26. Mariana
Mariana
T he room was dark, the only sound was the slow hum of the ceiling fan above me. I lay there, unmoving, eyes open but unfocused, staring at the faint outline of the dress against the far wall.
My body felt like it belonged to someone else—heavy, aching, uncooperative. The first sliver of sunlight crept through the blinds, cutting across the sheets. It was morning. I should get up. I should be at the bakery. I should call Sebastian. I know I’m not going to do any of those things. I can’t.
A dull, throbbing ache sat deep in my joints, radiating outward like an unwelcome guest settling in. My lupus flares always start like this—slow, creeping, until suddenly, even the simplest of movements felt like war against my own body.
I squeezed my eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners, willing it to go away, but my body didn’t care about my willpower. My hands, curled loosely against the sheets, felt stiff and swollen. My knees pulsed, protesting before I even attempted to shift them. A sharp, frustrated breath escaped me.
“Please, not today,” I gritted out, my voice rough, almost desperate. I don’t have time for this today. I hate this.
For a brief moment, instinct urged me to grab my phone from my nightstand and text Sebastian. He’d come over without hesitation. He would hold me close, tucking a blanket around my shoulders, desperately trying to shield me from the weight of the pain.
His voice would be a quiet murmur—something soft and reassuring. He’d bring me water, remind me to take my meds, and rub gentle circles on my back when the ache became too much.
He would make me food, even if I say that I’m not hungry, making sure I ate even just a little. He would take care of me, not just in the ways I let him, but in the ways I didn’t know I needed.
And that’s exactly why I couldn’t call him. I can’t rely on someone else to take care of me; I need to take care of myself. I need to handle this on my own. My chest tightened, but I ignored it. I needed to get up. I needed to move.
“Come on, Mariana,” I muttered, forcing a breath through my nose. “Be the boss bitch that you are and get your ass up.” I clenched my jaw, steeling myself.
I gritted my teeth and forced myself upright, my body immediately resisting. A sharp pain shot through my legs, and I had to brace myself against the mattress. My breath left me in a slow exhale, controlled, measured. “You can do this,” I whispered. “You’ve done it before.”
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I planted my feet on the floor, willing my body to cooperate.
The stiffness made my movements clumsy, like I was walking on borrowed limbs, but I ignored it.
If I gave this pain attention, it would win.
And I refuse to let it win. I refuse to let this take over my life.
I stood, gripping the dresser for balance. My fingers curled against the cool wood, knuckles aching. The mirror above it reflected back a version of myself I didn’t quite recognize— exhausted, my warm complexion dull and sapped of its usual vibrance, eyes heavy with fatigue.
I reached for my brush with a trembling hand, dragging it carefully through my hair. Strands came loose, slipping between my fingers, catching in the bristles.
My breath hitched, and I blinked hard, but the tears I had fought earlier finally broke free, slipping down my cheeks in silent surrender.
Maybe I should stay home today. No. The bakery needed me.
There was always something to do—final touches, recipe testing, orders to confirm. I’m so close to the finish line. Sitting in bed all day wasn’t an option.
I just needed a little time, a little movement to loosen up. I shuffled toward the bathroom, and I pressed my hands beneath the warm stream, hissing at the immediate sting before the heat began to soothe.
This was fine. I was fine, and I would handle this alone.
The knock on my front door came an hour later, just as I was finishing my second cup of tea. I froze. My phone had been on silent all morning, and I hadn't checked it, I hadn’t wanted to.
I knew there were messages from Sebastian, maybe even a missed call or two, but I couldn’t bring myself to open them. Another knock, louder this time.
I sighed, dragging myself toward the door, each step slow and deliberate. Please don’t be Sebastian. I know that the moment I see his face, my willpower will break.
I pulled it open. Anna.
She didn’t even hesitate. The second she saw me, she pushed past, stepping into my apartment like she owned the place, a plastic bag hanging from her wrist.
“Okay, now that I see that you’re alive" she said, voice sharp, eyes narrowed. "Tienes exactamente tres segundos para decirme por qué carajos no has estado contestando el teléfono.”
Okay, she’s pissed. I exhaled, already too tired for this conversation. “Anna-”
“No, no, no,” she cut me off, kicking the door shut behind her. “You don’t get to disappear on me, Mari; you know better.”
“I wasn’t disappearing,” I muttered, moving back toward the kitchen.
Anna followed, because, of course, she did. “Oh, really? Because I called you, like five times, texted you eight, and even tried calling the bakery. No answer. You know that’s my definition of disappearing, right?”
I grabbed my mug, sipping my tea slowly. “I just needed a quiet morning.”
Anna’s sharp eyes scanned me, her mouth pressing into a line. “You’re having a flare-up, aren't you?”
I hesitated a second too long. Her sigh was immediate. She tossed the bag onto the counter and folded her arms. “Contestame, Mariana.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I said quickly, waving a hand. “It’s not even that bad today.”
Anna raised an eyebrow. “Mariana Camila Vargas, no me mientas. Not that bad? So bad that you ignored your phone all morning?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Anna wasn’t buying it. She stepped closer, tilting her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Where the hell is Sebastian? I’m surprised he isn’t here taking care of you. Did he go to get some food or something?”
The air in the room shifted. I shook my head, not meeting her gaze. “No, he’s not out getting food. He’s not here because I didn’t call him.”
Silence. Then—“Why not?”
I busied myself with my mug, stirring nothing. “Because I don’t need to.”
Anna’s voice was softer now. “Mari…”
I sighed, setting my mug down with a soft clink. “I just… I don’t want to rely on him for everything. I can handle this on my own, I’ve been doing it since I was diagnosed.” I hesitated, my fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “I don’t want to feel like I’m becoming a burden.”
“Yeah, and how’s that working out for you?” she shot back, voice edged with frustration.
I scowled. “I don’t need a lecture.”
“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “You need someone to tell you that you’re being stupid.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
Anna huffed. “Mariana, come on. You’re doing that thing again. The “push everyone away, suffer in silence, I can do it all by myself” bullshit. You’re not fine. You shouldn’t have to be fine all the time. That’s why people love you. That’s why Sebastian loves you.”
My stomach clenched.
She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’m not saying you’re weak. I’m saying you’re allowed to need people.”
I swallowed, staring at the mug between my hands. The truth sat heavy on my tongue, thick and unspoken. I was scared. Scared of letting myself lean on someone again. Scared of needing Sebastian too much. Scared of what would happen if I lost him.
Anna’s voice softened. “Mari, I know what happened before made you feel like you have to do everything on your own. I get it, but this isn’t that. He isn’t him .”
I shook my head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then help me understand.” Anna pleaded, leaning forward, her eyes searching mine with quiet desperation.
My chest ached, a different kind of pain now, something deeper. I opened my mouth, then closed it. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t admit that if I lost Sebastian, it would break me.
Anna sighed, watching me carefully before grabbing the plastic bag she’d brought. “Well, too bad, because I brought you the Ajiaco from my mom, and I’m not leaving until you eat it.”
A small laugh bubbled up before I could stop it.
Anna grinned. “There she is.”
She pulled two bowls and spoons from my cabinet, poured the soup into them and handed me one. “I won’t push. But don’t shut me out, okay?”
I nodded, but deep down, the fear still sat there.