Venomous Mistake

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"Did the power go out again?" I round the corner in Marco's slippers and T-shirt. I was getting rounder by the day and waddled around this house, trying to help before I couldn't anymore.

"Por desgracia, sí." My abuelita sighs, striking a match to light the handy candles in scones on the wall. I love this stone house. It reminds me of a castle housing knights, soldiers, kings and queens where nothing can reach them in the deep forest. That is why it's the perfect place to keep the females Camilo saves from destruction.

The only dreadful thing about it is the smell of sterilised tools, ointments, and liquids and this room when Camilo saves the girls in Atlixco. It's never pretty endearing. Just seeing scared women of all ages, thirteen to twenty-nine, makes my blood boil, my hand itch for a gun and my skin prick for the rush of taking a life.

My heart clenches as scared blue eyes meet mine. The world gave up on this little boy. The world gave up on us because how could someone do such a thing? We've had girls only. We've only saved girls because there was no one else to rescue.

When Camilo brought this little boy in, kicking and screaming, begging for his mama, I felt nothing like I did before—I froze. I couldn't muster words. A sob had wretched from my throat, and my eyes had teared up.

His mama was gone—brutally murdered before those very blue eyes that will never see the world the same again.

I remember being this scared at eleven, but this was no eleven-year-old. "¿Cuántos años tiene?" I grab the glass off the table, and the boy starts trembling as I move forward. "I won't hurt you."

I looked at my abue as she walked into the room with clean clothes to take to the three girls cleaning themselves up in the bathroom. She frowns and looks at the spoon in my right and the porridge in my left hand. She looks at me again, and I shake my head.

I've got this. I picked the stuffed cat on the floor and continued, although the boy started weeping the walls down. "It's alright," My throat choked. "You can have this little man. I'm sure you'll like him. He'll keep you warm and cosy during the night."

He shook his head, and God, it hurt me. No child deserved this. No child deserves to be in pain. I don't stop, even as he starts to fight me. I grabbed his wrist gently and pulled his head to my breasts. He uses his strength to pull away, but I beg him to stop. "I'll make it better. I promise. I'm not your mama, but—" Now I'm crying. "Please, niñito." I rock him, hoping he doesn't kick me in the stomach.

I hear a sob on the other side of the bathroom door, and I know it's nothing good. Marta says a few religious words, and I cradle the boy closer to me. He's still fighting with little strength. Im waiting for the bad news from Marta. I know what happened, and it's happened before. "¿Tienes hambre?"

"Quiero a mi mami." His voice is choked and raspy, and I'm scared for the moment.

"Are you hurt, niñito?" I'm afraid to pull him away and risk him fighting me again. "Where does it hurt?"