolted Summer up.
"WHAT? No... She's not here. Wait. Wait. Why would she be here? Is something wrong?"
[Uh. Just a little misunderstanding. She left probably 7 or 8 hours ago.]
Summer was bothered as she felt Whifler's worry in his tone.
"Okay. Okay. I'll try to find her. I'll call you back If I found her." Summer told him then hung up.
She immediately went to her wardrobe and got her jacket. She wore her pair of ankle boots and picked up the car's key.
'Trish where the hell are you?' She frustratedly thought.
Summer felt relieved when the heavy rain already stopped. She ran to her gate and opened it, but as she turned around to go back inside to get her car, she jumped in surprise as she saw someone squatting beside the gateway.
His arms were wrapped around his knees and his head was sunk in between. His hair was wet and now sticking to his neck.
Summer went closer to him. Her eyes dilated as she recognized who it was. "TRISH?!"
She exclaimed. And, yes... It was Tristan.
Tristan lifted his head and looked at her miserably.
"Jesus! What happened to you? You're so drenched! Come here." Summer took off her jacket and draped it around Tristan then, helped him stand.
"For my unborn children's sake, Why you soaked yourself?! You wanna die?!" She nagged him until they entered her house.
"Sit here for a while, I'll go get some towels and clothes," she told him then left.
Tristan was just dazedly sitting on the couch in the living room. His thoughts were drifted. He wasn't even bothered by the cold.
"Drink this first." Summer put down a glass of hot water on a center table, in front of Tristan, and then laid the pajamas she just got from her wardrobe on the sofa.
Tristan stared at the glass of water and then, picked it up. He just sipped a bit then, he put it back on the table. Summer noticed his behavior.
She sighed then, put the towel on top of his head, and started rubbing his hair.
"You dummy. You made us all worry, do you know that?"
Tristan slowly lifted his head to look at Summer's face who was now in front of him.
"Have you heard the news?" Tristan asked.
"News? What news?" Summer asked him back, still rubbing his wet hair.
"About me."
Summer paused, then looked at Tristan's eyes.
"Of course. Why?"
"Won't you ask me why I did that?" Summer stared at him for a moment, then rubbed his hair again.
"Why would I? I know you will never do something terrible like that."
Tristan was taken aback at her answer. He didn't expect Summer was this confident he was innocent despite all the accusations against him. Tristan suddenly felt lightened.
"I trust you, Trish. And I believe in you."
Summer was startled as Tristan held both of her hands that stopped her from wiping his hair. She looked at him but, to her surprise, Tristan's eyes were sparkling. That gloomy and helpless gaze before became livelier.
"Thank you. That... That's what I really need to hear right now," Tristan crackly uttered.
Summer felt her face heat up and her heart skipped a beat. She lightly pulled her hands back then, averted her eyes.
"A-uh... I'll go get some blower to—to dry your hair faster," she excused then rushed to her room. She closed her door and held her chest. She was confused by the tremendous pounding of her heart.
'What's wrong with me? I know her eyes were exceptionally beautiful but, damn. I'm used to them, right? Why are you getting wild now, huh? You stupid heart!'
She took a deep breath and slowly calmed herself. She shrugged off her thoughts then went towards her drawer, which had the label 'Stuff', as she got serene. She pulled out a silver medium-sized blower, then went out of her room.
She paused when she saw Tristan finished changing his clothes.
"Oh, you already changed."
Tristan looked at her.
"Ah, yes. Where should I put these?"
"Just put it on top of the table. I'll take care of that later," she replied as she walked toward him.
"Laid your back, I'll dry your hair," Summer commanded with a soft tone.
Tristan did what he was told. Summer caressed his hair and slowly dried it using the blower.
Both of them were silent. You could only hear the sound of the hairdryer.
Summer became uncomfortable which made her wonder. She never felt so awkward around Trish before, so why? Summer didn't like the quietude so, she cleared her throat and tried to think of something to talk about.
"Why did you come here, anyway?" Summer asked, breaking the stillness.
"Mhm. I don't know... Perhaps I just find your place comforting?" Tristan replied.
"Ah. How long were you sitting there?"
"3 hours? 4?... Not sure."
Summer halted, she turned the hairdryer off and slightly bent down her face to look at Tristan's.
"Are you serious?! You should've rung the doorbell! Or call me at least!" Summer exclaimed, staggered at his answer.
"I didn't want to bother you."
"Oh, ghad! Why did we become friends then?" She rolled her eyes, then she turned on the blow-dryer again.
"Next time don't hesitate. You know I'm always here for you," she added. "Done!"
Summer unplug the blower then walked to pick up his soaked clothes.
"Amber was here this afternoon, so the guest room was surely clean. You can rest there for now." Summer paused. Then gasped as she remembered something.
"Oh, right! I forgot to put the blanket and pillows on! I laundry the other ones because that good girl, Amber, soiled them all. Tsk. That drunkard!" she groaned.
"I'll help you," Tristan presented.
"Yeah, sure." Summer replied then head to the storeroom. Tristan also followed her.
"Which do you like, the thicker one or the thinner one?" Summer asked while flicking through the folded blankets on the shelves. Tristan scanned his eyes to the blankets.
"Mhmm," he hummed. "Thicker, please."
"Alright." Summer pulled out a thick and soft white blanket from one of the shelves on the left side corner, then handed it to Tristan.
She also grabbed 4 pillows beside and pillowcases from the drawer underneath the shelves.
"Let's go."
Tristan ambled after Summer. They walked past the living room before they reached the dim and narrow passage on the right corner, across the bathroom door of her house's first floor.
Tristan just realized that the living room occupies the first floor. (Summer's house is two-story)
They stopped at the 2 doors, just before the stairs to the second floor. Summer opened the 1st door and turned on the room's light.
Despite curiousness, Tristan didn't dare to ask about the other room. He might confuse Summer again like before. He wasn't sure if Trish already knew about it, so he better shut himself up for safety.
Tristan roamed his eyes around the solemn room. It was quite spacious. Aside from the aircon, the mini cabinet which had a lamp on top, and a king-size bed—which was the only big furniture inside— nothing else was there.
"All done!" Summer spoke that got Tristan's attention.
The bed was nicely fixed. It was pleasing to the eyes and inviting. Tristan felt the urge to lay. He suddenly became tired and wanted to rest. Summer instantly sensed it.
"Go on. Sleep now. I know you're exhausted," Summer smiled. Tristan paused for a moment and then gently laid on the bed after.
Summer tucked him in with the thick blanket that they got earlier, then turned on the lamp in front of her. Tristan was in a sideways position, facing Summer who was now sitting at his side.
"My room was just upstairs. You can call me anytime when you need something, okay?" She softly informed him then, turned off the remoted lights that were brightening the whole room.
"I'll go now." Summer was about to leave but, she was ceased as Tristan grabbed the tip of her oversized pink T-shirt.
Summer looked at him in confusion. Tristan's face was just sunk to the pillow which he was hugging with his other hand.
"Trish?" Summer called him. "What's wrong?"
"C-Can you stay with me? I-It's kinda... Lonely here." Tristan stammered.
His plea may be embarrassing but, the hell did he care? He was so desperate to be pampered now... Even though Summer assumed he was Trish.
He needed comfort. He craved someone's affection. He yearned for attention. Yes, it hurt him knowing the fact that Summer never looked with that doting gaze for Tristan. She never cared for Tristan. She didn't know Tristan at all. Only Trish... It was all because he was Trish in her eyes.
But, He was so desirous to mind all of that. Was it so pitiful? Who cares, he had enough of heartbreaking happenings, now, he needed a break.
Summer paused at his request. She stared at him for a moment then sighed.
'She was really sad', she thought as she sat beside him.
Summer felt a bit tightening in her chest. She was empathically hurting, looking at her best friend as being despondent.
Summer knew something was strange with the Trish she was with since she came home from travel. But, she was uncertain if it was just her hallucination or did Trish really change a bit.
Summer was startled as Tristan wrapped his arm around her waist. Again... The abnormal beating of her heart started. Her sweat became cold. She was getting choked up by the extreme palpitation in her chest. She couldn't understand what was happening. She was getting nauseous. It seemed like every Tristan's touch caused a tingling feeling within her.
'Damn... What is this?'
Summer stiffened as Tristan's embrace tautened. She gradually felt her back damped by Tristan's tears. She drastically turned around to check him but, she flinched as Tristan's eyes were closed. He was clearly in pain, yet, he was enduring it secretly. Summer heard him whimper. Tears were flowing nonstop through the sides of his closed eyes.
Summer painfully stared at his face and caressed his cheeks. She dazedly wiped his tears and hushed him.
"Shh... It's alright. It's alright," Summer comforted. She laid beside Tristan and hugged him tightly. She gently patted his back until they both felt the sleepiness.
Summer felt her eyelids getting heavy. She tried to make herself wide awake but, she just couldn't. And soon after, they both fell asleep.
.
.
.
Summer woke up as she heard her alarm rung. She stretched out her hand to turn it off and was about to move to get up but, she halted as he felt Tristan's hand on top of her.
She suddenly blushed while staring at Tristan's sleeping face. She smiled out of the blue as she found him cute when slightly snoring.
Summer's eyes widened and jolted up when she realized her reaction. Tristan—who was deeply asleep—just move and turned to the other side.
'What the heck. I'm getting weirder and weirder' she thought holding both of her cheeks.
She looked at her phone as it rang. She immediately picked it up when she saw the caller.
'I forgot to inform him!'
"Whifler!" She greeted after answering the call.
"I'm sorry. I fell asleep. Uhm. By the way... Trish is here," She added, looking at Tristan.
[Really? That's a relief!]
Whifler exclaimed, obviously delighted at what Summer told him.
[Where did you find her? And When?]
"Ah. Actually, she was just slumping outside my house. She was so drenched and tired, so I let her rest. She's still sleeping now."
[I'll pick her up! I'm not sure if she's stable for it, but the President wanted to talk to her.]
Summer felt irritated at what Whifler said. She saw how awful Trish was. Can't they just give her a break for a while?
"That's not right! You didn't see how miserable she was last night! She looked like a mess that I barely recognized her when I found her outside! Can't you just give her time to rest? She was so dejected! It was too much for her!" Summer objected.
Summer heard Whifler sigh.
[I know... I do want her to rest, too. But. I couldn't say no to the President. I did my best to persuade her. But...]
Summer just sighed. She understood what Whifler was trying to say. She knew Trish's grandmother was quite inexorable sometimes. She glanced at Tristan who just moved to another side.
"Okay. Okay. I understand. Are you at the Fuenta right now?"
[Yes. Everyone is here... I think the president wanted to settle the issue herself. Gale is here too.]
Summer paused when Whifler mentioned Gale. Her gaze became cold and her irate mood worsen. She glanced at the wall clock, it was 6:45 am. She had a meeting at 8:00 am.
'Yeah. It's too early'
"Alright. We'll be there in less than an hour," she replied.
[Wait. What? We?]
"Yes. We'll go there together. You don't need to pick her up.",
[Why?]
Summer smirked. "I want to meet that bitch."
She didn't wait for Whifler's answer and just hanged up the call. She looked at Tristan as he got up, scratching his eyes.
"You're awake," she formed a sweet smile on her lips. Tristan just smiled back at her.
.
.
They did everything they needed to do as quickly as possible to arrive at the company on time as she promised.
They were currently in Summer's car, driving their way to the Fuenta Glamouroza. Summer glanced at Tristan who was silent since they left.
"Are you okay?" Summer asked him as she noticed Tristan's long face.
"Yeah," he timidly replied.
Summer didn't know what he was thinking, he was so quiet throughout the trip. Summer didn't bother him anymore. Sometimes, it's better to let the sad people grieve for themselves first rather than dive in and forced them to be pulled out of the gloom. Wait for them to speak up and listen.
"We're here," Summer informed him as she parked. They took the route where reporters wouldn't notice their arrival. Summer got out first then Tristan followed and they immediately went it.
"Where is she?" Summer asked Whifler as soon as they met in the lobby.
"Uh. She's at the president's office," Whifler replied. He looked at Tristan behind Summer worriedly.
"How are you?" He asked which made Tristan look at him, but he just swiftly averted his gaze.
"Fine," Tristan coldly answered.
Summer's blood boiled as she saw Gale coming out of the President's Office. The Presiden's office was just located on the first floor since Lauren Fuentavilla (the president) was too lazy to go up and down.
Summer's right eyebrow raised as she saw the blue cast on Gale's right arm. She confidently walked straight toward Gale.
"Oi. Summer!" Whifler mumbled, attempting to stop her. He knew right away there was something crappy going on in that unstable mind of her. He couldn't do anything but, just frustratingly facepalmed. Summer was also unstoppable and uncontrollable, ya know.
Everyone stared at her, astonished, as she stopped in front of Gale. Summer gave her a wide, sweet, and mischievous smile.
"Hey," she greeted Gale.
Gale was perplexed, looking at her. "Hi?"
Summer looked at Gale's manager, P.A., and all of the people she was with.
"Can I borrow her for a while?" she asked them.
She didn't wait for their response and just yanked Gale's casted arm and then dragged her somewhere else. Well, Summer would still drag Gale even if they disagree. So, no point in waiting for their answer.
She opened one of the dressing room doors and entered there. The room was empty so, it was just the two of them inside. She pushed Gale and locked the door.
Gale—who was dumbfounded—looked at her in disbelief.
"What the hell!" Gale exclaimed at Summer.
"Oh. What hell? Girl, I'm an angel." Summer smiled. She looked down at Gale's arm.
"Your cast is weird. Are you not hurt? I grabbed the wrong arm. I'm sorry," Summer deadpanned.
Gale just unamusedly raised her right brow at Summer. "It's nothing. What do you want?"
"I know Trish didn't do that to you," Summer cattily remarked.
Gale sneered. "What. Are you a psychic?"
"No... It's just obvious. She can't do that to anyone."
Gale snorted, then burst into laughter. Summer was just calmly staring at her.
"Damn. You're funny! Do you really think she's that kind? Sis, wake up. You didn't know her that well. Sometimes people could do something that others expected they couldn't."
"Like you did? Yeah..." Summer replied, then scanned Gale from head to toe.
"Judging you... Who would think you could do such a thing? Pretending to be hurt and blaming it on someone to ruin her. How ridiculous."
Gale got cranky by Summer's statement. Summer paused for a moment as Gale glared at her.
Summer chuckled. "What. Did I hit a nerve?"
Summer stepped forward to get closer to Gale who was just three steps away from her. Summer's face became serious, her eyes intensely pierced at Gale's. She was emotionless, but Gale could feel the heavy tension.
"You know. Truth can't be hidden forever. It will reveal itself in no time. If... That time comes. Make sure you're the one telling the truth, because if not..." Summer leaned to Gale's left ear and formed a smirk.
"I'll give you a reward," Summer whispered then smiled from ear to ear. Gale's brows furrowed, befuddled at what she heard.
"See ya!" Summer enthusiastically added then opened the door. She was taken aback as she saw a bunch of people waiting for them outside.
"Oh. Hi!" She beamed then head to where Whifler at. She put her hand on top of his shoulder as she came closer to him and leaned to his ear.
"That girl, Gale, is suspicious. I felt like she's hiding something." Summer mumbled which made Whifler look at her seriously.
"I do feel strange, too, the moment I saw her earlier," Whifler countered.
Summer looked in Gale's direction as she went out of the dressing room. Their gaze was locked on each other.
"Whatever it is. She can't keep it for donkey's years."
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