Author's Note: This is re-uploaded from my old version of Poor Thing. Apparently they didn't like my summary and deleted my story. A warning notice would have been nice so I could have changed it without having to re upload every chapter. Oh well...
Old fans, welcome back. Sorry this got deleted on you guys. New readers, welcome. I hope you like this.
I really appreciate all you readers. I'm open to constructive criticism if you find something that could be better or needs to be fixed, so feel free to let me know. And like everyone else I enjoy having my ego stroked. Haha! In short, Read Review, and Enjoy!
I'll try and get the other 2 chapters I have completed up in a reasonable manner. Prod me gently if I get sidetracked, okay?
-The Beckster
Poor Thing
Rated: T for language (If you feel the rating needs to be changed, please let me know. I don't think it's worse than PG-13, but I am much less squeemish that some others)
Summary: "The judge, he tells her, is all contrite. He blames himself for her dreadful plight." Bull shit. Poor Thing.
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Chapter 1
She woke up slowly and reluctantly from a deep sleep. The last dregs of sleep tugged at her brain as she listened to a warm fire crackle in the stove, making the room toasty and warm. She sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around her and buried her head under the silk sheets.
Silk!
Her eyes shot open and the sat bolt upright in bed and looked around the room. She was not in her small, but cozy, loft above the pie shop. She quickly glanced around the richly decorated room, and she instantly hated it with every bone in her body. She hated the fancy wall paper with real gold in it. She hated the enormous fireplace opposite of her blazing hellishly. She hated the marble mantle above the fireplace and the woven hearth rug sitting before it. She hated all the expensive, rich furniture decorating her room right down to her magnificent four-poster bed with a down comforter and imported silk sheets. She hated it all.
Her eyes fell on the white and gold double doors and without thinking she leapt out of bed and dashed across the room. She tried vainly to open the door but it was locked. Quickly she spun around and turned to the French doors leading to a balcony. She ran into the freezing rain and looked over the edge. She was too far up to survive a fall and there was no way of climbing down safely.
Shivering she walked back inside and stood there looking around the hateful room dejectedly. She dully noted how the water was dripping from her fine white night gown onto the polished wood floor of the room. She sank to the floor defeated and pulled her knees into her chest and cried like a child as the painful memories of the night before came back to her.
Feeding Johanna. The beadle coming. The hope. The defeat. The party. The drinking. The judge. The laughter. The merry music. The laughter. The judge. The beadle. The laughter!
She could still hear the maniacal laughter ringing in her ears as the heavy hands of the judge pawed at her vulnerable body and exposed flesh. She could still feel the beadle holding her down for the judge. She remembered the humiliation as the judge and the beadle forced themselves upon her. She could still smell the alcohol on their breath; they were basically sweating the vile drink. She could hear the cheering of the other men and the mocking laughter of all the women present as they watched her pinned down like an animal. They had acted like it was a joke. How silly she was to come here, the women commented through their peals of laughter.
"They should all burn in hell!" she cried out bitterly as she wept on the floor. The memories spun around her head at a dizzying rate and she soon felt sick. The only thing she could think of to keep herself from screaming was her dead husband and beautiful daughter. "Benjamin. Johanna." She repeated in her mind.
Somewhere in the distance she heard a key turn in a lock and a door open. She heard fancy shoes click on the wood floor as they approached her.
"Well, my dear Lucy. How are you this morning." A deep, masculine, poisonous voice spoke softly.
Lucy did not answer; she just pressed her head into her arms harder and continued to weep.
The man sighed "Now come on, dear. Moping won't solve anything."
Lucy felt him reach out and gently brush her arm. Without thinking she hit the offending hand away forcefully and glared up at Judge Turpin. Hate burned in her eyes and she shook in anger.
"Don't touch me!" she spat. She scrambled away from the judge towards the fireplace. To her dismay the persistent judge followed her, quickly closing the gap between them. He reached down and lifted her up forcefully so she was standing. He pulled her chin so she was facing him.
"Now my dear, acting like a petulant child won't do you any good either." The vile and corrupt judge said in mock tenderness.
"Burn in hell, you bastard!" she hissed before she spat in his face.
Quickly he pressed his lips against her forcefully, catching Lucy off guard. She recovered quickly and tried to pull away but she couldn't math his strength and break his grip. With a mighty push she detached herself from the judge and went sprawling to the floor.
The judge looked at her, lust smoldering in his eyes. Hate burned in Lucy's eyes. The judge started advancing and Lucy quickly grabbed the first solid thing she found. Without thinking she closed her eyes and swung at the judge with all her might. She opened her eyes as she heard the judge cry out in pain and drop to the floor. She looked to the weapon in her hand, a hot iron poker that had been sitting in the outer coals of the blazing fire getting red hot, and went to swing it at the judge again.
Burning hate for the judge flowed through her veins. She hated him for taking her Benjamin away. She hated him for raping her. She hated him for taking her away from her daughter. Through the haze of her hate two things became clear to her, the judge deserved to die, and she had to get back to Johanna. She would beat the judge to death with this poker if she could.
In her blind hate, Lucy did not see the beadle rush into the room upon the judge's cry. Nor did she notice him come up behind her and grab the hot poker from her hands. Lucy screamed in rage as the beadle threw the poker to the floor and grabbed her arms and held them behind her back with one massive hand. With the other he gave a sharp blow to her head.
Beadle threw the dazed woman to the floor and hurried over to the judge.
"Are you alright my lord?" he said kneeling down to the judge's level.
Lucy had a fleeting moment of satisfaction when she saw he had an angry red burn across his cheek and his nose was bleeding all over his expensive white shirt.
Without a word he stood up and walked over to the dazed Lucy. "Stand her up." He said coldly.
The beadle pulled Lucy up by her shoulders. She tried to stare at Turpin defiantly through her slight daze. Without warning the judge lashed out and smacked Lucy across the face. The woman cried out as she saw stars and was overcome with a new wave of dizziness.
The judge again pulled her face towards his and whispered "If you ever strike me again, whore, it will be the last thing you ever do!"
He smacked her again and the beadle threw the limp woman onto the bed. Both of the men left the room and locked the door.
Lucy lay on the large bed and cried with hatred of the two men who had ruined her life.
"I pray they don't get Johanna and Mrs. Lovett thinks of some way to keep my poor baby safe from them."