A/N: For all of you who voted, I just wanted to say thank you. It was close and came down to three one shots: Gone, Killing Him Softly, and Class Distinctions. You can see for yourselves which piece won. I must admit that I'm quite happy with the outcome. Even if your particular choice didn't win, I hope you all still read and enjoy this new flash fic. :)

Charlynn

Class Distinctions

Chapter Two
OCFF#20: I'm obsessed with you.

She felt as if she was going out of her mind.

After years of avoiding Ryan Atwood and having him avoid her, Marissa couldn't turn around without him being in her face. And, sure, yes, it was partly her fault. After all, it was her decision to run away from home. It was her decision to sail to the colonies. And, it was also her decision to drag the stable hand into her plot as an accessory, but that did not mean that they were friends now and certainly not anything more. In her mind, their association, at that point, was one of survival, of convenience, a mere business relationship. In it, she paid for his passage in exchange for his acceptance of her plan. Unfortunately, Mr. Atwood wasn't quite grasping the conditions, unspoken or otherwise. But that was her fault in a way, too, because why should she expect a servant to be able to understand the fine nuances of her own mind, especially when said servant was poor and uneducated.

All she wanted was a few moments of peace alone a day, where she could be by herself in silence to think. On the surface, it sounded like a plausible wish, but, in retrospect, life on a ship was far different than life on dry land. One did not have their own private room to escape to. There weren't acres upon acres of land outside the back door for one to run out and hide upon. And there certainly weren't locks to be turned on the doors to grant one some privacy… at least not on any of the doors she was given access to as a passenger.

When she was in their cabin, it was expected that Ryan be with her. Because they were posing as a young married couple traveling to the New World for a second chance at a better life, the sailors and crew and the other travelers thought nothing of them being in private together. Never mind the fact that they weren't married, Marissa was uncomfortable in such closer quarters with her former stable boy simply because she didn't like him.

She wasn't naïve enough to not understand the personal relations a man and woman shared after they were joined together as man and wife. After all, she had entered the ton in the hopes of finding a suitable husband. Her mother had prepared her years ago for what she was to do once she married, but knowing those things in her mind did not make living with a male any easier for her. She constantly felt watched, felt scrutinized, and was on edge. So far, Mr. Atwood had been respectful towards her, turning his back when she dressed for the day or undressed at night, but, nevertheless, she was constantly aware of his presence and the discomfort it brought her.

Then there was their interaction outside of their personal quarters. When dining, he was always by her side, sitting beside her, talking to her, holding her arm as they made their way about the ship to and from the large dining room. Those surrounding them assumed that a married couple would act in such a manner, and, if they didn't live up to expectations, they would run the risk of being caught.



Any free time she had also seemed to be spent with her parents' former employee, and, since they were on a ship that was crossing the Atlantic Ocean, there was really nothing but free time, time to spend idly as the minutes slowly passed. While sailing, time seemed to stop. There were no landmarks to judge their position or to anticipate seeing. Instead, one simply had the seemingly endless horizon of water to look at, the waves blurring together until it felt as if you were drowning in a sea of nothing. It was disheartening, and, personally, for Marissa, it made her feel both lonely and depressed. If she were honest with herself, she'd have to admit that she was homesick, too.

Not that she missed her family or even her friends, she just missed the security of Cooper Manor. She missed her large, comfortable bed with its down mattress and pillow, its layers upon layers of luxurious quilts and duvets. She missed the variety and quality of food she had been served day after day as the daughter of a Lord. She missed her former cleanliness, her wide variety of beautiful dresses, her private maid. And she missed her father's impressive library as well. It had been impractical to pack books when she prepared her tote for travel the night their ship had departed from England, but, at that point, a week into their journey to America, she would have given just about anything for a single novel, something she could immerse herself in and escape the less than favorable conditions the ship had to offer and Ryan Atwood's continuous presence in her life.

However, if it was the last thing she did, she was determined to get a few moments of privacy away from the former coachman. While Ryan had been watching out for her, she had been observing his habits. His daily routine was so predictable, one could start the sunrise on it every morning. Under the guise of taking an afternoon nap, she had retired the day before to their quarters. He had escorted her, as he did when she went anywhere on the boat, but, after making sure she was safely enclosed in their cabin, he had left her alone. Cautiously, deceitfully, she had followed him.

She had already known that he didn't like to be up on deck of the ship, a fact she had often used to her advantage just to torture her traveling companion for apparently deeming her incompetent enough to take care of herself, so she hadn't been surprised when he remained below deck when he had a moment to himself. However, what had surprised her was the fact that he disappeared down into the crew quarters where he would talk to and discuss political matters with the various men while they worked. What they conversed about mattered very little to the former society darling. Things such as the tyranny of the crown and the issue of taxation without representation meant absolutely nothing to her, but she was astonished that Ryan cared about such things. After all, he was just an orphaned servant with utterly no hope of ever becoming something more. He'd never be a man of respect or a member of parliament, so what did politics have to do with him?

Her confusion didn't last for long, though, because she simply dismissed it. What did she care if some overly self-important stable boy had dreams of making something of himself someday? For Marissa, he was just the means to an end, and that was all he would ever be to her. Once they were safely in America, they would part ways. He could stay in the New World, far, far away from her, of course, go back to England, or become a pirate for all she cared. The important thing was that he was distracted in the afternoons by his equally as 

unimpressive friends, and she would be able to go up on deck without censure or a keeper.

After having claimed to be tired once again, she had slipped up into the fresh air and the hustle and bustle of activity the deckhands scurrying around her caused. It was the only part of the ship she found somewhat exciting. While one could lean back against the side of the boat, they could watch the men working. She felt illicit listening to their foul talk, she felt alive amidst all their movement, and, because she was finally free of Ryan, she felt independent for the first time since she had escaped from her parents' control. And that was the very reason why she had left home in the first place – for the freedom and independence living on one's own could bring her, for the right to choose her own destiny, her own husband, and for the sense of fulfillment that came with such liberty.

"Mrs. Atwood," a voice beside caused her to jump. Turning to face the man beside her, she had to school her features not to react to the married name she was disguised as while still on board the ship. It disgusted her to think that those around her believed her to be married to the waste of a coachman she had used to run away, but she was willing to make the sacrifice to her pride if it meant leaving Cooper Manor and the binds it placed upon her forever.

"Good Afternoon, Sir," she greeted the first mate with a slight curtsy and a fake smile. As the second in charge on The Newport, the man beside her had temporary power over her, and she would treat him with respect and deference while still on board even if she did believe him to be an uncivilized oaf of a man.

He sidled closer to her, the dirty sleeve of his shirt brushing up against the clean one of her dress. "And where is Mr. Atwood this afternoon?"

"I believe he's speaking to some of your crew below deck."

"Aw, I see," the sailor inanely commented when all she wanted to do was escape his presence. "It's not often that we see you alone, wanderin' about these parts of the ship, Ma'am."

Marissa took a step back, but he seemed to follow her, their positions even closer than before when they both stopped moving. Finally, she responded rather breathlessly, her nerves apparent. "I just… I just wanted some fresh air. We've been traveling now for more than a week, and this is my first time crossing the ocean, and it's not an all together pleasant experience, no offense, Sir."

"None taken, of course," he smoothly replied, grinning lecherously towards her. When he bared his teeth, she could see how stained and crooked they were, the tiny specks of tobacco lining the slight gaps between them. Between the natural roll of the boat, his unwanted attentions, and the disgusting sight of his presence before her, she felt her stomach turn over rather dangerously. "However," he continued, reaching out for and touching her hand with his own. She would have pulled away, but, suddenly, she realized just how dire of a mistake she had made coming out above deck on her own. "You should 

have come to me sooner with your complaints. As the second in command of this vessel, I feel as if it is partially my responsibility to make sure that all our passengers enjoy their voyage aboard The Newport as much as possible. I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement, Mrs. Atwood. Why don't you come with me down to my private quarters, and we'll have ourselves a nice little chat."

"I'm afraid I can't," she begged off quickly, attempting to and failing to loosen her fingers from his embrace. Instead, the sailor only seemed to take her refusal as a challenge, and he moved closer to her, his hand sliding up her arm until he grasped her tightly, his knuckled brushing against her breast with every powerful squeeze of his grip around her rapidly bruising appendage.

"That wasn't necessarily an offer, Ma'am."

Deciding that her best option was to play dumb, the runaway daughter of a Lord, though the first mate had no clue as to her true identity, explained, "I promised my husband that I would only stay up here for a few minutes. I tire easily, you see, and I'm supposed to be taking a nap. If I'm not back to our cabin in a few minutes, he'll come looking for me. So…"

"But he'd never think to look for you with me," her captor continued to argue, pulling her with him as he moved towards the entrance that led below deck.

All the men around them, men who took their orders from the man taking her against her will, turned their heads away, ignoring or perhaps it was pretending to not notice what their first mate was doing to one of the passengers. In that moment, Marissa realized that no one was going to save her. All of a sudden, she regretted her animosity towards Ryan, she regretted her decision to sneak away from him, to lie to him about taking a nap, and all she wanted in that moment was to see his calm and reassuring, his trustworthy and dependable face, because she realized that, despite their history of animosity towards each other, and despite the fact that Ryan had been raised in poverty, underneath his lack of social grace and wealth, he was a gentleman, and he would never hurt her or willingly allow anyone else to do so either.

She had been wrong about everything, and, now, she was going to pay the price for her mistakes.

"There you are," a voice sounded from behind both her and the ship's second in command. Immediately, she sighed with relief, turning her head around to stare gratefully into the former stable boy's anxious yet commanding gaze. "I've been looking everywhere for you," he said, reaching out and taking her from the crude sailor. "Thank you for keeping an eye out for my wife," he offered the first mate. Although no one could argue with what he said, Marissa could read the underlying anger and threat that tinged his tone as he addressed the other man. "But it won't happen again. Mrs. Atwood and I, we really don't like to be separated from each other."

As he took her into his arms, holding her tightly against him in an effort to still and reassure 

her, she finally felt as if she could breathe easily again. There were no words of recrimination, no lecture, and she was grateful that Ryan wasn't going to yell at her, be mad, or hold the incident over her head. He realized with just one look at her face how sorry she was for her actions, and, for him, that silent apology had been enough. From that point on, she promised herself that she would allow him to take care of her… that was, until they docked in Boston.