Page 43 of Morena
No.
My body was a cage I couldn’t escape. Hatred burned through me. Hatred for him, hatred for this flesh that refused to obey, hatred for the weakness closing in.
He tugged harder, dragging my jeans lower, and I turned my face away, refusing to see him. That was when I saw it: a rock half-buried in the ground.
My fingers stretched. Found it. Cold, rough, sharp in my palm.
With every shred of strength left, I swung. The edge of the stone cracked against the left side of his head, sinking into his left eye.
Blood ran fast.
4“¡Puta!” he screamed, clutching his face. “You dug out my eye!”
But I said nothing. I just got up and ran, leaving him behind. With everything left in me, I ran. Down the hill, the trail stretched back toward town. I had only my underwear and a shirt on, but I didn’t care. I just wanted this night to end.
I wanted to go to the police, to tell them what happened. But who would believe me? They already didn’t like me. People always believe the rich over the poor. There was no point. So I ran to the only place I felt safe.
Carmen’s house.
I burst through the door, ran upstairs, and threw myself into the guest bedroom. I pulled the blanket over my head and buried my face in the pillow, my scream muffled until it was only mine.
Why? Mom, why?
Why is all of this happening to me?
They say God only gives you as much as you can take. But why punish me? I never did anything wrong. All my life, I bowed my head, stayed obedient, tried to be good. But the ones who bow always get the worst. And I was one of them.
I wanted it all to end. Every last piece of it.
I rushed to the bathroom. My hands tore through the cabinet until I found a razor. I sat down on the toilet lid and stared at my arm. I had done it before, only to feel pain, to steady myself. But this time the thought was different.
Pain quieted my mind. Shattered as it was, with every piece screaming its own story, drowning me until I couldn’t breathe. But when the razor kissed my skin, when that sharp burn bloomed, everything went silent. I focused only on the cut. At first, the blood came in a thin line, then heavier, until it spilled more freely.
This time, the thought was,what if I let it keep going?What if pain were endless? What if I let it consume me completely? Would I fall into silence forever, or into some other afterlife?
I didn’t know. I had no answer.
All I knew was that I felt dirty. My skin crawled. I wanted to scrub every inch of myself away. But before that, I wanted to try. Maybe this time it would work.
I pressed the razor deeper, dragging it across. The burn started slow, then faster, blood dripping harder now, running in red trails. I didn’t stop.
But my mind didn’t stop either. Nothing stopped.
Tears blurred everything, spilling as fast as the blood. I had never felt more alone. I was drowning in it.
I had never felt so utterly, completely alone.
1. Thank you.
2. my life
3. Are you crazy?
4. Bitch!
IV.
Iwokeupinbed. Bandages wrapped around my hands. Across the room, Francisco stood at the window, staring out like the glass might answer questions he couldn’t ask. My head turned toward the bathroom. The tiles were clean. He had cleaned all the blood.
