Becoming a villain in my own story

MIRA

Throughout the night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw them together, heard Isla’s cruel words, felt the shame burning through me all over again. 

The next morning the memory hit hard so I decided not to attend the pack meeting. After all the elders would only remind me of my barren nature. Everyone in the pack now whispered before, they just said it behind my back, but now they said it to my face.

I dragged myself out of bed and immediately I opened the door I saw Finn and Isla in the hallway kissing each other with no shame. They weren’t even trying to hide it anymore. She had her arms wrapped around his neck, his hands on her waist, right there in the open where anyone could see.

I felt the hurt slice through me fresh and raw like it was happening all over again. I stepped back into my room and closed the door, pressing my back against it as my legs threatened to give out. How could they do this? How could they stand there and flaunt it like I meant nothing?

I stayed in my room throughout the day. What was the point of going out? What was the point of pretending everything was fine when my entire world had collapsed? The sun moved across the sky and I watched the shadows change on the walls, numb to everything except the ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away.

In the evening my stomach grumbled with hunger. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, before the hospital, before everything fell apart. I went out to the kitchen to find something to eat. The moment I walked in the maids excused themselves immediately, as if I was a curse, as if being near me would infect them with my failure.

I decided to make cereal for myself. My hands shook as I reached for the box, and as I poured the milk. Everything felt harder than it should be, like my body was moving through water.

“Does a barren woman deserve food?”

I froze. Isla’s voice came from the doorway. I turned to see her leaning against the frame, her arms crossed, that same cold smile on her face.

I was shocked. After all, I didn’t know what to feel toward Isla anymore. This was my sister, the girl I raised, the girl I protected, and now she was my worst enemy.

Isla had always been acting funny since the day we both lost our parents. We had two different mothers but I could say I cursed the day Isla’s mother died. Both our mothers went together to fetch herbs for me when I was sick, that was the day everything changed. Isla’s mother died on that trip and so did mine. Since then I always let Isla do everything she wanted, taking all the blame for her mistakes. But this was too heavy for me. This betrayal was too much.

Before I could react Isla walked over and poured my cereal away, the bowl clattering in the sink. “You don’t deserve to eat.”

“Stop this,” I said, trying to make my voice stern but it came out weak and broken. “Please, Isla, just stop.”

She laughed at me, actually laughed like this was all some kind of joke. “Stop? Oh no, sister, I want you to feel the pain of loss just like I did. I want you to know what it feels like to have everything taken from you.”

“Everything I’ve done for you,” my voice cracked. “Raising you after our mothers died, always choosing you, isn’t that enough?”

“Enough?” Her eyes flashed with something dark. “I’ve just started, Mira. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

What did that mean? What else could she possibly take from me? She already had my husband, my position, my dignity. What was left?

I noticed Isla glance toward the hallway, her body tensing like she was listening for something. Then she moved quickly, so quickly I didn’t understand what was happening until it was too late. She grabbed a piece of the broken plate from the sink and dragged it across her own arm.

“What are you doing?” I gasped, reaching for her but she stepped back.

Blood welled up from the cut and she smiled at me, actually smiled while she was bleeding. Then she pressed the broken plate into my palm, smearing her blood on my hand.

“Isla, what….” 

“Finn!” she screamed, her voice piercing through the quiet kitchen. “Finn, help!”

I stood there frozen, the bloody plate in my hand, not understanding what was happening until I heard his footsteps running down the hall.

Finn burst into the kitchen and Isla immediately pointed at me, tears streaming down her face. “She cut me, Finn, she attacked me because of what happened!”

“What? No, I didn’t…”

“How dare you!” Finn’s voice exploded through the room. He didn’t even look at me, didn’t even give me a chance to explain. “How dare you lay a hand on her!”

“I didn’t do anything,” I started crying, the words tumbling out desperate and broken. “She did this to herself, I didn’t touch her, please you have to believe me….”

“Enough!” He wasn’t listening. He had already made up his mind. He scooped Isla into his arms like she was something precious and fragile. “I knew you were jealous but I never thought you would stoop this low.”

“Finn, please…”

He carried her toward the door and Isla looked at me over his shoulder. She smiled at me, that cruel triumphant smile, and winked.

She winked?

This was all planned. She had set me up and he had fallen for it without question. My own husband believed her over me without even asking what really happened.

They disappeared down the hallway and I stood there alone in the kitchen with blood on my hands that wasn’t from any crime I committed.

What was happening to my life? How did I become the villain in my own story?