Hi everybody!
So this chapter isn't much drama, except for a mild fight between Holli and Meg in the first part. And there's a bit of Esmeralda inner conflict in this. The second part was mostly descriptions, and I hope you won't think it boring. I love to describe things in general, mostly because the way the words make something beautiful. So please don't skip over it, as it leads to CharXCindy romantic moments. I have more Char and Cindy in plan for the future, so please enjoy! If you have any questions or comments, review them or PM me. Or any ideas for the future of the story. And please, answer this question by review or PM, I don't mind.
SHOULD THERE BE A SEQUEL? Please answer this question for me ASAP. If you have an account, PM me please. If you don't, review it. I need to know!
Thank you to: Flying By Wire, Sultal, Avril Lambert, and TheLonelyMonstersCompanion for their awesome reviews. If you have a Pic Collage account, follow me Crystal_The_Awesome!
Keep reading and reviewing, guys!
-Crystal
GET HIM OUT OF HERE.
-Esmeralda
Esme dreamed of dancing.
She dreamed of swirling across the stage, barefoot, guys hooting and throwing summer flowers, girls' eyes shining with envy at her curvy figure, Phoebus beaming at her from the crowd. She dreamed of leaping and flying over everyone's heads, and imagined how she used to be—flying and dancing, flames and wind in her hair, desire in her eyes, a future stretching like a road to the promised land before her—
And then her parents died, the circus broke apart, and she was left homeless until her uncle adopted her. Then her uncle had rejected her because she wasn't able to keep up with her dancing due to an injury to her ankle, and she was homeless again—until she found prostitution and figured out that though it hurt, it would keep her alive. Then she met Phoebus, and her world flipped.
The promised land became the full heart of a homeless girl that just needed a chance to live and love.
She woke up, and she could speak.
"Water," she croaked. Her head felt like hammers were smashing against it repeatedly. The nurse by her side got her a glass. Esme downed it, and flumped back onto a pillow. "What the hell happened to me?" she breathed.
"You were dangling off of St. Peters," said the nurse with a sympathetic smile. "You were trying to commit suicide. Emily, is it?"
"Esmeralda," Esme growled. "It's Esmeralda. No suicide, no sui—" She trailed off. She couldn't make sense of her words. "I wasn't trying to—"
"Shhhh," the nurse soothed.
"I want my boyfriend."
The nurse stroked her face.
"I want my boyfriend!" Esme made her voice a little louder. It hurt her brain, and she reached forward and smacked the nurse. "Get him, he's in the waiting room, I know he is. Phoebus wouldn't leave me. Get him. PHOEBUS!"
The nurse grabbed her wrists and began to click emergency buttons on her walkie talkie. Soon the doctor had come in and strapped her wrists to the sides of the bed, and they were talking in hushed voices as she screamed it out for her boyfriend on her bed. She kept trying to think back. Was she trying to commit suicide?
Her head hurt to think. She stopped her screaming and was quiet.
Blackness everywhere.
Trying to swallow her.
The clock was ticking, each tick was weird, it wasn't equal. WHY WASN'T IT EQUAL?
Dancers danced around it, and then each one went up in flames. The final dancer that went up in flames was her.
The flames consumed her and a man with white hair held the flames in his hands.
Then he crushed the flame.
"You have a visitor, Miss Esme."
It wasn't Phoebus. It was an old man with white hair and bishop robes.
"This is Reverend Frollo," said the nurse with a bright smile. "He was on scene of the accident when you fell, and was nice enough to take time out of his day to call the police."
Esme stared at the man. She had seen him before.
The man smiled. "Hello, Esmeralda. You do remember me, don't you? You prayed in my church, and we spoke briefly about atonement for your sins."
The scream that followed was loud and made Esmeralda's head-hammer go boom, boom, boom.
Who the hell is screaming, she remembered thinking. Make them stop.
But judging my the bewildered expression on the face of the nurse, and the sweet desiring expression on Reverend Frollo's face, Esmeralda knew it was her who was screaming.
"Oh, Reverend Frollo," the nurse began. "Sorry, but I don't think Miss Esmeralda is at her very best mood today."
"It's alright," said Frollo, managing to strike up a disappointed look on his wrinkled parchment face. "I'll come back tomorr—"
"NO!" Esmeralda hollered. "No, you will not come back tomorrow! You will never return, do you understand me? You're the reason, you're the cause! You're a rapist! You tried to do this to me! You tried to kill me, you tried to sexually assault me! You deserve to be in JAIL, you ASSHOLE, you worthless little piece of crap, you—"
The nurse ushered Frollo out the door and shut it, her mouth a grim line. She stared at Esmeralda.
Suddenly, there was knock at the door. A guy with blonde hair stood out there.
"Phoebus," Esme breathed. She saw his gorgeous eyes, and spotted two girls behind him, along with a short-ish rather deformed guy with tufts of reddish hair atop his head.
The nurse opened the door. Phoebus rushed in, rather clumsily. "Esme," he whispered, kissing her hands repeatedly. Esme ran her hands through his hair while Holli and Meg and Quasi lingered near the foot of the bed. Phoebus squeezed her hands between his, pecking her on the forehead over and over again. "What's happened? Do you remember what has happened?"
"What happened?" Esme sucked in air. "Phoebus—"
"Sir," the nurse interrupted. "It is the doctor's orders not to upset Miss Esmeralda in any w—"
"I'm her boyfriend, for God's sake," spat Phoebus. "I know what I'm doing, Nurse."
The nurse bit her lip.
"Do you remember anything that happened?" Meg demanded. "Anything? I mean, were you trying to commit suicide, sweetie?"
Esmeralda shook her head slowly. "It's all weird. It's—I was in St. Peters. Because the Reverend there asked me to pray for my sins or I had a spot secured for me in hell."
Meg and Quasi exchanged nervous glances.
"And?" Holli sounded skeptical, and Phoebus continued to smooth Esme's curly black hair off her dark forehead.
"And," Esme continued. "I remember going upstairs for some reason. Up a long flight of stairs. And the Reverend—it was in his room. And then he...he tried to rape me." Her voice was soft, as if the Reverend could hear and would sweep back in and curse her forever—or worse, try to rape her again.
"Is she suffering from mental illness or what?" Holli demanded to the bewildered nurse.
"Holli!" hissed Meg. "What the hell is wrong with you? Shut up!"
Holli pressed her pouty pink lips together. "She's talking shit. Rapist reverends? Now even Flynn Rider himself couldn't come up with bull like that."
"It's not bull, you whor—" Esme tried to be indignant about Holli, but her head hurt too much.
"She's had a bad fall—" Quasi began.
"No." Meg raised a hand for silence, and the Bronson Gang was quiet. Meg strode forward, slowly, purposefully, and knelt down next to Esmeralda. "We've been best friends for a long time," she murmured. "And I know when what you're saying is bull, and when what you're saying is true. And I believe you."
Esme's face flooded with relief. "You do?"
Meg nodded. "There's something off about that reverend guy."
"Oh, puh-leeze, Meg!" Holli stood up, wearing her usual skintight clothing. Meg couldn't see how Holli could move around in that getup. Holli was glaring, her blue eyes slits, her pink wide lips pouty and full.
"She's not lying!" Meg hissed.
"She's insane, she was in a coma!" Holli barked. "She may not be lying, but she's out of her mind and talking shit."
"Am not!" Esme insisted from lying on the bed.
The nurse quavered and moved towards the wall a bit.
Meg was shaking with anger. "What do you propose happened, Holli? That she was trying to commit suicide?"
"I don't know!" Holli snapped. "Maybe she was fed up with her life as a prostitute and wanted to die!"
"SHE is right here!" Esmeralda yelled, sweat beads rolling down her forehead, which the nurse stared nervously at. "and I think SHE gets a say in this! I'm not crazy, and I'm telling you, the Reverend was feeling me up! And I jumped off the roof to get away from him."
On the screen that displayed her heart rate, the beeping steadily grew faster. Esmeralda was overheating herself.
The nurse stepped forward. "Kids, you're going to need to leave. Miss Esmeralda—as you can see on the screen—is getting a bit overwhelmed with all the action."
Meg ignored the nurse. "I'm gonna go have a talk with that reverend. If he tries to force a bunch of religion on me and tries to make me...I dunno...convert or something, I will rip him apart. I know he did something."
Phoebus furrowed his brow. "Meg—how are you so sure?"
Meg watched Esmeralda blink. Two twin tears snaked down her cheeks out of her emerald green eyes. "She's my best friend. I believe her."
Esmeralda smiled. Suddenly, the screen began blinking wildly.
The nurse gasped, grabbed her walkie talkie, and began screaming medical words into it.
"OUT!" she shrieked at the Bronson Gang. "Get OUT!"
They were ushered out by the nurse about to have a fit, and they watched Esmeralda's body go limp and rigid on the hospital bed.
Holli marched away.
"Holli!" Meg yelled. "Holli, you have to help me with this."
"Bitch." Holli spat, and continued walking briskly away.
Meg grabbed her thin arm and spun her around, almost making the tall blonde fall over. "What the hell?" Holli shrieked, trying to pull her arm away.
Meg held on. "If you want to save Esmeralda's life," Meg hissed. "You will come and talk to the Reverend with me."
Holli pulled away and began marching down the white hallway. Her pink heels went clickety-clack against the tile floor.
"Holli!" shouted Meg. "I thought you cared about Esme!"
Holli stopped in her tracks. Meg saw her shoulders shake. Her knees buckled, and for a second, Meg spotted a bit of human in Holli.
Holli, the girl that seemed too obsessed with sex to care about anything else, who always argued with Meg, who had a snide or rude comment ready at bay to fire, who smirked at those who were "less gifted" then she. Meg knew that she still loved Esme, and that she had a bit of a human heart in her because she had sacrificed that bracelet to Clopin to get the money Esme needed for surgery.
Then Holli straightened up and strode down the hallway. They saw her shove the hospital doors and leave.
"Do you think she'll ever talk to you again?" asked Quasi timidly to Meg.
Meg let out a little sniffle. "I don't care. I'm going to go talk to the Reverend."
"I-I'll come with you," Phoebus offered. "In case you need some manly backup."
Meg snorted and started off down another hallway towards a green-tinged waiting room. "Quasi, you coming?"
Quasi was hovering in the middle of the hallway. He hesitated, then shook his head. "Let me go talk to Holli. Maybe I can make things better with her and you."
Meg let him go. Quasimodo was the peacemaker in their group, and he was great at smoothing over quarrels that Meg and Holli had. Within no time, they would be best friends again with Quasi's magic.
But this time, Meg wasn't so sure.
She's just a self-centered little slut, Meg thought with contempt, and then she followed Phoebus into the waiting room.
She had a Reverend to see.
A dream is a wish your heart makes.
-Cindy
Char had drove Cindy in his blue Toyota Prius down into a rich neighborhood known as Newbury Park, onto a narrow street called Lakewood Drive, following a pretty line of big mansions. At the end of the street was the Wilson house, the biggest mansion of all. In Cindy's opinion, Char's house was the nicest. In the front yard alone, there was a pond, ringed with stones in shades of grays, silvers, and whites with a pearly hue to each one. The sun had come out and was shining into the water, its rays glinting off the calm, still surface. Flowers filled the lush green gardens, wind whipped through draping weeping willows and bridal cherry trees. Apple blossom trees grew in the Wilsons' backyard, surroundde by buttercups, daisies, and assorted flowers Cindy couldn't name off the top of her head.
Char opened the door for her.
"God, Char!" Cindy gasped. "This is your house?"
"This is it," Char admitted, helping her out of the Prius. "Do you like it?"
"I'm in heaven," whispered Cindy. "This is beyond what I imagined, Char. I love it!"
"Wait till you see your room." Char grinned. "I mean, I thought you should have your own room since—"
"Sure." Cindy smiled. She understood his insecurities perfectly—she had plenty of her own insecurities and problems after being practically locked away.
Her only thought was Peter. How Peter would love to walk through the hallways of Char's giant home, how he'd love to sit underneath the apple blossom trees and carve with wood. How when he was little he'd make up pretend games outside, that he was the leader of a group of orphan boys known as the Lost Boys, and how they'd all hunt for treasure throughout the Tremaines' giant backyard. But even the Tremaine Manor was nothing compared to this.
Char took Cindy's hand and led her to the giant oak front door. He opened it, and allowed her to step inside. Cindy gaped at the luxurious interior. A sparkling hall led to a mammoth kitchen, with a stone fireplace and chintz armchairs by the large picture window. Char jerked out his chin. "Go ahead," he pointed. "Right down the hallway. Check out the rooms."
Cindy gasped as she checked out the kitchen and the surrounding rooms. Char took her hand gently. "I know it's not very modern, is it?" he asked, almost apologetically. "It's quite old fashioned. This house has been in my family for generations. I mean, we were thinking of remodeling—"
"This is the most beautiful house I've ever seen." Cindy shook her head. "It's amazing." Cindy glanced around the giant kitchen once more. It had marble counters, granite islands, and a radio playing classical music, perched on a wooden parson's bench.
"From a yard sale," said Char, laughing. "It doesn't fit in with the rest of the kitchen, I know."
Cindy loved it anyway.
Char walked to the windows, sliding them open. "They're actually doors," he explained. "They lead out to our pool deck." Cindy saw the pool filled with sunlit cerulean water, and chairs overlooking the apple blossoms in the backyard.
"That's the dining room." Char pointed to the left.
Mellow sunlight filtered through the glass windows and flooded past the kitchen to reveal a long grand table, covered with a white tablecloth, with red and blue candles in the middle, along with bright ceiling lights. Cindy sucked in air. The whole shebang—the candles, the bright lights, the white tablecloth, the windows letting in sunshine—gave the room a romantic and relaxing air, the perfect atmosphere to eat dinner, unlike when she was a servant, when she had to eat on the stairs with the bugs and spiders and her slobbery dog, Pluto, whom Peter had adopted.
"Our den." Char pointed to the left again, the largest room of all. A ceiling that sloped higher than the heavens, paintings and black and white photos covering the white walls. There was eggshell white furniture filling the room—armchairs and sofas and a lounge chair as well. The carpet was bright white and fluffy. Cindy ran onto it, running her hands through the furriness f it, as if she were petting soft cat fur.
Cindy pointed at a series of giant tapestries hanging off the wall.
"My dad—he likes to hunt," said Char, blushing. "They're hunting scenes. One of the maids is really good at embroidery—she made it for him. They're his victory scenes."
"They're quite gory," Cindy remarked, watching blood spurt out of the wounded neck of a giant stag twice the size of the small balding round man that was waving a long rifle. "That's your dad, is it?"
"That's my dad. King Jacob Wilson the Third. The one and only." Char grinned. "We call him Jack."
Cindy smiled. "I'd love to meet him."
"After," Char took her arm. "you see your new room, Cindy. You're going to love it. When my mom's niece lived here on commute to her college, she stayed there, and my mom had it all decorated and stuff. She loved to renovate. And we have a lot of guest rooms, feel free to invite family once in a while."
Cindy's smile twitched downward. "I've got no family besides Alice, her sister Louise, and Peter."
Char led her up the stairs. "Wellll, feel free to invite Alice, Louise and Peter anytime."
Char opened the door at the end of a hallway and directed Cindy inside. Once inside, he shut th door promptly.
Cindy gasped loudly, her hands flying to her mouth in delighted surprise.
The walls, which were a soft white color like the den downstairs, had all sorts of photographs and paintings of nature plastered onto them. The floor was wooden and still, and on top of it, right in front of a white dresser with gold knobs, lay a light blue fuzzy rug. The walls were dark blue on the ceiling, in sharp contrast to the white of the walls. The bed was larger than anything at the Tremaine house, with white bedsheets and a big coverlet with gold criss-crosses on it.
A set of white French doors opened up onto a balcony, which had a view of the city. On the windows hung light blue silk curtains to match the rug. Cindy just stood there, tears leaking out of her eyes. "Ch-char, it's beautiful!" she managed to get out at last.
"Flowers," Char said awkwardly, pointing to a little round wooden table near the windows. A blue jug sat on it, full of water, with apple blossoms sticking out. "Uh, they're for you. I went out and picked them because you were coming, and I wanted you to feel at home. D'ya like your room?"
"YES!" Cindy cried, wrapping her arms around Char's neck and kissing him passionately.
He walked over to the bed, carrying her, and they flopped down onto it. Char lay on top of her, raking his arms through her golden hair. She pushed her fingers against his temples, making dents in his skin, their lips joining them together. Char's tongue begged for passage into her mouth, and she let him in eagerly. He rubbed up and down her torso, sitting on top of her and kissing her all over the face. She cupped his face in her hands and traced his jawline rather roughly with the tip of her finger. Fueled by love and desire and want, the two teenagers made out on the bed.
Suddenly, there was a light knock on the door and it opened, a short round man standing in the doorway. "Hello—" he began, and then stopped when he saw the two of them lying in the bed.
Cindy saw him first, and her blue eyes widened. She pulled Char's face forcibly off hers and jerked her chin at the old man. The old man looked shock.
"Um." Char cleared his throat and slid off the bed.
Cindy slid out as well, meekly, straightening out her dress. She didn't know who this man was. She felt she had seen him before, but couldn't place a finger on it.
"Father," Char greeted the man.
The man's eyes were glued to Cindy.
Cindy flinched. Of course she had to make a fool of herself in front of Char's dad. And she knew where she recognized him from: the tapestries downstairs.
The man weaved around Char and stretched out his hand. "Jacob Wilson the Third."
Cindy gave him a big warm smile. "Cindy Tremaine. Er, the first."
Char grinned when she said that. Cindy flushed. Was that wrong?
Jacob Wilson smiled too. He took her hand. "So. You're my son's new friend, are you?" He shot a sneaky glance at Char. "A day hasn't gone by when he hasn't spoken of you." Jacob smirked. "In fact, you should have heard those damn descriptions, Cindy the First. 'Hair the color of spun gold, eyes that shine bright like stars.'"
Cindy burst out laughing. It wasn't near true. Cindy knew how ragged she looked. She was near starved thin, with knobbly knees. Her face was thin and tired and haggard, and she knew it. She was hungry and her hair was probably dirty. She hadn't had a proper hot shower in forever, and she probably smelled like something out of someone's gym locker that had been left in there for centuries. But Jacob kindly did not show his notice of her smells or her tired looks. And as for the "hair like spun gold," Cindy knew her hair was a light dirt brown that was probably dying for a proper wash. With shampoo and conditioner. Ohhhhh.
"So, Cindy the First," said Jacob with a grin that resembled Char's wide toothy smile very much, "How about we get some food into you, lass? Would you like that?"
"Please," Cindy said with a sharp intake of breath, trying not to sound half-starved. "But, Mr. Wilson, do you mind if I take a shower first? I'm a little tired."
"Whatever you want," said Jacob. "But please call me Jacob."
Cindy ducked her head bashfully.
"Get her some of Clarice's stuff," Jacob ordered Char. "Leftover from when she left for Nebraska. Hurry."
Char came back with a black and white spotted tank top and white baggy shorts. "Will this be okay, Cindy?"
This must be Char's mom's niece's clothes, Cindy realized. "It will be perfect, Char. Thank you." She looked at Jacob. "When do you want me to come down for dinner?"
"Dinner is whenever," Jacob said with a smile. "We'll be downstairs. Take your time, Cindy the First."
Cindy nodded and headed for the bathroom. For such a giant and regal house, it seemed they had no rules. And Cindy loved that about this place.
She stepped into the bathroom, which smelled like tangerines, and nearly pulled off her dirty clothes. Even before the Execution, she and Char had wanted to hang out, so Char had taken them straight to a hotel room, where they had stayed till the Execution. Most of the roads had been blocked for some random futuristic government reason that Cindy thought was stupid.
She stood there naked, staring at her underfed body, pale and milky. She pulled her hair out of its elegant updo, and let it flow down slightly past her shoulders. She fluffed her bangs, still watching her naked body move in the mirror, and blinked her wide blue eyes, framed by long lashes.
"My best feature," Cindy said out loud. "Are my eyes."
She couldn't find anything else pretty about her. Maybe a meal and a hot shower would get her into better shape. She wished she could actually be the girl she was again. She wished Lady Tremaine, Anastasia and Drisella were never born. But then she bit her lip. It was wrong to think those thoughts. Especially now that I have such a good life ahead of me.
Cindy pulled past the shower curtain and turned on the faucet, turning the dial all the way to the red strip that indicated hot water. Cindy waited till the steam fogged up the entire mirror and stray steam that had escaped the shower curtain drifted through the bathroom, misting her vision, and then she stepped in.
She couldn't stop herself from crying out in sheer delight. "Ahhh!" she moaned, stretching her arms out wide and walking in circles in the porcelain tub under the warm relaxing spray of the shower.
She removed the showerhead from the top and sprayed all over her body, pressed it to her shoulders and moved it down her flat stomach, down along her legs, and finally just let the tub slowly fill with hot water and laid down until the water was up to her chin.
Cindy lay in their soaking, rubbing her smooth arms and legs with Dove soap. She washed everywhere, behind her ears, between her toes, behind her legs, under her arms, all around her neck and scrubbed her face especially well. She made sure her hair was wet and lathered with shampoo and conditioner, washed it all out, and then drained the water and just stood there, laughing with delight.
This so beat cold well water.
Cindy stepped out of the shower, wrapped a linen towel around herself, arranged her hair best she could, and checked herself out in the mirror.
She looked at herself. She felt good, and she looked good. Those two went hand in hand with her. Her hair was soft with shampoo and conditioner and matted down. After she brushed it out, it would be luxurious and volumous, no longer thin and dirty. She smiled at herself. She looked happy, and she looked good.
For the first time in forever, Cindy let herself smile.
So, like it, hate it, love it?
Guys, now that you read all the way down to this Author's Note, just leave a review. It can be something like "Awesome Job" "Love it" or "Cool Descriptions," all three, or a long detailed essay. Idk. (I LOVE reading those). But please leave a review! They make my day, and usually I respond to them in the next chapter.
As usual, my rule remains. 3+ reviews and the next chapter will be posted. PS, don't you just LOVE Cindy and Char in this chapter?
And please, if you have read this chapter, answer my question: YES OR NO TO A SEQUEL?
Bye, love you guys!
-Crystal