Authors note: Co-written story! Fuck yeah! One of my bestiest friends is writing Francis' perspective! [Kiwi Flavored] Check her outs!
Chapter one: Like Stale Bread
Why does no one want me? I walked down the streets, looking for a new place to sleep. It was almost dark and it was raining. The baker didn't like me sleeping in the tree beside his trash cans and digging in them after he would throw away the stale bread no one wanted… Was I like stale bread? What's a five year old girl going to do? I need food and a place to sleep. A man with a long dark curly beard and eyes the matched locked onto mine. A cat like smile crossed his face, and terror shot through me. He hobbled towards me, his ratty trench coat dragging in the puddles.
"You poor dear," He purred sadistically. I backed away slipping in a puddle and getting completely drenched.
"Come, come with me dear." He looked me over, and looked like he was ready to eat me. "You're such a pretty young dear too, what with your blonde hair," He took a few strands of my hair and let them slip through his boney fingers. "a little short, but we can always grow it out. And those pretty blue eyes. Oh, how much money men will pay for you…." He trailed off. Pay for me? Like, to take care of me? A family! I had to know, but it didn't seem safe.
"W-what do you mean pay for?" I stammered, scared that I may not have a family… The old man smiled at me. I don't know why but something about this man's smile didn't feel safe.
"Why darling, you'll have a place to sleep, food to eat, and someone that loves you, for a cost of course." That's when my blood ran cold, and he grabbed my arm in a rough manner. I was ready to scream, when a force knocked him away from me.
I looked up at the tall man. He had blonde hair that was slightly curly and pulled back in a ponytail. He's eyes looked like mine, a beautiful ice blue but much more fierce looking. We looked very much alike. The man grumbled some words I didn't know and looked up at the blonde man, rubbing the side of his cheek.
"What are you doing with her?" The man was obviously French, and his voice was trickling with ice. His heavy French accent was angered. The man just laughed at his question.
"Nothing she does want, good sir." He scoffed, coughing up a tad bit of blood. It sounded as if the French man growled at him. "Now dear if you would come with me…" The old man reached out to me, and the French man stepped in front of me.
"You will not touch this girl, or it will be more than a bruised cheek." He snarled. The man stood and glared at him.
"Fine, the little smut is yours." The old man spit at his feet and walked off.
We stood for a while, watching the old man walk off. I sighed and looked down the street the opposite of where the old man was going. The night had fallen and I still have nowhere to sleep.
"Jeunes une," I turned at the language I longed to learn. The man was crouching down to my eye level. He smiled at me, and I found myself smiling back.
"Why don't you come with me? You must be hungry, and cold." He cooed.
Should I trust him? Why shouldn't I? He did save me.. I looked up at him and nodded. The man stood, holding his hand out to me. I placed mine in his, not realizing that this would be a motion I would be doing for the rest of my life.
We walked up the marble steps, high arches with beautiful stone swirling design, and stone columns decorated the porch. He opened the bright red wooden door, and we stepped into the hallway. After closing the door he turned to look at me, with that same smile plastered on his face.
"You wait here, and I'll get you a towel and a change of clothes." He gracefully walked off down the hallway, leaving me alone.
I stood for a moment and then decided to look around. I walked about half way down the hallway when the smell hit me. The wonderful smell of real food! I turned towards the smell and stepped into the kitchen. It was absolutely gorgeous, marble kitchen tops, a very shiny fancy looking oven and so many other cooking utensils. I walked over to the kitchen table and ran my hand over the smooth, glossy wood.
"I see you found your way to where the food is located." I jumped, pulling my hand away from the table. He laughed, stepping over to me and handing me a towel.
"How about we get you into something dry and then we eat, oui? Now just hold up your arms." I nodded and held up my arms, as he pulled off my wet white dress. I stood there in my undershirt and shivered. He stared at me, horrified at first, then he slowly composed himself.
"Little one, where did you get all these bruises and scars?" He locked eyes with me and I shuttered as I tried to block the memories. I looked away from him.
"M-my mother…she wasn't very nice…" I heard him take a deep breath.
"Well, we will no longer have to worry about that now, will we?" He smiled, and I nodded.
"C-can I call you Papa?" I asked, fear of rejection in my voice.
"Oui, but you have to tell me your name." I felt odd saying my name to a person I hardly know, but it felt safe.
"Michelle." And for the first time in a long time, I found myself truly smiling.
Eleven years later. . .
I popped up in of bed, looking around my room that has not changed in the eleven years I've slept in here. My walls were still the same pale blue, and my art desk sat in the corner with unfinished drawings scatter across the top. I leaped out of my bed, and scuttled over to my closet that was always full with new clothes. Papa always spoiled me. I grabbed my maple leaf over coat, a red tank top, and a short black skirt. I changed, putting my glasses on last. I walked over to my dressing mirror and brushed out my blonde hair. I looked at my eyes, the older I got, the darker they got. They almost look purple, but in the light they are ice blue like Papa's. I glared at myself in the mirror, and huffed.
"I really hate my hair.." I mutter as I tugged the odd little upside down curl that stuck out of my hair. I gave up, and stomped down to the kitchen to make breakfast.
"Shoot!" I exclaimed as I noticed pancake batter got all over my coat and skirt. I heard a chuckle, one that I've known since I was five. I turned around to see a smiling Papa, and I couldn't help smiling back.
"You know mon Cherie , you've never been the best at not getting messy." He laughed, and I gave him an embarrassed shrug.
"Why don't you go up to my bathroom and clean up, oui? I'll be up there in a minute."
I slowly walked up the stairs to Papa's bathroom. It's been forever since I've been in Papa's bathroom. I stepped into his room and it was as beautiful as ever: A circular bed, with plush red pillows and blankets to match. I took a moment to inhale, as the strong sent of roses filled my nose and lungs. There were old French revolutionary pictures hung around in his room. Slowly, I made my way into his bathroom, stepping onto cold marble floor. Everything seemed to be tented with gold: The beautiful double sink, with the ever so big mirror, (Papa love's to make sure he looks good) the large circular bath tub with mirrors surrounding it. I began to clean myself when I heard footsteps, they were not coming to the bathroom as I expected. I looked down at my skirt and coat, it looked clean enough, just a little white stain. I was walking down the stairs when the yelling started.
"I want her back!" A woman's voiced yelled. A voice even when intoxicated I recognized. Papa seemed annoyed, I knew he had dealt with her before, but I know my Mother had never taken the time to come to his home to try and get me.
"Bella, would you please excuse yourself from my threshold. I do not have the time to deal with you and you whiskey scented breath." He snarled. I stood behind him and held his hand. This woman who is my "mother" put me through hell when I was little…and Papa knows where every bruise and scar came from and why.
"I'll call the cops on you! You kidnapped her!" She attempted to threaten, shoving my father in the chest.
"And you beat the child!" My father screamed. He glared her down. I've never really seen Papa mad, and it wasn't pleasant. My mother crashed through the door and right into me. I stumbled back a bit, and looked at her with fear. She looked me over and her eyes stopped right on the stains.
"What is this!? Are you letting her sleep around?" She screamed at Papa, then glared at me. "You little smut, I always knew you'd be no good. So, how many boys do you have up there, hmm? Three, four? I guess it doesn't matter we find out when you're pregnant." She snarled.
This woman knew nothing about me, how could I be sleeping around when I don't even know anyone. Now that I say that, it's kind of pathetic. May be she'll understand if I try to explain it to her.
"M-mother, it's just pancake batter.." The words stumbled out in a flurry. She just laughed at me. What have I ever done wrong to this woman?
"Child, you have to really think I'm stupid. Do you really think I'm going to believe that that's pancake batter?" She scoffed, pointing at the stains. I had finally had enough.
"I'm not like you! So why would I even have men in my room?! I didn't whore around like you did, let alone have a child I didn't want!" I screamed at her. Shock crossed her face and my fathers. Then it happened, her right fist met my left check. I stumbled to the side, using the wall for balance. I held my cheek as it throbbed with pain.
"Get out!" My father screamed. He started to gently shove her out the door. Papa would never hit a lady, but it looked as if he was using all his might not to.
"Go ahead, kick me out, but I'm taking her with me." She smirked. "And you can't say no, or I'll call the cops and tell them you abuse her." She gave us both a wicked cat-like smile.
"What?" My father growled. She laughed even more at his anger.
"You heard me Francis, I'll tell the cops you kidnapped her and that you are abusing her. She has the scars to prove it."
"And what if she denies that it was me? What if she tells them it was you?" Papa was now standing in front of me, protecting me as always. I knew he wouldn't let her take me without a fight.
"I'll just tell them you said you'd kill her if she told the truth, so she had to blame her sweet loving mother. Really Francis, who do you think they are going to believe?" The horrible thing is, she was right. They'd believe the woman over the man any day. I couldn't let Papa go to jail, not because of me.
"Papa, I'll go with her." My voice was shaking, and my entire body was trembling. He turned to me, placing his hands on my shoulders.
"Michelle, you don't have to do this. We can figure this out. I swear I won't let her-" Tears were welling up in his eyes. We meant the world to each other, that's why I couldn't let him do this.
"Papa, you can't. What if they took her side? Then you'd go to jail and I'd have to go with her anyways." I leaned up and kissed his forehead. "I'll be okay Papa." He gave my shoulders a light squeeze. Mother had already walked out the door, but we both knew she was waiting outside, waiting for us to give our answer; the only one we could give.
He walked me to the door, holding my hand tight. We stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, then I alone began to walk down them. His grip tightened for an instant, then became lose. We held hands until our arms could no longer reach each other. I was scared that this was the last time I would hold his hand in mine.
I walked over to my mother. She stood at the open door of a taxi cab, and I slowly climbed in. She followed me in, and it was the first time I got a good look at my mother since I was five. Her hair was short now, about shoulder length and blonde like mine. Her green cat eye looked sweet, but behind them was a dark creature.
"Don't worry dear, you'll love living with me." She said sweetly. I knew she was putting on a show for the taxi driver; I would not be a part of it. I looked out the back window, and saw Papa standing were I left him, looking directly at me.
"Je t'aime…" I whispered. And to my happiness I saw him mouth the same words back to me. I knew then there was some hope of coming back to him one day. One day, I will get to hold my hand in his again.
And that's the end of chapter one! Leave me comments! Please? I'll give you a cookie :3 ... with chocolate chips? Don't forget to read Francis' perspective [Kiwi Flavored] :D