CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | SIX FEET UNDER
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A BONE-CHILLING TWITCH crept upwards in a thin line over Genevieve's spine, her irises dilated numerously as she attempted to focus on something around her. A spot, a seat, a window, something.
Uncountable amounts of chills nipped her skin, as gusts of cold air flowed thoroughly around the flat.
A shadow creeped next to her making her snap towards its direction, yet, only emptiness met her eyes. The pale grey curtains that framed the large window display in her bedroom slapped against the walls, the window pulsing the sheets into the air.
Genevieve gripped her hair desperately, her chapped lips parted cold, ragged huffed breaths leaving her lips. She could feel her nails digging into her pale scalp, thin, looming rigged hairs tangling into her fingers tightly, the sharpness creasing on the layers of calloused skin that coated her fingers.
'You're forgotten. Never will you be someone again.'
Her teeth gritted, her jaw bone flexing as she squeezed her eyes shut—so tight that it made her temporarily lightheaded.
As she took a step forward, her bare feet consumed the feeling of pricking as the pieces of broken ceramic from a vase ragged her, the heavy metallic smell of flowing blood, surrounded her, adding to her suggested nausea. A sharp intake of breath filling her nostrils.
The floorboard creaked under her, the cracking bouncing off the walls onto the dark corridor from the welcoming open bedroom door. Light that came sourced from the floor lamp in the corner vibrated, the lit bulb silently glitching.
Her gaze was silent and steady as she twisted her back, the dead silent room clamping with her risky breaths. Genevieve looked slowly behind her, facing the doorway towards the corridor.
Several shadows loomed over the walls, all moving, shapes of women, men and children surrounding her. Tension clenched the hallway, echos and groans pricking the air—frankly none were from the brunette.
'Elias doesn't love you anymore.'
Genevieve shook her head, her hands clamping together on her chest. Her body still, frozen, unable to possibly move. Yet, her fingers shook violently, not even her muscles could control her. Goosebumps coated any visible surface of her skin as sinister smirks graced the shadow's features, the hairs on her arms shooting up as needles of cold punctured her arms.
Her feet stepped back, momentarily forgetting about the broken pieces of ceramic and glass that stood shattered against the dark gray floors. She stumbled slightly upon touching the piercing edges, the feeling of blood riddled onto her arches.
A ghost of a yelp escaped her tight lips, slightly jumping from the sudden contact. Nonetheless, tears loomed on her waterline—none from her visions or optical illusions that shifted in her a stare for a while now. It was the fact that, she couldn't control what she saw, and the visions were awfully horrifying; dead children, raped and hurt women, the look of menacing men—but what brutally banged her was the thought of their faces.
They were all almost identical to the souls she'd taken—the ones that she reckoned that haunted through her mindless dream, extenuating, threatening her insomnia.
'You are useless.'
She looked down, her hand carefully reaching her foot, her fingertips lightly brushing against the open wound. A hiss exited her throat as the gush started poking with needle stings. Her eyes closed roughly, her chest heaving as she tried to maintain her breathing steady from the pain.
"It's okay, Genevieve. You're going to be alright Giul—" Genevieve paused through her self-pep talk, discerning the name she'd almost mentioned to herself.
It wasn't a sort of small habit to get used to her biological, birth given name; it was quite the opposite. She'd tried to forget she was even a person of such importance, drowning herself in her sorrows over Elias to keep busy and omit the point of her other problems.
The problems that were proof of her life, frankly her precious life to her, was some-sort of a lie—the name she carried with such pride and honor was fake as was her identity, her 'family' were liars, her lover . . . Elias Maverick, she couldn't even have the thought of his name without a wave of pain to come over her.
She knew the second she saw him, he was someone special. And, ultimately, Genevieve fell in love with every aspect of him, his flaws, his likings, his everything. Even his name - although, fake like hers - was perfect—Elias, Hebrew for 'Lord is my God'; Maverick, English for 'independent'. The name itself was perfect for him, and Genevieve reminisced the notion.
'He doesn't love you, he never did, he never will.'
Genevieve stilled suddenly, the hairs on her arms spiking once again with a mysterious motion. She could sense a presence lurking silently behind her, it's eyes staring daggers at her back.
Swiftly, the brunette swirled around meeting the eyes of the person.
Elias.
The brunette instantly stepped forward, desperate to grasp him in a hug. "Oh my god, Elias I missed you so much, I'm so glad you—" Her rant though, was cut off when she curled her arms around his waist, but in return her arms felt nothing.
Blinking rapidly, Genevieve looked around realizing that Elias was never even there. A stray tear skimmed her cheek, but she couldn't help it.
It took her to lose him to make her realize that Elias was Genevieve's everything, her muse, her life, her soul. Added, that all along they were once in love as children too. Everything felt like a constant battle to forget him and move forward. She didn't know what to do anymore, whiskey and misery, cigarettes and pills—before, it would've been pure bliss, but it turned into a pure nightmare.
'Kill yourself.'
Genevieve sniffed, her eyes closing dreadfully. Opening them again she faced her window, the thoughts and illusions were so strong, so morbid it'd even surprised herself.
Her palm placed itself delicately over the glass window, the cold and foggy glass piercing her skin; her reflection stood subtle, yet slightly visible. To be exact she looked like a dead bride—running makeup, large and dark eye bags, her skin was sulking from the lack of sleep. Lastly, the enchanting periwinkle orbs that were once filled with hope and love, now are dull, darkened and completely lifeless. Her eyes even widened when she took notice of her appearance.
'Kill yourself.'
The voices were getting excruciating by now allowing Genevieve to desperately furrow her eyebrows and for her forehead to wrinkle in frustration. Her resting palm that sat calmly on the window was now fisted, pressuring the glass roughly; Genevieve could almost feel it vibrate against her from the strength.
'He doesn't love you.'
'Lauren hates you.'
'Jonas despises you.'
'Lucy wants to kill you, and so does Tiffany, Daniel, Smith, Susie, Francesca . . .'
'You hate yourself.'
Genevieve smashed her fist onto the open window display, the glass shattering all around her, some falling down the building while others stuck onto her body, puncturing her, the she'd of blood becoming one to her.
Her eyes trailed around the surrounding skyscrapers, although the tinted windows she could spot the shapes of various different people working, men in sharp suits, women in black pencil skirts and white blouses—all running around trying to get their work done.
Before, it would've also been an amusing sight but Genevieve ought to discover that her flourishing amusement slowly disappeared—with her pride, beauty, confidence . . . Elias. All gone. And dare she say maybe forever.
As she looked down, her eyes darkened as she took notice of the amounts of couples that walked in the busy seats of Manhattan; some holding hands, some making out in corridor corners, even there was one couple that were sharing ice cream together,
Love.
How immature, Genevieve thought. What had she'd been left with, nothing. No family, two names - one fake, one paternal - two disappeared siblings and a truckload of problems. The world has no love, if there was why are there so many divorces, breakups, fights; an endless cycle of fucking torture.
Eleanor and Matteo came to her mind, both her missing siblings. What if things were different?
Genevieve shook her head, it was all her fault if she wasn't such a careless five-year old than maybe she would've never been kidnapped, Elias too. Her paternal parents wouldn't have been dead. And Francesca wouldn't have lost her family.
'Do it.'
The brunette whimpered dreadfully, for the last time Genevieve saw the world, closing her eyes she leaned forward her body free-falling out the window. Screams erupted as they saw her body flying downwards, no one daring a move to save her.
In a matter of seconds her body crumbled on the pavement, her bones frail and broken, her body contorted in a different direction and so was her neck.
But the most horrifying thing of all was her face, completely and utterly lifeless. It was a pity that her wished death wasn't with happiness but replaced with sorrows—her lips were edged and tilted into a frown, her eyes wide open.
The enchanted sky blue sparkle in them was dead, her eyes darkened in misery, dread, and sadness. So terrifyingly haunting that not even death himself, could look into her eyes and not cower back.
For her soul that was once free and genuine, that could enchant anything living in the world—was now lifeless, into an empty void falling freely into a dark never ending pit of an abyss.
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