Chapter 23
“You know how we went to see your grandpa because he got really sick all of a sudden? Turns out he was fine—just a little sickness. But then BonBon got really sick yesterday. He wasn’t eating, and we thought it was just the weather change since we had traveled to the farthest city of our country. So it made sense. But this evening… he vomited blood. We rushed him to the best hospital here.”
Hearing all that, Becky swallowed hard, her throat dry with nothing in it. Her chest tightened. Freen, sitting beside her, clenched the bedsheet in her fist—tight. She didn’t speak, just stared ahead, frozen.
“And we didn’t want to disturb you or make you worry. We thought he’d be alright,” her mum continued. “But now he’s on drips… and the doctor said they can’t say anything for sure.”
Becky turned to look for Freen’s eyes, needing her presence, her grounding—but Freen suddenly stood up and bolted out of the room, slamming the door behind her with a loud thud.
Becky understood exactly what Freen must be going through. She herself was on the verge of tears, her voice breaking as she spoke into the phone, “Mum… can you please video call me? I wanna see him… please.”
The moment the call ended, she started pacing the room frantically, her mind in shambles.
Then—an incoming video call.
Becky answered instantly.
“Becky…” her mum’s voice came through, already broken.
“I wanna see BonBon, Mum, please!” Becky pleaded.
Her mum reversed the camera, and Becky’s heart dropped. BonBon was lying on the bed, barely moving, his little body lifeless, without the energy to even lift his head.
“BonBon… babieee… don’t do this, na kha,” Becky cried. “Can you hear me, baby? Please… please, please, please. I would never leave you alone. Please don’t be like this…”
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she wiped them with the back of her hands. Her voice trembled with every word.
“Bon… please… please, babiee… if not for me or anything else, then please… for your daddy. Fight, na kha? Please… you don’t know how much you mean to us. Please…”
She was spiraling, trying with every word to convey the storm and battle she and Freen were both silently fighting within.
Her mum, surprised, said softly, “Daddy? He has a… daddy?”
Becky gave her a quick look through the screen, a sharp but silent not now, and her mum understood.
“I’m sorry, Bec, baby… we didn’t take care of him well enough. Please forgive us,” her mum said with a heavy heart, voice cracking. “It’s… it’s superstitions, but they say when someone in the family comes close to death… the dog takes it upon themselves… maybe BonBon is saving your grandpa and—”
“Stop it, Mum!” Becky cut her off with a rage her mother had never heard before.
“Stop it with all this nonsense about superstitions, fate, and fortunes! It’s stupid! And please—never, ever blame anyone for someone else’s death or saving,” she cried out, voice breaking as her anger turned into despair.
All she could think about was Freen… how she must be feeling. The weight of it crushed Becky’s heart.
On the other end, her mum began to cry too, realizing how deeply Becky loved BonBon.
“Look… he hasn’t given up yet. So please… you don’t lose hope either, okay? Let’s just pray for him… can we?”
Becky nodded, her throat tight. “I’ll call you in the morning, and if some—”
“Mum!” Becky interrupted again. “Nothing is going to happen, you got that? I want BonBon here with me. And that’s it.”
She ended the call and collapsed to the floor, kneeling, crying to the point where sound no longer came out.
After what felt like hours of sobbing into her own breathless prayers, Becky’s trembling fingers finally found the strength to call Freen.
She had no idea where Freen was… what she was doing… what dark spiral she might have fallen into in her self-destruction mode.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
And again.
But Freen never picked up.
Becky didn’t stop.
Desperation grew with each ring, each unanswered buzz drilling deeper into her chest.
She sent messages—one after another—voice notes filled with tears, rambling pleads,
She texted everything.
Begged.
Wrote and rewrote things.
Then said them again out loud, recording in whispers.
But nothing.
No response.
Eventually, curled into Freen’s bed that still smelled like her, clutching the phone to her chest like a lifeline, Becky fell asleep with puffy eyes and silent sobs.
Meanwhile…
On the other side, Freen’s phone kept vibrating, lighting up the dashboard of her car like a haunted heartbeat.
129 missed calls.
323 unread messages.
All from Becky.
But Freen didn’t read a single one.
Didn’t open even one voice note.
Didn’t dare to.
What was the point?
She already knew.
She had already written this fate the moment she allowed herself to feel something real for BonBon.
The moment she let herself believe she deserved something soft, something safe.
She was cursing herself now—for being vulnerable, for repeating her goddamn mistakes, again and again, knowing too well how they always ended.
The city blurred around her as she drove into nowhere.
Speeding.
Past signals, past streets she didn’t recognize.
She didn’t care.
All she wanted was distance—from the noise, from the weight, from the hurricane inside her skull.
Her car was a rocket of rage and misery, her grip on the wheel like a woman clinging to the last thread of sanity.
Another stamp on Freen’s fate.
Another testimony to her ever-growing receipt of pain.
Another cruel reminder that fate always wins—and always takes.
Someone else.
The next one in line.
The person who had unknowingly taken up most of her heart, most of her waking thoughts, her laughter, her quiet moments—
Becky.
And the idea of her being next...
Of fate sharpening its claws to drag Becky into this cursed pattern too—
Of losing her to the same story Freen had lived again and again...
That single thought was enough to tip her over the edge.
It wasn’t just grief anymore.
It was fury.
A blinding, scorching rage that shot through her veins like wildfire.
And it was driving her absolutely, bloody outrageous.
Eyes burning, throat raw from holding back screams, she finally yelled—
Into the windshield,
Into the silence,
Into her own madness.
“THIS ENDS NOW!”
Her voice echoed inside the car like a battle cry to the gods who never listened.
Morning arrived.
Becky stirred awake, still curled up in Freen’s bed, her eyes swollen from the night’s endless crying. Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of the front door slamming open.
Freen stormed in.
Boots thudding against the floor. A large black bin bag clenched in her hand. Her aura? Icy. Cold. Ominous. Her eyes gave nothing away—empty, unreadable. Her face was blank, yet her presence radiated fury like a thundercloud ready to explode.
“P’Freen,” Becky whispered, quickly standing up.
Freen didn’t stop. She walked straight past her, ignoring the broken voice, and headed to BonBon’s corner. She began snatching up BonBon’s toys—his blanket, his bowl, his leash—stuffing everything into the bag with mechanical urgency.
“P’Freen! What are you doing?” Becky moved closer, panicked, trying to grab her arm, but Freen was unreachable—like she wasn’t even in the room with her.
Becky stepped in front of her, halting her, holding her hands tightly. “P’Freen, please! What are you doing?”
Freen finally paused.
She looked up at Becky—eyes hollow, sharp, and burning with something unrecognizable. And then, with a voice like a slap, she said:
“Get out of my way.”
It wasn’t just a statement. It was disowning.
Becky gulped, shaken to the core. She had seen Freen cold, distant, detached—but this… this was different. This wasn’t Freen pushing her away. This was Freen slicing her out.
Still, Becky held her ground. “No. Please, P’Freen, just listen to—”
“BACK OFF!” Freen’s voice cracked like thunder, raw and loud, shaking Becky to the bones. Becky stumbled back in shock, stepping aside.
She knew Freen could be cruel in moments of grief—but this? This hurt. This was Freen taking everything and smashing it to the ground. First BonBon. And now... her.
Tears threatened to rise again, but Becky stood frozen. Her world unraveling.
Then, Freen bent to pick up BonBon’s favorite plush toy—the little fox that freen won for becky at game station which becky then gave it to Bon.
“No.” Becky caught her wrist, stopping her. Her voice trembled, but she found strength. “He is not dead yet. Do you hear me? He’s not dead, Freen. He’s fighting—so should you!”
Freen flinched.
And then… the dam broke.
“Are you seriously saying his sickness has anything to do with me?” Freen snapped, her voice poisonous, loaded with guilt wrapped in rage.
Becky looked confused. “What are you talking ab—”
Freen yanked her hand away and shoved her—hard. Becky stumbled back, her spine hitting the wall with a dull thud.
Freen stepped forward, her entire being trembling with fury. “Don’t you dare try to make this about me, when this—all of this—started with YOU. It was you who broke every rule I set. You, who let that stupid dog crawl under my skin. You and your relentless stubbornness—trying to erase every bit of distance I created for a reason! You knew what I carried… and you still forced your way in.”
Becky’s lips parted in silent protest, but the words never came. Freen’s voice only grew louder—sharper—each sentence a dagger.
“It’s all you! And even if he survives today, he’ll die eventually. They always do. Her voice cracked.
Freen’s eyes—no longer empty—now flared with resentment.
“You—the pampered princess. The spoiled girl everyone adores. You get everything you want. You flash that innocent face, and the world just folds itself for you. Don’t even pretend you're shining because you're talented. You're not. You're just... pitiful. A soft, naive loser that people pity enough to keep around!”
Becky’s tears streamed freely now, each insult like a slap across the face.
Freen turned, dropped the fox plush into the bin, and stomped toward the door. Just before she left, she turned back one last time, her voice bitter and cruel.
“Tell that dead piece of shit I said RIP.”
Then the door slammed shut.
And Becky—shaking, breathless—collapsed onto the floor, right at BonBon’s empty corner.
She cried like a child—like someone had torn the last thread holding her heart together. Her sobs echoed in the silence Freen left behind, and yet, beneath the heartbreak, she still whispered to herself, "She didn't mean it. She didn't mean a word of it..."
Her phone buzzed.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and picked it up. “Mum...” she croaked.
Her mother’s voice was soft and comforting on the other end. “Becky, baby, don’t cry. I called to give you some good news, okay?”
Becky listened in silence, barely breathing.
“He’s doing better, sweetheart. He ate a little today. Still on IV, but the doctor says it’s still complicated but everything is going good so far. And I believe it. We’re going to bring him home soon, alright? Just hang in there, babiee.”
A wave of relief washed over Becky, but it was twisted with something else—something bitter.
She let out a soft, broken laugh. “Sure he is…” she murmured under her breath. “Of course, he’s getting better now.”
It all made sense.
Freen’s fate.
Becky nodded to herself, wiping her face again. “Keep me posted, Mum… and send me clips of him eating, okay?”
“Of course. And please don’t lose hope.”
But Becky had already hung up.
The phone dropped to her side as she curled up in bed, eyes blank, heart heavy. Hope? That felt like the one thing she didn’t have anymore.
It was Becky’s very first fight with Freen—and it was devastating.
Every word Freen had hurled at her kept echoing in her mind, ringing like a cruel song on repeat. And even though Becky knew why Freen lashed out—knew the pain behind her actions—she couldn’t stop herself from wondering:
What if it’s true?
What if everything Freen said wasn’t just out of anger?
What if people really did treat her differently because of her face? What if she wasn’t talented—just pitied?
The thought haunted her.
Confusion wrapped itself around her like a storm, but one thing stood clear in the middle of the chaos—Freen’s fate was real. The curse she carried wasn’t just in her head. Freen had poured all her anger, all her hate, onto Becky and BonBon… and then—voilà—BonBon began to recover.
It was too real to ignore.
Becky’s mind was in shambles. Everything hurt. Everything spun.
And then there were the exams—looming like a shadow she couldn’t escape. She was supposed to study, focus, prepare. But how could she? Her heart had shattered. Her mind wouldn’t stop spinning.
So she did the only thing she could: she locked herself inside her room.
She didn’t come out the entire day.
She just stayed curled up, crying until there were no tears left, sobbing until her chest ached, doubting every part of herself. Wondering what she did wrong. Thinking about Freen. Worrying about BonBon.
Her world had cracked open—and she didn’t know how to put it back together.