Page 10 of Morena

VI.

MATTEO

Something twisting and curling in my throat dragged me awake.

I was lying on a filthy mattress inside a room with no memory of how I had even gotten there.

I gagged and coughed, desperate to force out whatever was lodged inside me, but no matter how hard I tried nothing came.

The air was dry and cold. The tiny hairs on my arms lifted, goosebumps spread across my skin, and I shivered.

Then it began to slide free. My mouth stretched open, and as I gasped for breath, a thick braid of black hair slowly spilled out of me.

No scream came—no cry for help. Only the sound of her laughter curled from the corner of the room.

Tears blurred my vision as the braid kept pulling itself from me, twisting deeper, rearranging my insides until I thought my own body might collapse under the pressure. Pain folded me in half. It was sharp and unbearable. For a moment, I was certain this would be my end.

But I choked it out, retching until the braid hung wet in my hands, slick with saliva and stained with my blood.

It writhed like a snake, then coiled around my wrists, tightening with such strength.

The braid dragged me upward, shackling my arms above my head until I was bound to the bed, sitting upright with my wrists chained in living hair that held me from wrist to elbow.

The cold pressed against my skin as she came closer. I felt her before I saw her, a chill that kissed my chest. Then claws carved across my flesh, slicing deep enough to burn. She wrote her name into me— Morena.

I tried to scream, but her tongue silenced me, invisible, slipping past my lips and tangling with mine. Her tongue twisted against mine, filling my mouth until I could not breathe.

I closed my eyes, trembling, and felt her weight pressing down. Her legs coiled around my hips. One hand clutched my throat, thumb forcing my chin up, while the other fisted in my hair, yanking until my scalp burned.

“Did you miss me, 1 guapo? “ she whispered, her voice breaking into a chuckle before her lips brushed mine, leaving them dry, wanting more.

“Not in the slightest,” I rasped, my words swallowed as she jerked my head back by the roots.

“ Tsk, tsk. 2 Tú me extranas, “ she teased, her breath hot at my ear. Her hand slipped lower, trailing down to my crotch, pressing against me with a purr. “Let me in, Matteo.”

I shook my head, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the rise of heat in my blood.

“Vale, 3 ” she chuckled, the word dripping with satisfaction. “You are mine anyway.”

Her fingers hooked into my waistband, dragging my pants down inch by inch until I was left bare before her. She pressed her palms against my cock, stroking until my body betrayed me, stiff and throbbing under her touch.

“What?” The word broke from me.

She chuckled, then slipped something cool and dark across my eyes.

The blindfold sealed me away from sight.

I didn’t know if she would keep it until the end.

All I knew was the terror and the heat colliding inside me, fear and arousal clawing through my chest until I could only surrender to the feeling of her.

She wrapped her ghostly lips around my cock, teasing the tip first before sliding down to the hilt. A primal groan tore from my throat, my mouth falling open. Her touch was icy, yet it ignited fire deep inside me.

I had no control. I had no say in this, but something in me wanted it.

“Your body begs,” she crooned. “I hear it.”

My heart raced as she took me deeper, faster, her throat working around me. I felt every movement, and yet, I didn’t stop her. I couldn’t.

Then she pulled back and came back, straddling my hips, lowering herself onto me until I was inside her.

“You’re so tight,” I groaned.

She giggled, her lips brushing my neck, then my ear. “Let’s just say I haven’t done this in years.”

Her hips moved, rising and falling, grinding down on me. Her moans filled the space, though my eyes still saw nothing.

“Let me see you,” I whispered. “Please.”

She said nothing. She only moved harder, driving me closer to madness. Then her claws raked down my chest, carving deep, stinging lines that pulsed with every heartbeat. She moaned as she lapped at the blood, dragging her tongue over the wounds, tasting me.

The braid binding my arms pulled tighter until stars burst behind my eyes. Pain blurred into heat, every nerve strung taut, caught between horror and lust.

And through it all, one truth split me open. I wanted more.

I wanted her.

Something shifted over my face, and suddenly I could see her. Even with skin gone pale and bronze turned ashen, even with her eyes bleaching white, she was beautiful.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

The chains of braided hair crumbled to ash, freeing my arms. I gripped her hips, growling, “Let me take control.” I tried to lift us, but she pressed me down, shaking her head.

“Let me show you what you’ve missed all these years,” I whispered against her ear, and slowly, she let me.

I lifted her, slamming her ghostly body against the wall, spreading her hips wider, thrusting harder and deeper. Her claws tangled in my hair as she moaned.

“You like that, Reina de la Noche ? 4 “ I breathed.

She arched, dragging her claws down my back until blood slicked her fingers. Lifting them to her lips, she licked them clean, her eyes locked on mine as I drove into her again.

“Yo no soy Reina de la noche, guapo,” 5 she said, looking at me. 6 “Más bien tu pesadilla.”

She took control again, pushed me onto the mattress, straddling me, riding me. Her hands pressed into my chest as she moved her hips. She looked at me; my eyes started to bleed again, and she pressed her claws into my flesh, carving a name into my skin: Morena.

I hissed as pain laced through me, my cock twitching when she rode me harder. She pressed her bloody fingers into each letter, then first to my lips and then to hers, just before she kissed me again.

“Morena,” I moaned, my body about to give for her.

She laughed and cupped her breasts as I opened my eyes, blood spilling more freely now.

“You have no idea,” she said, lowering her face until it hovered inches from mine. “You belong to the dead now.”

Her laugh echoed through the empty walls as she bounced on top of me, forcing me to moan her name a second time.

Suddenly, she screamed, hands on my face, claws pressing into my eyes. I felt them dig in. She could have torn them out, but instead she let me bleed, and in that moment I didn’t mind. I was even ready to beg for darkness.

“Do it,” I said. “I am ready to face the dark.”

She pressed harder. “Do not tempt me, ojos tristes 7 , “ she warned.

I surprised her by jerking my hands up and gripping her hips, holding her still while I thrust into her harder.

She pulled her claws from my eyes and dragged them to her breasts as her head fell back, face toward the ceiling.

She moaned, a sound that shredded into a scream and shattered a window into thousands of pieces.

Glass rained down, slicing our skin, but I didn’t care; I kept going until my vision rolled and she tightened around me.

I felt my body lift from the mattress, as if I was levitating while she moved in wide, circular motions. She made me gasp, and then I came, my cum spilling into her.

She moaned, slamming my body back onto the mattress, my bones rattling as I was still inside her, my cock still pulsating.

“I was wrong,” she said, laughing between breaths. “Some things are worth dying for.”

And just like that, she disappeared, leaving me alone on the dirty mattress.

I hammered my fist against it, then looked toward the window. Night still pressed against the glass, and no neighbors had heard a thing except me.

I walked down the hallway slowly, sneaking so no one could hear me, and stopped in front of the mirror. I was a broken man looking back. My hair was a mess; the bun that used to hold it all was hanging loosely on top of my head, and my body was scarred with cuts.

“Well, hell,” I said to my reflection as I stepped closer and wiped the blood from under my eyes. “You look like you fucked a ghost.”

I leaned in, and something moved inside the mirror. When her face appeared, I jumped and lurched back against the far wall. It was not her ghost so much as her memory.

She wore tight, high-waist jeans and a blouse tied in a small knot above her belly button.

Her hair was dark and curly, a silk scarf wrapped around her head, and silver hoops hung from her ears.

She laughed with someone. I couldn’t see the face, though I caught the flash of a small palm tree tattoo on his wrist.

Is this who killed you?

She leaned forward on her toes and kissed his cheek, but the sound was gone, as if she was hiding him. Then the image disappeared.

I rubbed my eyes and pinched my skin, checking twice to see if it had been a dream.

It wasn’t.

This was the twisted reality I had woken into, and even though I hated every second of it, after being with her and after her death, I had never felt more alive.

The day started like yesterday: me waiting for Carlos to open the door. Instead of him, Maria came. She still wore scrubs and looked more exhausted than the first time I’d seen her.

“Hola, Matteo,” she said, and stepped past me to unlock the door. “Carlos asked me to open for you. He had to run some errands before his trip.”

“Gracias,” I said, stepping inside.

She paused halfway on the threshold and stared at the staircase.

She didn’t come into the house. She pressed a hand to her arm and scanned the rooms like someone who had been there before and already knew what waited inside.

She said nothing. Instead, she lifted her hand and gave a small wave, then started to walk away. Midstep, she turned back.

“Carlos is leaving tomorrow morning,” she said. “He asked if you could stop by at noon.”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” I nodded and moved into the house like I hadn’t been here four hours earlier.

No one knew I had been using the house to sleep. No one knew I had broken in. No one knew Morena was haunting me.

I went into the kitchen. On the table lay a pair of blue Levi’s and a white top trimmed with tiny daisies, spread out like a set left to dry.

“What is this?” I asked myself, looking around. Then I saw two Polaroids, lying face up beside the clothes. In one, I was standing with the jeans in my hands behind the building. My own face looked guilty and scared.

Someone had seen me that night. Someone had seen me take her clothes. Someone knew I was staying here.

I turned the Polaroid over. Written on the back, in a handwriting I didn’t recognize: I know what happened in July 1984.

If they knew, why hadn’t they told the police? Or did they want something from me? Who was watching me? I stood there, clutching the denim and the top until the fabric creased in my fingers.

Morena had died that year. Whoever left the note might know the killer.

1. Handsome

2. You missed me.

3. Good

4. Queen of the night

5. I am not the queen of the night, handsome.

6. More like your nightmare.

7. sad eyes