𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝗠𝗮𝗱𝗲

1. 𝗜𝘁 𝗪𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽

Callie's POV

I did it again after I promised myself I wouldn't. In that moment, I realized the feeling of release was turning into something addictive. And I had discovered this was a way to get it.

It was frustrating knowing how bad something was for you, yet still wanting it just as bad. I had secretly been continuing this behavior right underneath my moms noses, that is until Mariana happened to see. I barely had time to register what was occurring in that moment as she had bolted right on into the bathroom as I was changing tops out of all things. My sister had now seen the few somewhat deep red marks on my left arm.

The worst part was when she didn't say anything, instead she turned on her heels and began to make her way towards our parents bedroom. I remember frantically following my sister before she unexpectedly stopped short of me before asking me why I had done it. Because it became something that brought comfort as strange as that sounded.

It was hard to explain a feeling that was connected to a behavior others viewed as such a wrong thing. I couldn't explain it to her as she would never understand. But what I did need for Mariana to understand was how this had been a one time thing. She didn't need to know the details of my past and how long this actually was going on for. My moms didn't need to know that either and luckily they didn't ask after Mariana went and narced on me anyway.

(Also rewriting and under construction some chapters are, so sorry if they are choppy or leave off on random ideas or jump/skip around. My writing isn't as strong so excuse the many sorta drafts this earlier story kinda turned into)

Callie thinks she convinced Mariana to not say anything and had to be quite outside door since so close to room.

Mariana stared at me and then walked back to our bedroom. I followed her and saw her get into bed and then turn off the light.

"Mariana?" I said. No response. Well at least she didn't tell moms. I was safe for now. No one knew and that's all that mattered.

I thought things were fine. It was over. I had nothing to worry about. But then the next day
...
...
Mariana had told them. I couldn't trust her. I couldn't trust anyone.

Moms shut the door to their bedroom with us three on one side of it and the other four kids on the other side, three oblivious to what was occurring. Moms also hinted to Mariana not to say anything and keep things on the low. No alarm needed to be caused through the house.
We had ended up talking for about an hour in a half as I sat on the end of the bed across from them. I made a deal with myself going into the conversation that I would keep things simple.

Simple in my world meant not revealing too much that it would leave a bread crumb trail that Stef and her cop senses could and would follow. If a question was directed at me, I would answer somewhat honestly and hope they would move onto the next. Leaving out details was important all while continuing to cooperate without conflict. Usually I liked to push back, but I had a different mindset this time around. Mainly because this was such a personal uncomfortable topic and I felt embarrassed my moms knew now. I felt a lot of things I also didn't understand yet and I found myself feeling further away the more I tried focusing on what was happening.

I feel like a part of me still has to sort out that night but what I did know is I didn't want to repeat it all over again. In my head having to go through it overwhelmed me but I also knew I might have to relive it again.

And I never wanted to relive that awful moment again. I didn't want to disappoint them.

I'm fine. No one knew. No one knew yet. I wasn't going to let anyone find out. No one needed to know. I didn't need help.