My thumb hovers, then I hit send.
Ping.
Layla
Oh my fucking god, Cat. Are you safe? Where the hell are you?
Amelia
I will kill him with my perfectly, black claws.
I sniff and keep typing, the tears sliding silently down my cheeks as I try to keep my hands steady.
Catalina
I’m back in Los Angeles, back at this fucking estate. He says I’m such an embarrassment to him, that being with Carter was such a whore move. And to top it off, he’s arranged a wedding, like a fucking business deal. I’m trapped, I’m so fucking scared you guys, I don’t know what to do.
Amelia
You do NOT marry that asshole. That’s what you fucking do. We’ll both burn down the whole goddam city before we let that happen.
My breathing stutters. I type slower now, carefully.
Catalina
I’m scared. I love you bitches so much, I don’t know how I’m still breathing right now.
Amelia
Because you’re stronger than you know.
Layla
We got you bby, you’re not alone.
I stare at the glowing screen until the tears blur my vision, the words melting into soft light. My fingers tighten around the phone, as I hold it to my chest like a lifeline—like maybe if I press hard enough, I’ll feel their hands in mine through the glass.
It isn’t fucking enough.
I set it down gently on the nightstand. The silence that follows feels deafening, heavier than the grief pressing down on my lungs. The room grows smaller with eachbreath I take, the walls inching closer like they’re trying to trap me inside myself.
I curl up on the cold marble floor, my knees pulled tight to my chest as I wrap my arms around my legs. My body trembles while I bury my face against my knees, trying to hold it all in.
The sob slips out, but I don’t care. My shoulders shake as the sound rips out of me. It feels like I’ve been swallowing glass for years, and now, piece by piece, it’s finally slicing its way back out.
“Mamí,” I whisper, the word fractured and small on my tongue. “Mamí, I’m so tired.”
My voice cracks mid-sentence, splintering under the weight of the truth. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to picture her—those soft brown eyes full of knowing, her lipstick always slightly smudged from kissing my forehead. Her hands smelled like cinnamon and love.
Like home.
“I don’t know what to do,” I breathe, my voice barely audible through the sobs racking my chest. My hands clutch the fabric at my sides like I’m trying to anchor myself, but I can’t stop shaking.
“I don’t know who I am in this place. I don’t know how to get out.” The words finally fall. Each one a confession. A bleeding wound I’ve kept hidden too long.
I swipe at my face with trembling fingers as I smear mascara across my cheekbones. “I keep thinking… if I just play along, if I survive it long enough, maybe someone will come get me.” My breath stutters. “Maybe someone will love me enough to drag me out.”
My chest caves in as another sob tears free, like it’s been waiting to escape for years. I fold in on myself, shoulders trembling.
