Marjorie gripped Erik's hand tightly as he led her down a dark passage. He was showing her a different way out. She was glad it didn't include water travel. Her head was still spinning and her stomach was churning, and she probably would have never made it on the boat. The voice had finally began to calm down, although it was still buzzing in her head. She hated when this happened. The voice, although always mean, was only this violent when her emotions were changing so much. That's why she tried her best not to feel. It was best that way. But when she was with Erik, her mood seemed to constantly change. She was so used to the loneliness, her emotions went haywire. But she was starting to like it. He made her feel happy.
A creaking sound pulled her from her thoughts as Erik hoisted open a wooden door. Soft light fell across the hallway and the smell of manure and leather greeted her warmly. A snort echoed from the room. "A horse!" Standing in a stall was a huge black stallion, much taller than she.
Erik led her over to the horse and pet his nose affectionately. "Caesar." Marjorie held her hand out towards him carefully. He nudged her hand, searching for a treat. Erik handed her a peppermint, which she gave to the horse. Caesar nudged her again, affectionately. A smile started to spread across her face. She stroked his nose gently.
"Since its still a bit of a walk, we can take Caesar." Erik slipped a bridle on to the horse and adjusted the straps. "I hope you don't mind bareback. Caesar will be gentle." Erik walked back over and waited by the horse's side. "Let me help you up." Cautiously he put his hands on her waist before lifting her onto the horse. She was shocked at his strength. Although he was still so thin, he was incredibly strong. He hopped on behind her easily.
"I'd rather you didn't sit like that" her legs were draped over to one side. "I can't have you falling off." She turned and looked at him. He wanted her to ride like a man? She had rode like that before, but only when she was a little girl. Hesitantly, she lifted her leg over to the other side. It was a weird feeling, but she got used to it quickly. After all, who would see her down here in the dark? Here in the dark she could hide from the disapproving stares.
The brass handle of the door felt icy under her hand. The cold winter air blew through the foyer of the opera, swirling the ash under their feet. Erik draped his cloak over her shoulders. It smelled like candle wax and roses, just like him. She had given up on pleading for him to walk her home. Even under the cover of night, he refused to venture into Paris' streets. After promising to meet again the next night, she stepped out into the cold.
Marjorie's boots clicked against the street as she walked towards the bakery. Erik's cloak was wrapped tightly around her shoulders as the cold night air lapped at her face. The crisp air helped her mind clear her dizziness. Laughter and yelling spilled out onto the street from the taverns, the only places still open this late.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the footsteps following her until a man called out to her. "Oi, Robert. What is it we got 'ere? 'Ey you! C'mere." She turned to see two men following not far behind her. They were both visibly drunk. "What's a fine lass like you doin' out so late? 'Ey, why ain't you talkin' to us?" Marjorie's English was poor, but she knew these men were trouble. She continued to hurry down the street. Another man stepped out from an alley in front of her, he was tall and could easily take her. She was cornered. "C'mon, lass. Why're you all alone in the dark? We're lonely too, y'know." The man in front of her chimed in, "Why don't ya help us out lass?" "Yeah, 'elp our loneliness."
"I'm sorry, Messieurs, I really should be home..." She stepped in to the street, stumbling over the cobblestones. The tall man grabbed her arm and pulled her back over. He gripped both of her arms like a vice. One of the men, Robert, leaned his face in close to hers. His grimy hands snaked around her waist and pulled her close. "Why don't we 'ave some fun, lass." His breath reeked of stale alcohol. "I've never 'ad a french girl."
"S'il vous plaît, messieurs! Please. Let me go." Tears flowed freely down her face. Her arms were going numb as she struggled in their grip. "I'll give you money! Just please let me go."
"Money ain't what we lookin' for, lass." The tall man leaned in towards her. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. As a final escape attempt, her knee slammed up in between his legs. His face contorted in front of hers and a wheeze escaped his throat. His hands let go of their vice as he fell to the ground in pain. She reached out and clawed another man's face, trails of blood left in its path. His hand met his cheek and came away red. "You'll pay for that you bloody bitch!"
She was struck hard, then, and fell to the ground. Blood gushed from her nose and her side screamed in pain. Boots kicked at her, but she pushed herself out of the mud and ran as fast as she could. The men yelled after her, but no one followed.
She woke up the next morning on the bakery floor, the farthest she could go when she had gotten home. Dried blood covered the floor where her head laid. Her whole body was screaming, and her nose was surely broken. She stood up slowly, Erik's cape falling to the floor. It was drenched with blood and mud, and had a few large tears in it. Slowly, she made her way up the stairs to her apartment.
Standing in the wash room, she pulled open the curtains, letting the morning light shine across her bare body. She was shocked at the person who stared back at her in the mirror. It was definitely not Marjorie Poirier staring back at her. No, Marjorie kept her self spotless at all times. Her hair shone and her nails were kept clean. No, this girl in the mirror was not her. Standing in front of her was an absolutely disgusting sight.
The girl in front of her was covered in mud. Her knees were bloody and bruised. Her side was scraped badly and her arms were covered with finger shaped bruises. On her neck were round bruises from kisses she didn't even remember through her adrenaline cloud. Following a dried stream of blood that reached her neck, her eyes met her face. What a sight! For once she agreed with the voice. Her face was covered in blood from her nose, which was now slightly crooked. Her face was swollen and covered with scrapes. Her green eyes were surrounded by purple, presumably from her broken nose. Her blonde curls were matted with mud and stained red from blood.
After taking a bath, she returned to the mirror. She felt even worse than she looked. Even though she had gotten away before the men took advantage of her, she still felt impure. She felt like she wasn't even safe in her own home. Her hands traveled to the kissing bruises in her neck. Stolen kisses, even if they weren't on the lips. Her fingers continued to prod at the bruises gingerly until she noticed something. The familiar golden heart was missing from her neck. Her eyes scanned the room frantically. She simply couldn't have lost her mother's locket.
Digging under the sodden clothes on the floor, her hands met nothing but fabric. Her locket was gone, one of the few articles she had left from her mother. She stood and ran to her wardrobe, pulling on a dress. She might have just dropped it in the bakery, or perhaps while she was running from the men. She only hoped they didn't take it when they attacked her.