Page 63 of Back to You
For a brief moment, instinct urged me to grab my phone from my nightstand and text Sebastian. He’d come over without hesitation. He would hold me close, tucking a blanket around my shoulders, desperately trying to shield me from the weight of the pain.
His voice would be a quiet murmur—something soft and reassuring. He’d bring me water, remind me to take my meds, and rub gentle circles on my back when the ache became too much.
He would make me food, even if I say that I’m not hungry, making sure I ate even just a little. He would take care of me, not just in the ways I let him, but in the ways I didn’t know I needed.
And that’s exactly why I couldn’t call him. I can’t rely on someone else to take care of me; I need to take care of myself. I need to handle this on my own. My chest tightened, but I ignored it. I needed to get up. I needed to move.
“Come on, Mariana,” I muttered, forcing a breath through my nose. “Be the boss bitch that you are and get your ass up.” I clenched my jaw, steeling myself.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself upright, my body immediately resisting. A sharp pain shot through my legs, and I had to brace myself against the mattress. My breath left me in a slow exhale, controlled, measured. “You can do this,” I whispered. “You’ve done it before.”
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I planted my feet on the floor, willing my body to cooperate. The stiffness made my movements clumsy, like I was walking on borrowed limbs, but I ignored it. If I gave this pain attention, it would win. And I refuse to let it win. I refuse to let this take over my life.
I stood, gripping the dresser for balance. My fingers curled against the cool wood, knuckles aching. The mirror above it reflected back a version of myself I didn’t quite recognize—exhausted, my warm complexion dull and sapped of its usual vibrance, eyes heavy with fatigue.
I reached for my brush with a trembling hand, dragging it carefully through my hair. Strands came loose, slipping between my fingers, catching in the bristles.
My breath hitched, and I blinked hard, but the tears I had fought earlier finally broke free, slipping down my cheeks in silent surrender.
Maybe I should stay home today. No. The bakery needed me.
There was always something to do—final touches, recipe testing, orders to confirm. I’m so close to the finish line. Sitting in bed all day wasn’t an option.
I just needed a little time, a little movement to loosen up. I shuffled toward the bathroom, and I pressed my hands beneath the warm stream, hissing at the immediate sting before the heat began to soothe.
This was fine. I was fine, and I would handle this alone.
The knock on my front door came an hour later, just as I was finishing my second cup of tea. I froze. My phone had been on silent all morning, and I hadn't checked it, I hadn’t wanted to.
I knew there were messages from Sebastian, maybe even a missed call or two, but I couldn’t bring myself to open them. Another knock, louder this time.
I sighed, dragging myself toward the door, each step slow and deliberate. Please don’t be Sebastian. I know that the moment I see his face, my willpower will break.
I pulled it open. Anna.
She didn’t even hesitate. The second she saw me, she pushed past, stepping into my apartment like she owned the place, a plastic bag hanging from her wrist.
“Okay, now that I see that you’re alive" she said, voice sharp, eyes narrowed. "Tienes exactamente tres segundos para decirme por qué carajos no has estado contestando el teléfono.”
Okay, she’s pissed. I exhaled, already too tired for this conversation. “Anna-”
“No, no, no,” she cut me off, kicking the door shut behind her. “You don’t get to disappear on me, Mari; you know better.”
“I wasn’t disappearing,” I muttered, moving back toward the kitchen.
Anna followed, because, of course, she did. “Oh, really? Because I called you, like five times, texted you eight, and even tried calling the bakery. No answer. You know that’s my definition of disappearing, right?”
I grabbed my mug, sipping my tea slowly. “I just needed a quiet morning.”
Anna’s sharp eyes scanned me, her mouth pressing into a line. “You’re having a flare-up, aren't you?”
I hesitated a second too long. Her sigh was immediate. She tossed the bag onto the counter and folded her arms. “Contestame, Mariana.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I said quickly, waving a hand. “It’s not even that bad today.”
Anna raised an eyebrow. “Mariana Camila Vargas, no me mientas. Not that bad? So bad that you ignored your phone all morning?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
