I am updating! I know it took me awhile but I am simply running about every which way and have just gotten around to updating either story today. So enjoy this because I enjoyed writing this chapter.
Rose shuddered at the touch of his hand. She looked down and cringed at the sight of long fingers and pointed finger nails. She feared they would dig into her skin again. His skin was so white he seemed almost ghostly.
"Even whores should have manners!" he said harshly and shoved her towards the arm chair. She struck the chair hard and fell. Her elbow struck the ground hard and she cried out in pain. She stared at the ground, her hair hanging in her face. She panted loudly.
"You cry out in pain yet you do not speak!" he exclaimed. She heard his light footsteps move past her. She lifted herself from the position she had fallen into and sat on the ground. She nursed her elbow. The man now sat on the sill of a window, his gaze lost on something outside.
"I did not know it was my job to speak Monsieur," she said sarcastically. His head turned sharply towards her, a smirk on his face.
"What a clever little whore you are." Rose almost stormed out but decided against it. There was no telling what this man would do. He did not look threatening. His clothes were tattered and his hair was UN kept and dirty. He looked like a beggar. His attention was once again fixated on something else. She didn't dare rise to her feet just yet. She continued to stare at him, willing him to say something. He did.
"If you are wondering what I am looking at, it is a garden. The garden is as dead and ugly as I am." These words seemed pleading somehow. Rose took this as a chance to get to her feet. She did so slowly. He did not turn to look at her. When she was on her feet she brushed herself off.
"Have I been brought here for a reason or are you just wasting my time?" she said curtly. The man was up on his feet in a heartbeat. Rose was shocked by how fast he moved. He stood in front of her now, his breath hot and retched on her face.
"You inconsiderate bitch!" he screamed and grabbed her by the arm, "I never waste anyone's time!" His fingers were digging into her arms. She could feel the circulation being cut off. She cried out in pain but this did not stop the fingers from piercing her tender flesh.
"You cry out but you do not even know pain!" he accused and let her go. She did not collapse to the floor like the time before but stood there facing the man. She did not know how to approach this situation. Men had grabbed her before but always with a clear purpose. This man seemed to have none.
"None of you know what it is like to be utterly consumed by despair," he said turning from her, "I didn't really expect you too." He seemed to be sobbing silently after these words spilled from his lips. How could a man so angry and cruel show so much emotion? Rose thought about reaching out to touch the man but she decided against it. She did not know yet know how he'd react to someone's touch.
"Monsieur, I am a prostitute. I did not mean to speak out of turn. I just assume when a man brings me to their home, whatever it may be, they expect some sort of comfort sexually," she stated, a soft and understanding tone painting her words. The man turned his head towards her, the angle unnatural and all together odd. His eyes burned with a silent intensity. Rose could not decipher whether it was lust, passion, or some emotion unknown to her.
"Your tone is kind," he said, "I did not expect this." A loud pop from the fire startled Rose. She jumped a little making the man's face break out into a wide grin. He walked to the fire place and picked up a metal pole which he stuck deep within the flames. He stood staring at for such a long time Rose was tempted to run out of the building. She did not. Soon he removed the pole and twirled it about. He took a step closer to Rose and began to move it in her direction. She gasped and jumped back. The wall met her all too soon.
The pole was now no more the a few inches from her chest. The man's eyes watched the end with an unprecedented intensity. He seemed to be willing the point towards her.
"I do not want to hurt you," he declared more to himself then Rose, "I just want someone to feel what I've felt." Rose nodded and trembled. She could feel the heat from the metal. It touched the material of her clothes and an acrid burning could be smelled. She feared the tip upon her skin.
"Please don't," she pleaded, "I will do anything." At this suggestion his face contorted. He stopped moving the point forward.
"Anything?" he asked, "That is a childish plea." She feared the burning more than anything in that moment. She waited for the sensation but was greeted by the heat moving away from her body. She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but thought better of it. He walked back over to the fireplace and placed the poker down. He scoffed loudly and retired to his arm chair.
"I also want someone to help me feel what I've never felt," he said suddenly. His presence in the room demanded attention. Rose felt drawn to him. He was a frightening man but she found him some what like a child. A foolish child who knew not what he wanted and had been denied everything he'd asked for.
"Do you know what love is Rose?" he asked her. Rose shook her head and looked to the ground. Her endless longing for love had never transcended into an actually look for it. She assumed it would come to her in time.
"No I do not," she answered. He smiled smugly and looked to the flames. She wanted to add something to her quick statement but held her tongue.
"I should have known you would be of no use to me," he sighed, "Another whore who knows only how to stir what is in a mans pants, not what is in his heart." Rose felt insulted but this but also knew it was true. She had never had a man fall in love with her.
"I may not know what love feels like Sir, but I do know what it is." He looked to her in that moment and seemed to read her like a book.
"Could you bring any love to this tired old body?" he asked. She did not know how to answer that question. Did he mean in a sexual way or some way she did not understand yet?
"I could help you," she responded. She did not know if that was what he wanted to hear or not. He nodded and looked over the side.
"I have given myself a name and you may call me by it," he told her, "It is Erik." Rose mouthed the name and nodded. She would remember. He stood and motioned towards a corner of the room shrouded in darkness. She looked toward it and peered into the black. She found a mattress in her search and moved towards it. He did not.
"Sit down." His voice was so forceful she did not even conceive of disobeying. She quietly sat on the lumpy bed and looked at the man whose name she now knew, Erik. He gave her a thoughtful glance. She wondered what went on in his head.
"I would," he began but stopped. He seemed to be conflicted. She watched him hold his head as if it hurt with a great pain. She suddenly felt that the pain she had been dealt with in her life was nothing compared to this broken soul.
"I would like to see your hair down," he finished. Rose, expecting a more lewd answer, was surprised. She nodded and took the pin that held her hair up out. The hair fell across her back in one quick motion.
"Turn to the side," he whispered, his voice full of emotion. She turned her body for him. She looked at his expression as he marveled her profile. He seemed to be deep in reminiscing.
"You can turn back to me." She did. Erik looked pleased.
"You look almost identical to her," he said with awe. Rose was confused. Who did she look almost identical too? Erik moved closer to Rose and got to his knees. He was close enough from her that she could see every scar on his face. She could all see immense pain and loneliness in his eyes. He reached a shaking hand towards her face and stopped before he touched her. The fire crackled and danced, casting eerie shadows over the two.
"I have searched the streets of Paris and beyond for someone like you," he said. Rose shivered as his icy hand touched her face. Yet, the second his hand made contact he yanked it back as if he'd been burned.
"Leave!" he cried, "Leave now!" The intensity of his plea sent Rose quickly to her feet. He walked hurriedly to a small bureau and removed some currency.
"Take it!" he cried shoving the money at her. He roughly pushed her out the door and slammed it. All this had transpired so fast Rose did not even know what had happened. Touching her face had seemed to trigger some feeling in him that was unwelcome. She looked down at the money in her hands and found it was more then before.
She walked out of the church and was greeted by the Persian.
"I will come and get you tomorrow night." Rose shook her head.
"He does not want to see me again." The Persian laughed softly and smiled at the ignorant girl.
"Oh, my dear, but he does."
