CRAVED

SEVENTEEN

She watched as the men placed Paco on his knees and roughly made him face up. Holding his body upright with a painful grip on his hair so he could face them. Geneva couldn't bare to look at his arm.

" he has something to say to you sweet Geneva," he progressed the both of them forward. Geneva made to stand right in front of a kneeling Paco whose pale-looking skin and features portrayed all the pain he was in whilst she looked down at him because of how close Marcelo had made her stand to him.

Paco grinned his teeth in miserable pain as he locked eyes with Marcelo who stood behind her and then finally Geneva herself.

She saw the pure hatred he harbored for her and felt his emotions that shoot deep into her. He gritted out an apology for what he'd done and had planned to do to her silencing Geneva's thoughts as they became clearer. If she hadn't been saved that fateful day, she'd have truly met her doom and if not killed, the gloomy shell that consisted of that of a woman drugged up and out of touch with her worldly existence.

She'd have become a slave in every possible way a man would have seen fit for another's pocket and pleasure or fun of it.

The knowledge had ripped at the bits of her compassion and at a magnitude of the great empathy that she believed she posed as she gazed down at Paco. And she physically fought no more.

Even as Marcelo took her to the remaining two cells and each man apologized to her. Naked, covered in sweat, grim and flies feasting on their open flesh as they glared at her, eyes blazing with a hatred for her so bright she gazed back feeling, broken.

It was her fault they were being held captive by Marcelo and not their own, they were silently blaming her and it was a promise that if they'd get out of this alive, and were to meet her again, they'd make her pay.

Geneva later accepted the bottle of water Juan had handed to her with those very hands that had axed a man's hand off and had stared at it. The last time he had given her a bottle of water, it had been drugged.

Forcing herself, she drank from it for the sake of her mouth and scratchy throat, Geneva hoped for the life of her that he hadn't done the same thing by drugging her. And had been grateful to confirm that he hadn't when she climbed the staircase and headed for her mother's room sober and not delirious nor drowsy.

Marcelo stayed back after carrying her mechanical body that had moved without feeling with every step she'd taken. Her mind had been far and her movements automatic as though detached from her conscious. Encouraging her that she had the go-ahead to her mother if she wanted.

Geneva had lowly humorlessly chuckled at Marcelo's words after she'd turned around and headed for the staircase. Feeling his gaze that followed her all the way up the stairs till she turned and headed further into the hallway, cutting his line of sight from her form.

She stood behind her mother's door and did her best to compose herself. Searched for the necessary composure far and wide.

Miniature pieces of warm memory aligned themselves in her mind. Pulling and grasping for that familiar humanly tenderness of life that always clung to her but had taken flight.

She waited until she felt humanly whole enough and composed to face her mother. And when she opened the door, lifted her gaze, and took in her mother's form seated on the bed and looking at the open balcony, the familiar feeling of her complete and honey-warm aura crashed down onto her like a wave would the smallest plunk of wood in the great tidal sea.

" Geneva ?"

Catherine turned to face the door in query and her eyes lit up like fireflies in a beautiful dark meadow before she stood up and made hast. She rushed over to her daughter. Took her into her arms in a fierce embrace immediately she confirmed who was at the door. Not letting go an ounce. Refused to for the matter.