Be careful what you ask for.
When digging deep, you may uncover bodies.
Maisie's life has been falling apart since her older sister went missing years ago without a trace. With a dead father and a mentally unstable mother, the teenage girl ha...
TW: self-harm (burning) mention of past sexual abuse
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THREE YEARS AGO FOUR WEEKS BEFORE THE DISAPPEARANCE / FALL OF HER SENIOR YEAR
-ISLA-
THE MAROON LIQUID poured out of my arm like a constant river. Fast and continuous. Bright against the light of the small room. And dark in contrast with the paleness of my skin.
My vision became coated by tiny dots. My head all foggy and almost weightless.
I leaned against the cushioned chair. One, two, three I counted my breathing. I blames the sickness on the blood loss. But deep down, underneath expensive makeup and almost zero body fat, his all my secrets. And they were at fault for my nausea. I was at fault.
"I'm sorry," I muttered. More to myself than the woman in front of me.
The woman that had the slope of my nose. The shape of my lips. The color of my hair. Actually, I who had all of her features and gestures, bright smile and hypnotizing eyes. I shared so much with her. My mother.
"You better be," she hissed, her pupils cast at my arm instead of my face. "How could you have let something so reckless happen?" Her head shook. "Have you not been using a condom with that boy?"
"He has a name, mother," I scoffed. And she finally looked at me.
I wished she hadn't, though. The color of shame was the same of her eyes. Deep blue.
"Do we need to do an STD exam, too?" she scolded. Behind her words an accusation. As if Felipe was a dirty little thing.
"I always use a condom. Always," I assured her. I sucked a breath of air to keep my tears down. "And I have an IUD, this—this can't be happening, right?"
I searched for comfort between her features. I found none.
"It better not be," she whispered while all that I knew she wants to do was scream. But that was my mother—Cara fucking Campbell. Always composed. Always perfect.
She exhaled, putting a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. Then, with a softer tone, "Either way, everything will be okay," she said. "We make an appointment for an abortion as soon as the results come if needed. It will all be done and forgotten the same day."
Done and forgotten. Dusted under one of our Persian rugs. Thrown at the sea from our boat. Hidden in the darkest corner of our huge home. As if it never happened to begin with.
