Page 47 of Careless

My girl.

And I smile.

This is the girl that no one knows but me. The warrior that fights every day regardless of the shit life throws at her, and now by the whore in front of her. “Why?” Sorcha demands of the demon. For a long moment, a cruel cackle fills the space where an answer should be.

“Why?That’s the question you want to ask? I figured it was obvious, darling.” She sits straight, her shoulder length hair, the color of her daughters, sways with the movement. She has the audacity to hold her head high, giving off the airs that she’s above this, that she's done nothing wrong.

Fucking cunt.

“The only thing obvious is that you wanted me to take a pill you knew would kill me. Why? You haven’t been a part of my life since the moment I was born. Is this the same reason you tried to visit me years ago?”

Carmen’s expression sours. “Yes. I planned to kill you then. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I want the truth,” Sorcha demands with tears in her eyes. I’m barely holding myself back from intervening. She thinks she can handle this, but this would break anyone. She’s a strong woman, but this is her mother, the woman who birthed her. Deep down, I’m sure Sorcha was hoping for Carmen’s intentions to be pure.

Sorcha is decent, kind, and has a good heart. She shouldn’t have to deal with this.

“Why do you hate me?” Sorcha’s voice turns small, full of self-conscious energy, and it even seems to affect Carmen. The snake’s expression turns blank as she lets out a ragged breath.

“I don’t hate you, Sorcha. I’ve never hated you. I have my reasons for the things I do. It’s not personal. You and me and every other woman in our family, past and present, live with a curse. Back in my village, Comala, they call us Mujeres de Muerte.”

Sorcha’s eyes widen. “They call you the Women of Death?”

Pride stretches Carmen's lips into a genuine smile. “Sí, bonita. You know your Spanish. Good for you.” Anger had blinded me earlier, so I didn’t realize how thick her Spanish accent was. The words are so pointy, it's like a stabbing pain with each syllable. “When my sister Lucia and I came to this country, we took the Muerte name as a reminder of where we came from—a place where its citizens thought the mere sight of us was bad luck. We would be dead if we hadn’t escaped. People are superstitious, especially where death is concerned. They called us Mujeres de Muerte because wherever one of us goes, death follows. Bad luck, as they say. Where a Muerte goes, people die and when you try to warn someone, suspicion falls on you. Your abuela tried to warn our neighbor about a fire in their barn, and when the barn burned, they hung her for it. Afuckingbarn.” This is my first glimpse of Carmen actually portraying a human emotion. But the sadness is fleeting as she shakes her head and schools her expression.

“Our family agreed that we shall never birth another Muerte woman, mija. The men in our bloodline are safe from the curse as it only passes to the women. So as soon as I found out I was pregnant with you, I did all the tests I needed to. I needed the peace of mind that I wasn’t cursing another woman to live the same cursed life as the generations of women before me. All the tests and myths swore you were a boy, so I was able to relax and could enjoy my pregnancy. Then the doctor changed everything and told me you were without a penis, a girl.”

I still don’t get it. So what if the women in her family have premonitions? That’s no reason to try to kill Sorcha.

Nigel speaks up from my side. “Is there a point to this?” he demands with as much frustration as I feel. Carmen glares at him like she can’t stand the sight of him.

Her onyx eyes narrow into slits. “I’m getting there, cabrón.” I have no clue what she just called Nigel, but I have the feeling it was some colorful language.

Her gaze turns back to Sorcha, and softens. “I didn’t want you to suffer like I have, so I tried to put an end to my pregnancy as early as possible, hoping you wouldn’t feel anything and just drift away. But Nigel intervened when I tried to take care of it myself and had me placed in a psychiatric hospital until you were born. I prayed every waking hour that you would be a stillborn. I knew if I left you at the hospital, Nigel would come for you and you would be under the watchful eye of these people.” She does a slight head tilt at the men surrounding her.

Why does it matter if we were watching Sorcha? What does this bitch think Sorcha was going to do?

“If you wanted me dead so badly, why did you leave me at the hospital? If you had taken me, you could’ve killed me then.”

“The hospital wouldn’t let a mentally unstable person leave the hospital with a newborn.” Carmen’s lips quirk into an odd smile. It's not threatening, but also not friendly. “Believe it or not, Sorcha, I loved you. I wasn’t trying to abort you because I hated you. I was trying to save you, but I failed. I hate that you’re going to suffer, as will everyone you care about.”

Stop talking in riddles and just give the cliff notes already. I have my own questions to ask.

“Suffer how?” Sorcha asks, her expression torn.

“I had a vision of you, mija. The visions don't always give us the full picture. We get bits and pieces, but as you get older, it becomes clearer. Five years ago, I woke up in a cold sweat from a vision that rocked me so hard I begged for God to take me. The vision was of you, Sorcha. You were covered in blood. It looked like you bathed in it..Your eyes were so…empty. No soul behind them. I would’ve thought you were dead if you hadn’t been standing there and holding a bloody knife. You had lost your mind.”

What?My molars grind so hard I can’t hold my tongue.

“Why was she covered in blood?” I bite out, but the witch just shrugs.

“No clue. If I were to guess, it was blood from people she killed. That’s what makes having these visions so traumatic. You don’t get the answers.”

Sorcha lifts her shoulders in a long sigh before addressing her mother. “I’m not a killer.”

“Not now, you’re not, but time will give the answers to my vision. Some can handle these visions while it drives others mad. That’s what it did to Lucia. She went so crazy she threw herself off a bridge to stop it.”

Sorcha advances toward Carmen and glares. Despite her warring disposition, her voice is calm and unfeeling. “I’mnota killer, Carmen. Rian, on the other hand, is. Your claims of love are meaningless. Your actions are what speak loudest and what you have done to me speaks nothing of love.” Sorcha rubs at her eyes, but it's not to dry away tears, it’s in disappointment. Resignation colors her voice as she whispers. “I have my answers or the best I’m going to get out of your mouth.”

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