1
MARA
The first thing I notice is the sweat.
No matter how much I try to escape, my mind drags me back. Back to that damn cold room and the metallic taste of my own blood. My screams bouncing off the walls.
The pink sheets cling to me, damp from yet another nightmare. My throat tightens, my breath snagging instead of flowing.
It was just a nightmare.
I tell myself that every morning. I still don’t believe it.
Pushing the damp strands off my forehead, I tie my hair up. Time to forget. Time to pretend.
If they ever find out how close I am to cracking, all I’ll ever get is pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity, let alone my own family’s. I’d rather swallow every jagged memory than let anyone think of me as weak, someone who needs to be shielded.
But as I sit up, the reminder of last night’s nightmare lingers. The feeling of her fingers buried in my hair, drawing blood, is embedded into my skin, branding me. Just the thought of her causes a sense of panic that wants to rip from my throat.
It’s been a year since Valentina, my cousin Alessia, and I were taken by Helen. I tell myself I’m fine. That it’s just another morning. But when I glance in the mirror, the girl staring back at me has shadows under her eyes and bruises only she can see. My hands shake, and I choke back the urge to retch in my own room.
Pull yourself together, Mara!
This is not the time for a panic attack. Pulling on my strawberry tank top, I open my bedroom door and move into the hallway. My feet pad against the cool marble floor while two guards stand at the end of the hallway, their faces cold and unwavering. The blood rushes in my ears as I pass them and head down the winding staircase.
Ma’s in the kitchen, the soft tune she’s humming drifting with the smell of waffles that makes my mouth water.
“Morning, Ma,” I say as I walk in.
She’s by the brass-colored stove, stirring what looks to be cranberry sauce. “Morning, bella. There’s waffles with cream and strawberries on the kitchen island for you.”
I press a kiss to her cheek.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to,” I tell her, sliding onto one of the steel barstools.
The strawberries are cut into hearts, and the corners of my mouth pull into a smile that feels less mechanical than most days. If they know how broken I truly am, they will send me away. I will be treated as a liability, not a human.
Ma has always made us cute little fruit cutouts in an effort to convince us to eat them. Matteo wasn’t amused, but he always ate the food in front of him. Ma wasn’t trying to gethimto eat the fruit; it was me and Lucio who were the real pains.
She wipes her hand over the apron she’s wearing and says, “I know I didn’t have to, but no matter what, you’ll always be my little baby. I just want to see you happy.”
I swallow a bite of the waffle as the guilt washes over me. I’ve tried to hide the anxiety that’s been eating at me, but I can’t hide the night terrors that I’ve been having. Especially not when I wake up screaming and sweating like I’ve run a marathon.
“Right,” I say, my tone clipped. “Well, I’m going out today. I’m going to go shopping before heading over to Valentina and Emiliano’s apartment.”
Ma eyes me as if she’s about to say something, but she shakes her head. “Babysitting Bianca?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“Do you want to?”
Since Pop’s death three years ago, Ma has been lonely. She might not show it, but I see the way her eyes are puffy sometimes. She misses him. We all miss him.
“I’ll make snacks,” she offers, beaming at me.
I shake my head at the way her face lights up. Ma’s enthusiasm always brightens my day. She finds the silver lining in everything.
