Page 37 of Morena
“Yeah.” I groaned. “Why do I hate him already?”
Her smile faltered. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “It is a very thin line between love and hate, you know.”
“Still.” I drained the last of my cup, then flipped it upside down, letting the coffee grounds slide onto the small plate she had set out for me.
Without a word, she rose and poured me a glass of water. “Drink,7loca.”
I listened to her, watching as she studied my cup. Her face grew heavy, and before I could speak, she reached across the table and took my chin in her hand.
“Promise me you’ll stay away from those boys.”
“Why?” I raised a brow.
“Because nothing good will come from it,” she whispered. “Only pain, Morena. Only pain.” Her eyes glistened before she turned away, wrapping her arms around me tightly.
“I was cursed with a talent to see. But you,” her voice broke, “you were cursed with the talent to be blind. Whatever happens, remember this:you are capable of so much more than you allow yourself to be.”
Her words stayed with me like smoke in the room. The rest of the afternoon, she locked herself away and cried, and when I finished my work, I slipped out quietly and walked home.
1. my life
2. How handsome he is.
3. Ah, dear
4. calm down
5. pretty girl
6. Francisco… but my friends call me Paco.
7. crazy
II.
BythetimeIslipped through the front door, the clock had already surrendered the day to evening.Seven o’clock.The house smelled like stale liquor, the stench curling into my nose before I even set down my bag.
Dad was drinking again.
But it wasn’t just the sour smell that told me what I already knew. It was a shattered bottle glittering across the floor, a chair that lay sideways with one leg snapped. I knew it was one of those nights.
He wasn’t just drunk; he took his rage out on Mom again.
I heard it, a muffled sob from the bedroom. My stomach twisted. When I pushed the door open, I found her.
Mom.
She was curled tight on the bed, her body covered in bruises, her face streaked with tears. She looked so small, so breakable, that my chest cracked open. The tears burned up fast, spilling down my face before I could think. I slid onto the bed beside her, pulling her into my arms.
It was all I could give her.
She didn’t speak, just cried into the silence, letting her grief soak the sheets.
For a moment, we both lay in silence, but soon that silence was broken when the phone started to ring. A sharp, ugly sound that cut through. She didn’t move, but I did. I dragged myself away, wiped my face with the back of my sleeve, and walked into the kitchen.
The white phone hung from the wall, one of those old bricks that was hard to hold.
I picked it up and whispered, “Hello?”
