Author's Note

.｡｡*ﾟi hope you're staying safe and being kind to yourself! .｡｡*ﾟ

And we're back to the present! Well, 1899 :)

Love youuu 💗

𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚 ️

MANHATTAN 1899

"Sophie...Sophie..." Spot nudged the sleeping girl next to him. He was naked from the waist up, his trousers misbuttoned, his eyes reddened. He made no attempt to locate his shirt, leaning over to shake Sophie.

The girl looked peaceful, splayed out, asleep.

"Soph," Spot repeated, close to her ear. "Your brother's here."

Sophie's eyes opened, looking more than a bit startled. Her eyes whipped around, and down at herself, realizing she was only in her undergarments. Sunlight poured in from the window of Spot's room in the Brooklyn lodging house, alerting Sophie to her surroundings. When had they gone inside? Had he carried her?

"I'm fucking with you," Spot replied, meeting her worried gaze. "But you do need to get out of here. Mr. Dunn will thrash me again if he finds you up here."

Sophie looked around for a moment, getting her bearings, her long hair in a tangled mess. "I'm so hungry," she mumbled, wanting to crawl under the blankets again and go back to sleep.

"Soph, come on," Spot grabbed her dress and stockings from the floor. "Here," he said, handing her the items.

Sophie stared down at them, then up at Spot. "You're so mean to me," she sighed, still half-asleep. "You're so mean, and for what?"

Spot ignored her, rising from the bed, and opening the window to the fire escape. His demeanor felt off. He was being cold again, that, Sophie could sense. Coldness, she could deal with that. His range of moodiness always had a beginning, a middle, and an end, but the duration of the chronology was unpredictable. That was the simple truth of it.

Spot wasn't acquainted with "human" compassion, he wasn't always pleasant to be around, and was by no means ideal marriage material. If she was being honest with herself, Sophie knew him to be troubled, detached, compulsive, and sarcastic, yet he made everything he did seem effortless. And there was something about that...something Sophie liked.

They didn't have much in common, aside from the fact that they were both children of immigrants — Spot's parents had hailed from the North of Ireland — and Spot had been friends with Jack since they were twelve. But Sophie and Spot were so opposite it was a wonder they could put up with each other most nights. They spent the various evenings bickering back and forth and exchanging fiery jabs until it would become clear that they'd forgotten what had started the argument. It was as if every second was used to speak over one another until it turned into a barrage of eye rolling and colorful insults.

It was an art form. Both were strategic yet disorganized, prideful, and yet self-critical, trustworthy yet flighty. Sophie would go after his attitude, his nonchalance, his lack of shame. Spot, in turn, would point out that she knew nothing of the world, and that she shouldn't bother acting so high and mighty. It was a mystery why either of them stayed.

"Spot," Sophie said, fastening her boot laces over the side of the bed, noting Spot's stoic demeanor. She could hear his superintendent yelling downstairs as boys grabbed a quick breakfast from the kitchen. "What do you think of me?"

Spot was surprised by her question and muttered a few words to himself.

She watched him, exasperated.

Didn't he have anything honest to say beyond the usual clichés about her body?

"Wait, you're being serious? We're talking about this?" he asked, before leaning against the window frame. And then he started and didn't stop. As though reciting a prayer learned by heart, one he knew with his eyes closed.

"First off," he said, "you're never satisfied. Here's proof: I tell you how pretty you are and it's never enough. You think you know everything, you're arrogant, you're a contrarian, you're always late, you're unreasonable, you're impatient, I've never heard you say 'thank you' ever, and you walk around the city barefoot. Even in the rain," he paused, as if to see if he forgot anything. "And you're a little messed up in the head, like your brother."

He didn't yell the last part, but Sophie felt like he'd screamed it at her.

"Could be worse," Spot shrugged. "At least you're not like that little Marie Antoinette friend of yours that Blink had to put up with."

Sophie knew he was referring to Leah. She snatched her dress. In her hands, it felt more like a weighted blanket than thin calico material. She traced the little complicated seam tears as if it were a path through the jungle of her idiosyncrasies. And she couldn't fight the looming idea that she would have to battle her way, keep up appearances, without stumbling, without looking like she's asking herself too many questions.

Punch him in the face.

No, wrong choice. Sophie knew she'd end up using her anger as a pretext for letting out all her emotions. Her temper could turn into tears.

Did this boy standing across from her realize how difficult it was to be a girl with hopes on her own in this city? She continued her stroll through the stitching, calming herself.

Roll your eyes and flip him off.

The problem was that every gesture would take on a particular meaning. Spot was watching her as if he were painting her, recording her movements forever: the way in which she brushed away loose strands of hair, and in turn brushed away her feelings while doing so, and that moment of vanity where she fixes her braid in the mirror past him as if he isn't there. He was analyzing her. Confused, a tad nervous, confrontational. Maybe he sensed the difficulty she was having making up her mind. But she didn't want to reveal too soon the war she was waging in silence. Perhaps one day, later, he'd find out that she only allows herself to cry in solitude, but for now, he must believe that she's an emotionless doll. Better to give him a taste of his own medicine, portraying the image of a femme fatale and letting him believe that this is her approach to all that life throws her way.

Storm out in silence.

Sophie's finger scrolled down many seams on this damned dress. She couldn't find an admirable way out, and she was angry at herself. For there, in his little room, time was running out, the breeze from the open window brushed against her, the superintendent was coming up the stairs, and she knew she would have to come to a decision. And so, she figured she would brave the danger with an act of arrogance. She would take the high road.

"You think I'm pretty," she mused, as if that were all he said. She hoped the superintendent didn't hear her voice from out in the corridor, ending the whole thing.

Spot looked up, surprised again, and Sophie savored the effect it had on him. Of course, she had no idea why she focused on that instead of all the negative things he had listed. In her mind, she smiled. No matter, she would change the subject quick enough for him to not notice that she'd enjoyed his compliment. The superintendent then opened the door, and upon seeing Sophie, turned to Spot.

"She's just leaving," Spot said.

And in a flash, the whole scene crumbled. Oh God, Sophie thought. Her eyes were opened, and she realized that he'd wanted her gone the whole morning. She knew then she'd finish dressing, grab her satchel, then leave out the front door in a matter of seconds. And she would never come back. Bastard.

An overpowering sense of sadness washed over her as she stepped out into the city. The gloomy color of the morning sky matched her mood. And for no reason she could think of, she felt a sudden surge of grief. In the blink of an eye, it seemed, lost memories and smells came flooding back, reminding her of loved ones who were no longer there. And time passing by.

It never lasted long, but this mood took her away from the world for a few instants and gave her that absent-minded, absorbed look she had every now and again — a look that Jack often had. The look of a dreamer.

Slouching into a chair on the patio of Tibby's restaurant, she sat alone, not waiting for anyone. She ignored the discarded newspaper left on the table by the previous patron, gazing so far off into the distance that her surroundings were a blur, and she didn't even hear the noises around her.

Sophie watched as the neighborhood unfolded before her and happy people hurried by. She sighed and let their voices drown out her thoughts.

Her lone figure walked out from under the awning as crowds rushed to get their breakfast. Her hair was a bit disheveled and she could still taste the alcohol from last night. As she headed to Medda's, her heart was breaking, but she didn't know why. It's not like she was in love with Spot.

Sophie heard someone call to her as she entered the theater, but she wasn't listening. All she could think about was going back to sleep.

She blamed her sensitivity on the fading sunlight of the overcast morning. It was as though the world's troubles were flowing through her. She didn't want to talk and climbed the stairs to the bedroom she shared with Leah, Colleen, and Bella, wanting to stay there until the sun had set.

"Morning," Colleen nudged Sophie as the tired girl schlepped to her bed.

Sophie just groaned, flinging herself face down onto the mattress. "I want to die."

Colleen nodded, wiping off makeup in the mirror from last night and braiding her hair into long plaits. "I'm not feeling well either. You were right. I can't handle my liquor, apparently."

Sophie rolled over onto her back, rubbing her puffy eyes. "What time did you get back here last night? I asked Cards to make sure you were safe."

"Thanks. He and the boys walked us. We left maybe an hour after you did. I fell asleep right away," she said with a little sigh. "Leah was all over Shakespeare. She ended up going back to his place for the night."

"Well, we saw that coming," Sophie mumbled. "Where's Bella?"

"She's around. Downstairs, I think."

The theater that morning was primarily empty and quiet. A few patrons were hanging about, sitting in the balcony, in the cardinal velvet seats in the subdued light of day. Perhaps they were lost from last night.

Sophie hugged in her bare arms as a pillow, burying her pale face. A ray of light, gliding in under a curtain, rendered visible rosewood furniture, and hangings and chairbacks of figured damask with a pattern of big blue flowers on a grey ground.

She looked at Bella's neatly made bed next to hers. Colleen opened the outer shutters. A flood of daylight entered. Sophie sat up groggily, as if remembering something. "I'm meeting Jack for breakfast," she said. "Him and some girl. He likes her, I guess. A proper lady, apparently."

Colleen curled up in a ball on her own bed. "That sounds like a fun afternoon."

Sophie got up and stretched her slender arms, arching her back. She inspected herself in the mirror: the slightly reddened eyes, making blue irises stand out, the pouty lips, the button nose. Outwardly, she looked as fragile as a little deer. On the inside, her mind was screaming.

She brushed her tangled hair, restoring it to something decent.

Sophie slid aside the curtain, opening the window. "I don't feel like talking to anyone today."

"How's Spot?" Colleen asked.

Sophie didn't reply. How was Spot? Sophie didn't know where to begin.

"I can barely speak to him. I can't imagine sleeping with him," Colleen went on. "Leah did, once. A year or so ago. She said he's far too rough for her liking. That true?"

Sophie changed the subject. "Leah seems to be doing much better. Everything with Blink…I'm glad she found a way to take her mind off it."

"I know," Colleen sighed. "Maybe Shakespeare's the kind of guy she needs. He's nice enough. Definitely more mature."

"Yeah."

"Bella wasn't drinking much, at least not that I saw," Colleen mused aloud. "Do you think she's pregnant?"

Sophie concealed her smirk. Bella was the most cautious of all of them. "Uh-uh. Bella?"

"She hasn't been looking well."

"She's just as worried about the strike as I am."

"Did you see the way she was looking at Marquette? She's enamored with him, it's so obvious," Colleen laughed. "Too bad he has a wife. Not like that's ever stopped anyone before."

Sophie chewed on her lip as Colleen rambled. "Oh, I don't think so," Sophie replied.

"Really? She's so in love with him, it's hard to watch."

Rolling her eyes, Sophie pursed her lips, forcing herself to hold back her words. She knew something Colleen didn't, something she'd known about Bella for a while now. But it was something Bella didn't like to talk about, and she made that clear to Sophie.

"I gotta go, or I'll be late," Sophie mumbled, giving one last look in the mirror, and waving to Colleen. "Be back in an hour or so."

Tibby's looked different during the day. A small stream of arriving customers smiled and greeted one another along the way.

Sophie head pounded. She felt like she'd just run a marathon.

Sophie looked around, checking her reflection in the window for any mis-matched buttons on her dress before she finally glanced up at the door with an air of cynicism and nervousness. "Nothing to be worried about. Just go in there," she mumbled to herself. "Go in there, you coward."

At the entrance, Sophie suddenly bumped into a pretty brunette coming around the corner. She snapped her small coin purse shut, seemingly alarmed, and then gave out a sweet laugh upon seeing Sophie. She looked to be a year or so older than Sophie, and that smile was infectious. Sophie thought her to be a bit overly giddy.

"Sophie Kelly?" The girl guessed, her beam only shining brighter when Sophie nodded. "Oh, I thought I could see the resemblance! You're just darling!"

"Oh, um—" Sophie stammered as the girl pulled her in for a sudden hug. Sophie let herself slowly wrap her arms around this stranger. "Thank you?" She replied, feigning flattery. "You're Sadie?"

The girl pulled back, looking a bit crushed but managed to keep her smile. "Sarah," she replied, her eyes looking a bit hurt.

"Right. It's nice to meet you. Is my brother with you?"

Sarah took Sophie's arm in hers. "He got us a table by the window. I hope you're hungry," she explained, wasting no time in pulling Sophie along. "I've been really looking forward to meeting you. I hope we can become the best of friends," she gushed, squeezing Sophie's arm.

Sophie raised her eyebrows, her head starting to spin. "I'm starving," was all she said.

At the cramped little table, Sophie took her seat across from Sarah and her brother. He'd already ordered for her: an egg and cheese omelet.

Sophie lit a cigarette, jabbing at the omelet with her fork, wondering how her brother was paying for this.

"Really wish you'd let me pay for my own food, Jack," she said absently to her brother without so much as a hello. Truth be told, she was still upset with him about the confrontation from the other day. "I have some left over—"

"It's on me today," Sarah smiled, brushing her hair out of her face.

Sophie looked up, startled. She met Jack's sheepish gaze, and he offered his sister a 'play nice' smile. "Oh, shit," Sophie replied, her eyes widening. "Jack you oughta hold onto her. Didn't know she was a Rockefeller."

Sarah tried to laugh and Jack cleared his throat, leaning forward and kicking Sophie under the table.

"Sarah, what do you do?" Sophie asked, wincing from the kick.

"I work for Drysdale Garments," she said, setting down her spoonful of plain oatmeal. "My mother is one of the foreladies."

"Sounds important," Sophie nodded.

"I don't know, I guess," Sarah mused. "It's only temporary. I really want to be nurse. But that requires night school, and…well, that's expensive."

"You can say that again," Sophie mumbled, dizzily knocking over her fork, getting another tap on her shoe from Jack.

"Are you hungover?" Jack asked.

Sophie barked out an incredulous laugh. "What? No?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "So, what did you do last night, Soph? Anything you want to tell me about? Racetrack said he saw you here."

"Oh, Jack, let her be," Sarah nudged him. "She's a big girl."

All the while Sophie stared at Jack with daggers in her eyes.

"She's right, Jack," Sophie said. "Leave me alone."

Jack just looked at her and shrugged his shoulders. He didn't care to fight her on it. "Sophie, I told you to be more careful," he said through a forced smile. "Lot of bad people come here after hours. I don't want you mixed up in it. So, tell me honestly. Were you here last night? Drinking?"

"What? Where is this coming from?" Sophie laughed, feeling her cheeks flush. "I wasn't, I promise. I just went out with the girls, that's all."

"Well, I can smell the alcohol from here," Jack said, rolling his eyes. "Should've thought of that before you lied."

Sophie rubbed her temples. "Jack, please. I'm here, I'm present," she said with closed eyes, forcing a strained smile. "I ain't lying."

"Okay, so you're lying again," Jack muttered under his breath. "Nice, Soph, real nice."

Sophie gulped down her water, glaring at Jack. Sarah looked uncomfortable, sitting back in her chair, trying to rationalize how things went so wrong so fast. She fretted she'd done something wrong but didn't know what.

"What am I supposed to say?" Sophie grumbled. "What, you want me to tell Sarah that I'm some floozie and you're ashamed I'm your sister?"

Jack shook his head, chuckling in annoyance. "I don't know. Maybe I just want you to act right, for once. Try to be a lady. Have a little self-respect."

"Oh, shut up! I have self-respect! God forbid I drink a little! Well, I showed up today, didn't I? Let it go!"

"Let it go?" Jack snapped. "Are you kidding me? Do you know people are talking about you? Do you know how embarrassing it is for me to hear that sort of stuff? Coming from my friends?"

"It's embarrassing for you?" Sophie yelled, making a few customers look over. Sarah tried to smile at them, hoping they would mind their business.

"No, I'm the one going out there and making sure this strike even has numbers!" Sophie spat, her eyes reddening. "Do you have any idea how exhausting it is? I'm trying to end the strike faster, and we won't be able to do that if you don't have strikers! Well, fine, I'm sorry I'm not as pure and pristine as Miss Drysdale Garments over here! I didn't realize how hard it was for you!"

"Don't you bring her into this!" Jack pounded the table, making Sarah jump. "Leave Sarah alone! At least she has the dignity for honest work! She has ambition to better herself, and what do you have? A place in Spot Conlon's bed? If it's not already been filled by another girl?"

"Jesus Christ, why can't you just say thank you?" Sophie whimpered, her head reeling from all the yelling. "I'm the reason he's even joining the strike!"

Jack said nothing, glaring at Sophie in a way that made her feel small. Without a response, Sophie stood up from the table. "You know what? I don't care anymore. I'm leaving."

She threw her napkin down on the table. "Thank you for breakfast, Sarah," she mumbled, turning, and heading for the door. Jack shook his head and jumped up from the table, calling her name and chasing after her.

"Don't you walk away from me, Sophie Clare!" He hurried to catch up. "Where are you going? You don't get to just leave whenever your confronted about something. You can't keep doing that. I'm trying to have a conversation with you!"

He dashed out the door, almost colliding into a waiter. Sophie whipped around to face him outside the restaurant. "Whatever, Jack, it's not like you care about me!" She fired back, turning away, and walking into the street.

"Don't say that, Sophie! Don't you dare twist my words like that!" Jack shouted after her. "I love—"

But she was already out of earshot, across the street and a million miles away.