𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ° Paul Lahote ✓

prologue

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          Genevieve Ateara wasn't someone who tried to hold onto her emotions for long periods of time. Tried is definitely emphasised. The teenage girl would much rather ignore the unpleasant feelings than embrace them. Though, today seemed to be quite difficult as she sat on her mattress, staring out of her window. If anyone were to see her, they would think she was catatonic from the lack of movement. Her eyes were unfocused, but her mind was working a million miles per minute.    

No matter how hard she tried to shut everything out and just feel numb, she couldn't shake the sadness away this time. It almost made her physically ill. Rain was pelting against the glass, leaving a grim feeling behind.

Genevieve had her feet resting on her already packed suitcase, boots tight around her ankles. The girl sniffed and his cologne touched her nostrils, her eyes reddened and tears appeared below her irises. It was faint, but there.

The brunette let out a shaky breath, blinking a few times as she came back from her thoughts. Her eyes roamed the powder blue walls of her room, they were empty spare the few childhood posters she no longer wanted to keep. Her closet has been emptied out and her bed stripped from her flower bedding. It caused goosebumps to rise on her russet skin. 

Genevieve was prepared for a lot of things, but losing her father so suddenly wasn't one of them.

The girl had graduated from High School with better grades than she could have ever imagined. Accepted to the university of her dreams. Prom had been the highlight of her year, having spent the night with her crush. Hell, she and her father even had a trip booked to Seattle to celebrate and see her family, which they were supposed to go on last week. Now, all that she had been doing was carry boxes to a moving truck, organising a funeral and trying to scrape the last of her money together for a flight back to her hometown. 

Money was tight in the Ateara family. Though, her mother worked her ass off, she couldn't give her daughter more than a few hundred dollars, which she was very grateful for. 

Genevieve sat on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on her lap and a berry tea in her hand as she watched Criminal Minds. Her bare feet were resting on the coffee table and her messy brown hair was pulled in a long braid down her back. The eighteen-year-old kept glancing at the clock, a frown taking over her features.

He should have been back by now. She thought.

Another hour had passed, and it was now eight at night. Her father, Quil, should have been home by now, he had finished work at six. Genevieve thought about dialling her mother, Joy, or even her brother Quil junior when her father didn't respond to her calls and texts. But honestly, what could they do? They were all the way back in Washington and she didn't want them to worry. Her father was never late, if he was, he'd let her know beforehand.

Genevieve had called his work, they said he had left at around six thirty. 

There was a knock at the door and Genevieve jumped up from the couch, putting her tea down and walking towards the front of the house. She was smiling brightly as she opened the door, though it faded quickly when she noticed the blue and red lights illuminating the two police officers before her.

"Genevieve Ateara?" they questioned.

"Yes," she swallowed, heart pounding in her chest.

"There's been an accident."

Genevieve blinked away the tears, telling herself how stupid she was for letting herself feel like this again. The brunette took a deep breath and stood up from her bed, leaning down to take a hold of her suitcase as she ambled out of her old room, not giving it a second glance.

Something vibrated in her back pocket, and she glanced at her phone. The taxi was here to pick her up. Gen passed her father's room and stopped in the doorway, hesitantly. Everything still looked exactly the same, though most stuff was packed away in boxes which were going to be shipped out in a few days to her hometown. La Push, Washington. It was where she grew up, where her mother and older brother still lived. 

Joy and Quil got a divorce about five years ago, they weren't fighting, but Gen guessed the love was no longer there. It frightened her, which is probably why she was so bad at handling her emotions. Genevieve was scared that all relationships would end that way.

Genevieve went down the steps of the creaky stairs and locked the front door behind herself. She wandered down the slippery pavement, cold water hitting her bare arms. San Francisco was warm, but the rain was cold, and she quite liked the combination. Though, La Push weather was something she was looking forwards to.