-----------
I awake to find myself tucked warmly in someone’s bed, a bed far too hard to be my own. The thick covers rest under my chin, swallowing my body whole. From my position, I take a moment to glance about the room: the walls are an off-white, two windows line up side-by-side across the room, a wooden desk sits accompanied by a chair in the far corner, and a pile of old clothes lies in a tired heap beside the door. There are no paintings, there are no curtains, there is no warm sun to greet me beside my bed.
I am not in my own room. The simple thought of that brings a chill to my spine and a sudden new fear. I bury myself deeper within the covers, trying not to make too much movement. If there is, in fact, someone else in here, they could be watching my every move, awaiting for the opportune moment to attack.
As I creep deeper into the belly of the bed, something shifts to my right, quite close to my arm I might add, startling me. As I move away, I come to realize that there is not something in this bed with me, but rather someone. I quietly try to make my way to the edge, but the covers refuse to let me go; I’m tangled up.
The person beside moves slowly so that they may lean on their elbows; I bury even deeper until I am practically looking around with my forehead. A curtain of frizzy auburn hair comes into view, separating their face from my own, as the person turns around to face me. Suddenly, I remember the night before: the rain, the horse, the voices. That familiar voice that I’ve heard far too many times. I lean toward the person beside me and roughly brush the hair from their face, more so annoyed than frightened that I may know this man.
And indeed I do, “Jacques!” I squeal, jerking away as though I’ve been burned. I do not realize how close I am to the edge of the bed until I feel myself about to tumble over, but Jacques’ arm lashes out and steadies me. Once I’ve secured myself upon the sheets, I bat his hand away from my waist, glaring icily, “What am I doing here?”
He stares at me as though I am the biggest fool alive, “I brought you here.”
“Why?” I cry.
“Well, don’t sound so happy to see me. Especially not after hearing from me for nearly five years now,” he replies. And I know that I should be overjoyed to have him here again, he is my brother, after all, but he is not the same fun-loving boy who loved and cared for me when we were younger. He‘s no longer Jacques Delancey: the wonderful older brother who I look up to. He’s taken to a life against the law, against what our family has ever believed in. So, what is there to miss? “You fell unconscious last night, so I asked one of my companions to bring you here so that you could rest.”
“And you couldn’t find a nice cozy little spot on the floor for you to sleep on? Or perhaps a room three floors up and a thousand doors over?” I see the hint of a glower in his eyes, and I somewhat regret the selfish question. Ever since he left home, I’ve treated him like a virus: trying to find anything and everything to get rid of him. Yet, here he is today, helping his silly woman of a younger sister who did not have enough sense, or coordination, to move away from the middle of the street for an approaching carriage, and I couldn’t even bother to thank him. Instead, I allow my paranoia of possibly having been raped in my sleep to take over. I open my mouth to at least mumble an apology, but he’s already moving out from beneath the sheets to lean against the wall across from the bed.
“I could take you home, if you want,” he does not look up as he speaks, but rather finds much more fascination in the dirt under his fingernails. His hair forms a veil around his face, a face that any woman would find rather handsome if he’d simply clean it up a bit.
My answer comes slowly as I stare at the countless number of scars and stitches that paint his torso, “I believe that I’ve imposed on you for far long enough. I am sure I can find my own way.” I stare not a second longer, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes. What’s happened to you? Why do you choose to live like this? You aren‘t happy. You can‘t be; not like this. I think, clambering out of bed. I begin to search for my shoes, making sure that he cannot see my face, “But, I do want to thank you for your generosity.” I say, searching high and low.
Heavy footsteps approach me from behind. Hesitantly I look up, and he is there, now standing over me, my scuffed up boots in hand, “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for these, would you?”
I give a half smile as I take my shoes, muttering a quiet, “Yes, thank you” under my breath.
“And you have not been imposing,” he adds, “If I was not interested in helping you at all, I would have well left you to sleep outside on those rocks, rather than on one of my pillows.”
One-by-one, I pull the boots on as I sit on the edge of the bed, “Well, that is very kind of you, but I assure you that I would have been perfectly fine. I love nature.” I have a terrible habit of lying, but I must admit I’m rather good at it.
He takes a seat beside me, making the bed give a little beneath his weight as I work on my laces. And he just sits there, allowing a deafening silence to pass between us before he finally speaks, “May I ask you something, Lottey?”
“Very well.”
He remains silent for a moment longer, hesitant with a proper wording, I suppose. Once I’ve secured my shoes, I lean up to look him in the eye and realize that he would rather stare at the bare wall in front of us than he would at me. Apparently, he is not too fond of speaking face-to-face this morning, “Do you enjoy the way you make me feel sometimes? The way you always seem to make me feel so… worthless?”
“Of course not.” I reply, feeling the weight of such a question lay heavily upon me. The tone in his voice shreds my heart into nothing, “Why would you think that?”
“Because,” alas, he turns to me, “Every time I get the chance to finally see you again or talk to you, it‘s like… like you treat me as if I‘m some kind of monster or demon. I am starting to get little inklings that you hate me.”
Again, he pierces me, “I will not lie to you. I do see you as a different person, though I try not to make it so obvious that it is uncomfortable to be around you.”
He eyes me warily, “What have I done that makes you- Oh.” he starts, realization dawning on him, “It’s about the Clan, isn’t it?”
I remain silent, suddenly wishing that he would stare back at the wall. I look down and twiddle my thumbs in my lap as he awaits my answer, “I… It’s-”
“That’s what I thought,” he interrupts, rising quickly from the bed. He marches across the room to gather his coat and boots, plopping his hat atop his head. He doesn’t seem angry, but even without his yelling, it is still evident that he’s upset with me, “Of course. I keep forgetting that I can go to my family for everything, that I can be assured they will always be there to catch me when I fall.” he buttons up his coat and lets out a chuckle, though there is no hint of humor in it.
“Please. I-“
“Please what, Charlotte? Let you apologize? Allow you to beg me to stay? Whatever it is you have to say, I do not wish to hear it.“ His eyes burn a hole through me as glares across the room, “I don’t know why I bother to think you would be the one to see beyond what I’ve done. To see that I am trying to do better with keeping my life together. But, then again, you are your mother’s daughter.“
It isn’t until he storms out and slams the door behind him that I feel the full force of his blow, hitting hard enough to force me to take a seat as I cradle my wounded heart.
---------
The morning is sweet and mellow today, with the sun showering kisses and not a cloud in the sky. Children play along the roads, their imaginations taking them to a world beyond our own. Their mothers sit by, tending to their needlework, but they keep watch as well. For, every now and then, “Little Jimmy” will try to fish in the sewer grates, or “Darling Anna” will try to sneak a sweet kiss with a boy, for she is a Princess and it is the only way to awaken her Prince from his eternal slumber.
My walk home, though, is no more pleasant than it was last night. And by now, I am sure my mother has every officer from Brazil to China searching for me. The recent incident with Jacques threatens to rain down on this marvelous day, taking away from the little bit of happiness I had stored for today. I must make amends with him, enter the bull ring with my mother, weasel my father out of any dangerous situation I may have put him in for lying, and I still have to decide what I am to do about this business with Monsieur Bentley.
If I agree to join him, then what of my friends? My fiancé? My home here in France? My future family? So many corsets wrapped around one bodice. It is suffocating and stressful.
“Miss?” I am dragged out of my thoughts by a voice that is so tiny, but with a tone that is quite powerful.
Looking down, a dirty brown-haired boy, appearing to be no older than eight, gazes up at me with eyes the shade of a warm hazel. His face is caked in dirt and grass, from rough housing with his friends I presume. I smile sweetly, coming down to his eye level, “What can I do for you, dear?”
He returns the gesture shyly, “Would ye min’ playin’ a game wif me? M’friends lef’ t’ go t’ the lake while we was playin‘ Hide-n‘-Seek, so I ain’t got nuttin’ t’ do.”
“Why can’t you join them?” There is nothing truly bad at Hayview Lake. The water isn’t exactly the prettiest and the trees are a bit bare with age and dehydration, but there is nothing terribly “wrong” with it. It has a little swampy feel to it.
He shakes his head sadly, looking down at his dirtied toes, “I ain’t ‘llowed t’ go. M’ mum don’t feel safe havin’ me wif m’friends near dat lake. Says we’s too rough an’ I could drown, ‘count o‘ I‘m so small and dey‘s so big.“ he looks back up, chuckling, “M’ mum would have m’ hide, if she caught me.”
“I see,” I reply, feeling a little sympathetic for him. What I don’t understand is why his mother just couldn’t go and keep an eye on him, but I dare not voice it. For all I know, his mother could be disabled.
“So,” he begins with all smiles, “D’ ya wanna-”
“Timothy!” someone booms, “Timothy Walker! Where are you?”
The boy, Timothy I am guessing his name is, startles at the shrill female cry. He looks behind me for a second and sees his mother waiting on their porch, then turns back to me with a sad smile, “Sorry, Miss, but m‘ mum’s callin’.” Before I am even allowed the chance to reply, he has taken off behind me, shouting, “I’m right here, Mama! Comin’!”
I stand back up to my full height, and though a little surprised at what just happened, I continue on to my own home, even if I do dread every step.
------------
“Sweet heavens! Charlotte!” as expected, my Mother awaits for me at the front door with Father standing right beside her. She practically gallops over to me and embraces me in a tight hug, and for a brief second, I start to believe that she has forgotten to scold me. Perhaps she is just so happy to see me again that she could care less about shoving her finger down my throat. But that feeling of hope is short-lived once she lets go and stares me down with a stony look in her eyes, hands nailed to her hips, “Where have you been? Your father and I have been worried sick about you! No doubt poor David is probably in a state of lunacy himself!”
I roll my eyes and take seat on the nearest couch, knowing full and well that I will be here for a while, so I might as well make myself comfortable.
Before I answer, she prattles on, “It is already bad enough that you left the house without an escort, but to also have lied to me? Outrageous! And to think that you were out all night doing God only knows what! Did you even stop to think to get a ride with Giselle or your other little friend? Whatever her name may be. Your father and I have been burning holes in the floor, waiting for you! Hour-after-hour, and still no word from you. I could nearly have died of a heart attack! You make me so stressful, Charlotte! It is because of you that I am always in such a frenzy.”
“Dear-” Father tries to interrupt, but only to be interrupted in return.
“-Oh! And David? That poor, poor man. I can only start to dream of what he must have been going through! You are to see him at once, but this time I will accompany you. It is apparent that you cannot be trusted to handle yourself properly! I know you feel that, because you are still in my house, you may do whatever you please, but I dare to concur, young lady! If you are to live under my roof until you find a place of your own, I will Mother Hen you as much as I have to. You must! Be kept! In line!”
“Darling. Please. You-” Again, my father tries to intervene, desperate to get his own say, but it is to no avail.
“-And look at the clothes you wear! Such filth. Have you been sleeping in hay? That is no way for a woman to hold herself! Absolutely ridiculous, Charlotte. You have disappointed me greatly, and I hope you have learned the error of your ways. This childish behavior that you cannot seem to let go of is effecting you and everyone else. I suggest you get to your room and do some deep thinking right this second.” she has been babbling on for so long to the point where I’m not sure if she is finished or not. But after a moment of silence and no movement, she shrieks, “Now!” and I don’t need to be told again.
With a quiet and rather half-hearted “Yes. Sorry, Mother.”, I ease my way out of the room just like when I was younger, relieved to have the worst done and over with, and desperately in want of my soft chair to continue my sewing as I hum a quiet song.
I guess that means there was nothing I needed to work on or improve, hm. 
Nah, just kidding. There's always room to improve.
)
It's annoying.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 196