Page 48 of Morena
3“Morena, por favor.”
I didn’t turn. He called again, softer this time, almost breaking.
“Morena.”
But I kept walking. Maria was the only one I could follow.
The hallway led to the bathrooms, but the line stretched out the door. She wasn’t there. Instead, one of her friends leaned against the wall, smirking when she saw me.
Her laugh cut through me, but I still asked, “Do you know where Maria went?”
She didn’t bother answering, only lifted a finger and pointed to the right.
The area was sealed with yellow tape.Off limits.
But I knew Maria. Rules had never stopped her. I slipped beneath the tape and followed the narrow stairs down.
The bass still pounded above, so heavy it made the mirrors along the walls tremble. The air was colder here, carrying the scent of dust and old wood. This used to be a ballet studio before Malorca turned it into a summer festival space. I remembered this room, all glass and echoes.
Maria sat on the floor, her back pressed to a mirror, her face buried against her knees.
“Maria,” I whispered as I stepped closer.
Her voice cracked. “Why are you even here? You don’t care.”
“I do care,” I said, confusion twisting inside me.
She lifted her head, her eyes raw and red. “You know, every time you ran to defend Mom, he came to my room.”
I froze.4“Que?”
“He touched me.” Her voice broke as she scrubbed tears off her cheeks. “He called me his5bonita.His.”
The word split the air. My chest collapsed. Tears slid hot down my face. “I am so sorry, Maria.”
She shook her head, bitter. “Mom never believed me. She called me a6mentirosa.And you...“ her voice rose, “you were off with Carmen, playing happy family with a woman who was nothing to us. A woman who left Mom when she needed her most.”
Her words carved through me. I could only stand there, brow furrowed, my tears falling freely.
“And then you got your way out,” she spat, “all the way to Italy. While I stayed behind, pregnant by the man who fell in love with you.”
“Por favor, María.” My hand reached for hers.
She ripped away from me. “No. No!”
Before I could move again, she shoved me hard. My body crashed against the mirror, glass exploding, and shards rained down all around me.
I collapsed onto the floor, my body raked open by a hundred tiny cuts, shards biting into my skin and staying there like needles. Blood seeped across my arms and neck in thin red lines. Maria’s hands shot to her mouth, her eyes wide as if she could not believe what she had done. She cried out, a broken sound, then dropped to her knees.
I reached my hand toward her, trembling. She took it, only to snatch a jagged piece of glass from the floor and drive it straight into my chest.
The breath ripped from me in a single gasp. My eyes locked on hers, the glass still buried between us, her hands shaking but firm. She yanked it out and plunged it in again. Then again. Three more times.
Each thrust tore fire through my chest, my body arching, my lungs seizing. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t breathe. Only wet, choking sounds left my throat.
I slid sideways, staring at the broken mirror. Fractured pieces of myself stared back, every angle showing blood spreading across my white top. Maria stood frozen, her face pale, her eyes black with shock, her hands trembling and dripping red.
She looked at me like I was no longer her sister but something already dead.
