𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 | 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒𝟗

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤 |
𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲?

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓.
Too clean.
Too sterile for how fucked up I felt inside.

My laptop sat open on the island, the bright white glare of a half-finished essay burning into my eyes. I tried to focus on it. Pretend that life was normal. Pretend I hadn't been unraveling for days now, bleeding under the surface where no one could see it.

God, I missed him.
And every second that passed was another one where I didn't know if he was alive or if I'd already lost him.

My fingers hovered above the keys, frozen.
I could still hear his laugh sometimes. Feel the ghost of his hand brushing against mine when I reached for a glass.
It was like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

And then—

Heels.

That sharp, rapid click on tile that meant only one thing.

My mother.

I didn't move. Didn't look at her as she walked in, immaculate as ever. Not a hair out of place. Lipstick like blood. She stood there for a beat, arms crossed, surveying me like I was a stain on her perfect life.

"The school called," she said flatly.

Of course they did.

"You broke someone's nose. In gym class. Are you completely out of your mind?"

I didn't answer. Just stared harder at the screen.

She took a step closer. "This is unacceptable, Catalina. Do you understand me? You are not some common delinquent—"

"I wasn't aware we were still pretending I'm your daughter," I muttered.

She blinked.

"What did you say?"

I looked up slowly. "I said you didn't raise me. You only show up when there's a scandal. When the family name might be at risk. But when I cried myself to sleep at ten years old because no one showed up for my school recital? When I got sick and Maria was the one who stayed up with me all night? When I came home drunk and bleeding and broken—you were where? Europe?"

Her face went tight. "Don't be so dramatic."

"No," I snapped, standing now, voice rising. "What's dramatic is pretending this family is something it's not. What's dramatic is you pretending to give a fuck now when you never did before."

"You need to control yourself—"

"I am controlling myself. You should see what I actually want to say."

My mother narrowed her eyes, jaw clenching. "I don't know what's gotten into you. But I won't tolerate this kind of behavior in my house."

I laughed. Cold. Hollow. "This house? The one I grew up in alone? With maids and tutors and security cameras but no mother?"