Page 7 of Snatched Up By the Cartel

I wanted to collapse, to curl up and hide from their cruel gazes. I wanted to yank myself out of my body. Maybe, if I could do that, I could have some peace and not hate myself so much.

Mateo stepped forward, his eyes fixed on me. "You okay?" He asked, his tone softer than I'd ever heard it. I didn't know he could sound so gentle, especially towards me.

I nodded, unable to speak, my throat tight with unshed tears. I wanted to thank him, to express my gratitude for his intervention, but the words stuck in my throat.

There was just too much going on between us. I didn't feel comfortable enough around him. I didn't know if feeling such a thing was even possible. Given what I knew, it probably wasn't.

Without another word, Mateo turned and strode from the room, his departure leaving an eerie silence in his wake. After all, it seemed he didn't come here to take a shower. He might have been passing by and noticed what was happening. That was when he decided to help me. I chuckled slightly. It was more like he saved me. If it weren't for him, I probably wouldn't be alive.

The other inmates exchanged glances, their earlier amusement gone, replaced by a sense of unease. Tension escalated when Mateo was here. The resolution could have ended much worse than the way it did. We all knew that.

I stood there, alone, the spray of water the only sound in the room. The shower was supposed to be helping me through this, but it wasn't doing much. It was like it didn't exist.

I wanted to melt into the shadows, to escape the memories of what had just transpired. And yet, no matter how much I tried, I couldn't do that.

I felt dirty, violated, my skin crawling with the memory of their touches. I wanted to rip my skin off my body and burn it.

With shaking fingers, I reached for the soap, my hands scrubbing at my skin, trying to erase the feeling of their hands on me. At the same time, I couldn't stop asking myself what the point of doing this even was.

I wanted to wash away the shame, the humiliation, but I knew it would linger, a constant reminder of my place in this hellish prison.

Everything had taken a turn for the worse. Each encounter with Vance would now be tainted by what happened, and the likelihood of a repeat, particularly in Mateo's absence, was high.

As I finished showering, the other inmates kept their distance, their earlier bravado gone. I sensed their wariness, their respect for Mateo's warning. As much as I didn't want it to be true, I was his protégé. Even if he didn't protect me ever again, everyone would remember what just happened and would immediately think twice before approaching me.

I hated all of them, Mateo included. I didn't think there was a single person in this prison I didn't hate. I even hated myself for not being stronger.

I dressed in the clean prison garb provided, my movements mechanical, my mind elsewhere. My only relief was that the shower was over and I wasn't naked anymore. Still, coming here to take a shower was something that would have to happen every day for the next years. I'd better get used to it.

I felt numb, my emotions a tangled mess. Other than hatred and pain, I couldn't feel anything else. I couldn't even feel my own body.

I wanted to cry, to release the torrent of feelings swirling within me, but I bit my lip, holding it in. I knew better than to show even more weakness than I had already shown. The more weakness I showed, the more those people would abuse me.

As I left the bathroom, my eyes darted around, half-expecting to see Mateo, but he was nowhere to be found. As much as I didn't want to admit it, he was the only one who could keep me safe. He showed he cared about me, even if only slightly, so it was better than what the other inmates thought about me.

A part of me wanted to seek him out, to offer my thanks, but another part of me knew better. Plus, it wasn't like he did what he did to be thanked. He didn't expect that from anybody.

Gratitude was a complicated emotion in a place like this, and I wasn't ready to face whatever lay between us. And it was always going to be like that. The only thing we knew for certain here and were accustomed to was our mutual hatred.

With heavy steps, I returned to the cell, my heart heavy. I knew I should be grateful for Mateo's intervention, but instead, I felt confused, my emotions a tangled mess. Could I ever feel different about what happened? Was that even possible? I had no idea.

Why had he helped me? What did he want from me? So many questions and no answer. I knew it was going to remain like that for a long time at least, if not forever.

As I entered the cell, I found Mateo sitting on his bed, his eyes fixed on me. I couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, but his face was unreadable.

I halted, my breath catching in my throat. His gaze was intense. It felt as though his eyes could see my soul.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice low. And, somehow, his question was more surprising than his helping me in the shower room.

I nodded, unable to speak, the events of the shower still fresh in my mind. Nodding was the best thing I could do. I wished I could do something else, but I couldn't. I felt like I wasn't really in my own body.

He studied me for a moment longer, then returned his attention to his book, his signal that the conversation was over. As with many things he did, he didn't have to say anything. His behavior was more than enough.

I stood there, unsure of what to say or do. Maybe there was nothing to be said. Maybe remaining silent was the best thing I could do.

I wanted to express my gratitude, but the words stuck in my throat. Maybe one day I would be brave enough to do that, but that day was not today.

With a heavy sigh, I turned away, my heart heavy. I knew I owed him, but I didn't know how to repay him. Plus, I didn't know if he even expected to be repaid. Maybe he didn't. Or maybe he did and would tell me what he wanted me to do for him.

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