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TIANA

T hey all tell me to forgive, to move on, but forgiveness feels like swallowing broken glass, and I’d rather choke on my rage than let it go.

My tía, Camila, is the only family member I can stand to talk to. She actually comes to visit me and has witnessed enough beatings and lectures to understand that I’m not crazy. The distraction she brings with her childhood stories are always a welcome reprieve from the insanity that comes with living in this house. But she loves her sister, and family always comes first.

Bullshit.

When has anyone in my family ever protected me? Not a soul around me listens to a word I say without laughing and brushing me off. No one cared when I finally found the courage to speak up about what mi papa used to do to me at night when I was seven. Everyone held my mother tenderly as she blamed me for being a whore that drove our father away at age eleven. No one batted an eye when my cousin and his friend beat me up in the kitchen for fun , then tied me down to teach me a lesson .

Although, with the stories Camila tells me, it almost seems like we have different origins. I’m sick and tired of being the black sheep of the family, of being the joke of the party, or treated like a complete stranger by the people I grew up around. If there’s anyone I aspire to be like, it’s Camila. The stories she brings back from the places she travels to fill me with both hope and a painful ache for something that feels so out of reach for me.

Freedom .

“Your tio, Ricardo, basically had to drag me onto the plane to come back. I wasn’t ready to leave yet!” Camila recounts her time in Iceland, having just returned from the trip yesterday.

“It sounds like a dream, tía . I would do anything for a chance to visit the next state over.”

Noting the sadness that I don’t bother hiding, she wraps an arm around me with a warm smile. “ Ay , you’ll get there, mijita . You work too hard for your own good. When will it be your turn?” But she knows I have to. She knows I get no breaks, and she knows exactly why. “If you had the chance to go anywhere, tell me, where would you go?” She asks. “If money wasn’t a factor, lodging, nada de eso .”

My response is almost instant. “I would go to Europe. Anywhere in Europe, far away from here.”

Her face glows at the memories that are no doubt surfacing in her mind. The best year of her life was spent backpacking throughout the whole continent, and from the first letter she sent me, I knew I had to make it there someday.

When I got my first job at sixteen, Mama demanded I help with the bills and the groceries. Over time, she stopped asking—the money would just be missing from my bank account. Mama never needed help with the bills, she only wanted to ensure I never felt like I could make it out. Made sure I could never leave her. Misery loves company, as they say. What Mama doesn’t know is that I’ve been pocketing all my tips and taking small amounts out of every paycheck, hiding it in boxes disguised as books.

It really hit me that I needed an escape plan when she burned all my college acceptances, claiming we couldn’t afford it—despite her being a high-profile lawyer. Her income was the only reason I didn’t qualify for a scholarship.

All my life, the second my mother discovered I had a dream, she shot down any hope in my heart. It was her mission to make me believe I wasn’t capable of doing anything.

You can’t make it on your own, Tiana. Don’t be delusional.

You would never finish college, so why try? I’m only being realistic.

Traveling the world is harder than it looks, you can’t do it.

You will never be successful. That’s just the hard truth of this world, I’m saving you from the pain.

My mother, Bianca, is the one person who sees my failures clearer than my dreams. She’s done everything in her power to hold me back. She made sure I knew there was no way out.

“There is so much to explore,” I continue, excited at the idea of exploring a new country. “I kept all your postcards! Imagine what it might be like if-”

“Camila, you’re here! Did you bring me any exotic chocolate from Iceland?” Mama walks into the kitchen and stands right in front of me to address my tía .

And just like that, my mood is doused in gasoline and set aflame. My eye twitches when Camila responds, so I step around Mama to face her directly. “Did you not hear me talking?”

Mama blinks as if she just realized I was in the room. “You weren’t talking,” she says simply before returning to her conversation, dismissing me like a child.

It’s little shit like that, that pisses me off. Honestly, she just has to breathe and I want to strangle her. I am so fed up with any minor thing she says or does, all I want to do is leave her behind with this awful place and never look back.

“Yes. Yes, I was,” I continue.

“Tiana, por favor . You’re being rude right now. Go take a shower and clean up. We have guests coming for dinner tonight, and you look like a pordiosera .”

My clothes look far from a homeless person, but she loves to get a rise out of me. We are having one guest. My boyfriend, who is here all the time because mommy dearest thinks he’s perfect for me.

Leaving them to their conversation, I take a steaming hot shower that does nothing to calm me down. By the time I’m out, Camila is long gone and Mama is in the kitchen prepping for dinner tonight. The longer I watch her move so at ease, the angrier I get. The words tumble out before I can stop them.

“Why are you the way that you are?”

She halts all her movements, turning to face me with a deadly calm. “Speak up, Tiana. You know I can’t stand it when you mumble.”

The sharp glance she throws my way is meant to be intimidating, but I became immune to all her tricks years ago. She doesn’t scare me anymore, but she’s trained me so well that I still sit when she says sit.

“Why are you the way that you are?” I all but shout at her, enunciating each word.

Her features morph into that familiar mask of malevolence, and I already know how this conversation will end.

“You dare try to disrespect me after everything I’ve done for you, malagradecida ?” Here we fucking go. “Why am I the way I am? I have no idea how you turned out to be my greatest fuck up when I did nothing but provide you with the very best. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be growing up in the streets of Cuba, selling your body to buy some dinner for the night.”

My face twitches, unable to contain my disgust. “I am not you, nor will I ever be.”

She mocks me with a bitter laugh. “Of course not. You are nothing but an ungrateful little bitch.” She takes slow steps toward me, her breathing speeding up. “You don’t deserve half of the shit I did for you. If we were still in Cuba you wouldn’t have anything, so you should be thanking me after everything I’ve had to put up with.”

My vision blurs around the edges, a haze pulling me in. My fists clench, but she backhands me before I can process my next thought.

“Your father left us because of you. Everything is your fault, yet you have the nerve to blame me. No one else will ever love you because of the way you are. That boyfriend of yours will get sick of you eventually and leave you for someone with more meat on their bones. Look at you,” she says while shoving me against the island and holding me down, disgust and disdain bleeding from her features. “ Flaca y mala. You make me sick, walking around looking like a skeleton with a sack of skin draped over it. Eat a real meal or two, then maybe your boyfriend will start to love you. He has a career and a life ahead of him, yet you still work at a dirty diner. Do better.”

She wants me to eat more, yet she chains the fridge shut when she’s mad at me, or sleeping. Any snacks growing up were hers, and they stayed in her room. Anytime I try to do better, she holds me back. She is the fucking problem.

I want to grab the butcher knife lying next to my head and see how many chops it would take to sever the whole head completely, but the little girl in me remains shocked that the woman who was supposed to love and nurture me, the only person who could protect me, is the one holding the needles that pierce every part of my being. She never cared what the men she brought home did to me, as long as they didn’t leave her. Yet, none of them stayed. That, of course, was also my fault. I hate that I’m always torn between how much I hate her, and how much I want her love.

Is love worth any of this shit?

At this point, I don’t think I would know what love was if it slapped me in the face and said I’m right here.

“Does it make you feel good about yourself? When you look at me and tell me all the things you want to tell yourself, does it make you feel better about your pathetic life?” Another slap to the face. I give her a big, bloody, toothy smile before spitting on the floor and continuing. “You hate me, but you hate the idea of being alone even more. That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?”

She falls silent, but her face grows a deeper shade of red and I know my words got to her.

“ Cuidadito . Careful. Choose your next words very carefully, Tiana.” Mama whispers while her hand snakes up to my throat.

The pressure makes me smile. “You can’t keep me here forever. You’ll die alone, and that is enough for me.”

“You will never leave me,” she grits out as I cough to distract her from grabbing the knife. Once it’s in my hand, I slice across her thigh and sprint out of the house as she stumbles back in shock, snatching my keys on the way out.

“Get back here, Tiana! Te mato, perra, ” follows me to my bike. She always threatens to kill me, yet she never does it.

Don’t threaten me with a good time.

Hopping on my Aprilia RS660, it revs to life until the dust leaves behind the only place I’ve never been able to escape from. My own personal hell.

Fuck, she makes me feel crazy. This is insanity.

Every little thing feels so overwhelming. It’s too much, all the time. Every minor convenience brings me closer to my breaking point. One day I’m going to snap, and I’ll be too tired of the bullshit to care. Moving forward feels so unattainable. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be able to escape that toxic and suffocating house. I just want to leave.

I have to do something or nothing will ever change.

Though not unusual, these thoughts plague me as I ride through the isolated trail into the bigger city, where my boyfriend lives. His place is not the better option, but he’s the only other person I have. All my friends either ghosted me or went to college and moved on to bigger things. Not that I blame any of them, in fact I’ll always be rooting for their success from afar.

Hollow Ridge is not a small town, but it isn’t a big city either. It’s more suburban calm with urban perks. There’s lots of open wilderness, but darkness lingers and puts a damper on any worthwhile sights. Or maybe I’m just projecting. My house is miles away from the nearest neighbor. We don’t live completely secluded, but there is no community for us either.

The ride does little to ease the tension in my bones, and before I know it, I’m right in front of Elias’ doorstep. He hates when I show up unannounced, but I refuse to tell him when I’m coming. If he’s hiding something, I won't give him enough time to hide it. Using the copy I made of his key, I let myself inside to the sound of multiple voices and laughter floating in from the living room.

Great .

I hate when his friends are here. All they do is drink and talk about the most idiotic shit. Of course, once they get drunk, they grow louder and more aggressive. I’m praying that no one heard me come in. Those hopes are instantly crushed when I reach for the doorknob and a smooth, slightly slurred voice calls my name, making me freeze.

“Tiana? When did you get here? I didn’t know you were coming. Come, join us,” Elias says, eyes darkening in a way that makes my stomach sink.

Golden locks of hair frame his face perfectly in a way the old me would have swooned over. He never has a hair out of place. Icy blue eyes bore into me with a wicked glint that promises pain. Elias’ chiseled face and towering frame once made me feel safe and wanted. By the time I realized it was a facade, it was too late. One of us will bleed. That’s the way it always is.

Plastering on a fake smile, I take a small step backward only to have him advance toward me. “Is anyone else’s girlfriend here? You know I don’t like being the only woman in a room full of those men,” I say sweetly, despite my insides curling in.

His smirk drops the same second his hand snaps up to squeeze my arm, pulling me closer to him. “You must’ve mistaken me. I was not asking,” he grits out. I tug my arm away, but his grip only gets tighter. “All that ever comes out of your mouth is men suck, yet you’re dating a man. Don’t you think it’s time you hopped off that bandwagon and let the trend die?”

A record screeched in my head.

“What…what fucking trend? Are you serious?” My blood rushes to my ears, muffling the bullshit he’s spewing.

Elias huffs a laugh. “Women hating men is just a trend. You know this is all about fitting in with everyone else, but at the end of the day you still rely on a man, obey a man, and fuck a man.”

The conviction in his words tells me he truly believes men aren’t one of the biggest problems in this world. I shouldn’t be surprised; he’s cut from the same cloth. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m speechless, frozen to my spot with bulging eyes. Not from defeat, not because he’s right, but because my body is reaching new levels of anger and hatred, swirling his words around in my head on a loop.

He’s right about one thing. Why the hell am I with a man? My dildo does a better job, and I’d bet all the money in my savings that a woman would know how to use a cock better than the specimen that carries it between their legs.

“There we go, you’re starting to understand,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb against my cheek. When I jerk back, his expression darkens again.

Finding my voice, I fight to keep it steady. “I don’t understand and I don’t agree. This isn’t some trend, this is real life. Most men are monsters and don’t care to hide it. They make this world a shitty place and it shouldn’t be a surprise that women are tired of it all.”

“Oh, cut the shit, Tiana. Face it, you’re only upset because your daddy left and didn’t want to love you. That isn’t our fault. If anything it’s yours for not being a better daughter. Now, you’re carrying that into adulthood and it’s ugly,” Elias sneers.

My heart leaps to my throat, body vibrating. The edge of my vision darkens as my eyes narrow on him. “Fuck you, Eli. You are no better than my daddy or yours for that-”

My head whips to the side quicker than I can blink, pain blooming from my neck and spreading up to the searing handprint on my cheek.

Pulling me in until our faces just barely touch, he grits out, “Watch your fucking mouth and drop the hysterics before you embarrass me in front of company. Never mention my father again. Now, put on a smile for my friends and be a good little girlfriend.”

Without another word, he drags me into the large living room with a body on almost every seat. Vaguely, I hear a whistle and some comments float in, but my mind is miles away.

You finally brought out your toy.

I hope they taught you how to share.

Where was this one hiding?

Sitting next to Elias, I stare off into the distance as my jaw gets tighter. He hit me. That bastard slapped me…and I just let him.

The signs were always there, but I stupidly ignored them, chasing an escape in the first place I found it. I’m not dumb enough to believe I could’ve fought back and beat him. If he thinks I’ll continue to sit idly by while he starts to beat on me, he’s in for a surprise. He put his fucking hands on me, now I have to put my hands on him.

Elias Andino needs to feel where I’m coming from. He needs to understand the pain and torment that men like him bring others. The pain he thinks he’ll bring me, I’ll serve it to him on a silver platter.

I will never freeze again.

Elias needs to suffer.

They all need to pay for what they’ve done.

None of them should feel safe. None of them should be laughing and living carefree. Everyone who had a hand in my lifelong purgatory deserves to see how their broken doll turned out. This is what they wanted, wasn’t it? For me to reach this point of no return.

I told him. I told him everything that happened to me like a fool in the beginning, and in return, he lulled me to his side with sweet nothings just to take advantage of me in the worst ways. Elias claims that in a relationship, it can’t be considered rape because we love each other, but does being in a relationship mean that no and stop are immediately invalid? To him, it’s not abuse, he just loves fiercely .

What type of love is that?

My thoughts sear into my brain the same way his hand branded my face. The same words replay in my head, louder each time, fueling the urge to act. I don’t notice that my leg is shaking until Elias places his hand on my thigh to push it down. The contact burns me, so I jolt upright, turning to him, but seeing through him.

“Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”

As soon as I’m out of sight, I round the corner and rush to the furthest bathroom from the living room, near the main entrance. My rage is a tsunami that threatens to swallow me whole and leave destruction in its wake.

When I enter the bathroom, the first thing in sight is the decorative towel rack drilled into the wall. This bathroom is new, so they are still working on it. Locking the door behind me I bang my hands against the wall twice, then reach for the towel rack and pull, punch, and fight the metal pole, if only to release the pent up energy. After a few minutes, it falls off, taking me backward with my own force.

Against the wall with heaving breaths, I look up to find my reflection. Deep brown eyes, framed by thick lashes, hold a quiet intensity as I study myself. It only pisses me off further, so I slam the rack against the mirror. A giggle escapes me, but it carries an edge of malice. The bar in my hands comes crashing down onto the tub beside me until it snaps in half and I’m sliding down the wall in a heap of manic laughter. It mixes in with my tears, growing louder as it hits me.

This must be rock bottom. Even if I had someone to talk to, I genuinely do not know how to talk to anyone without fear of my demons crawling out and scaring them away. There is something rotten inside of me, and I’m beginning to think I should embrace it.

Mama always said anger isn’t ladylike, but what do you call this urge that makes my fingers twitch whenever I hold the kitchen knife? What about the itch in my hands when I’m preparing a meal and notice poisonous chemicals nearby? If it isn’t anger, it must be something worse.

Tools are scattered around, so I run my fingers over the hammer’s cold metal beside me, imagining the sound it would make if it met Elias’ skull. “Not tonight,” I tell myself for the umpteenth time. But the thought alone feels like power. Freedom. Hope.

Yet, that mantra is starting to feel a little less convincing. A small voice whispers, ‘What if you act on your urges?’ ‘Embrace it.’ ‘They pushed you here.’ My reflection in the shard of glass tells me everything I need to know.

Tonight might just be the night.

Something about the newly crisp November air feels just right. Perhaps I should have a little bonfire to lift my spirits? The smile that takes over my face is borderline demonic.

And I love it.

A knock on the bathroom door snaps me out of the fantasy momentarily. “What’s going on? Are you talking to someone in there?” Elias asks from the other side.

I push myself up off the ground and compose myself as I look around the small space. The side of my lip quirks up before I respond, “Everything’s fine in here.” With one final look at the shattered pieces of the mirror, it clicks. “Just getting off the phone with my mom, you know how she is.” I hear his footsteps retreating after some muffled words and slip out of the bathroom. “Hey, sorry for upsetting you earlier,” I say with a sweet smile before he reaches the living room again, despite the words feeling like acid tumbling out of my mouth.

Elias turns with a cocky smirk. “There she is. Are you ready to make it up to me? Is that why you came here, to have some fun?”

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I put on my best act while staying close to the exit. “Actually, I came by because mi mama wanted me to invite you over for dinner tonight. You know how she is, always wanting to make things more personal than a phone call. Sadly, I’m stuck helping her with the prep work, so I have to run back. Will we see you later tonight? I’ll make it up to you then.”

A myriad of emotions cross his face, the few beers doing nothing to conceal them. “Of course, you’ll see me there. I can never say no to Mama,” he smirks strangely, but I dismiss myself and run to my bike before he can change his mind about letting me leave.

The day is still young, but that house is still the last place I want to be. Letting my bike guide me through the hidden trails, I enjoy the stillness of the field beyond. Tall trees cast eerie shadows in the distance, creating strange patterns in broad daylight. Overgrown big bluestem grass almost creates a pretty-looking maze, one I’d definitely get lost in at nighttime. By the time I come to a stop, I’m not surprised at where I end up.

Hollow Graves is a local cemetery that happens to be a few blocks away from my house. No one ever comes, at least not when I’m here. This place is the next best thing. Oddly enough, it’s my favorite place. Most people think of ghosts or death when they hear the word cemetery, but this graveyard fills me with peace and a sense of safety I can’t find anywhere else.

My butt finds a familiar spot right under the most beautiful tree, a Twisted Hawthorn, so strong and full of life despite being surrounded by so much death and darkness.

This is the perfect place to figure out the game plan. There’s still so much to decide on, so much to think over. One thing is set in stone, Elias and Bianca will come face to face with my wrath, even if it’s the last thing I do.

There is only one way to end this madness once and for all. Destruction. Elias never has and never will let me go, not unless I truly do something about it. Anytime I try to leave him, he cries to my mother about how horrible I’ve been to him, but he still wants to make it work because he loves me. He will show up every single day, and she will let him go into my room until I forgive him, not caring that he can easily overpower me.

No more.

Sparking the emergency joint I keep in the seat stash of my bike, I let my lungs fill with the calming smoke as new ideas blend together, soothing my nerves. This is the only way I can get through the day without losing my shit. Even when I’m high, I feel the conviction in my bones.

I’m ready to slay the demons that chain me down and break free.