A Winter's Night

Emerald

I stared out my window, watching the breeze swaying the trees. I longed for freedom, friendship, and love. Turning from the window, I laughed pathetically at myself. Who was I kidding? I'd never be free from this prison.

"Girl! Where are you" My father was calling to me, his words slurred. "Don't you know we have customers?" Lifting my skirts, I swayed out of my room. If I simply walked, I'd for sure get a beating. The room was filled with whistles and the stench of alcohol. I noticed, as I did everytime I entered the pub, where the men were looking at me. Father forced me to wear a strip of cloth that's hardly called a dress. It revealed a little more of me than I would have liked.

My father was at a table with four other men, all of them laughing and sneering at me. Father motioned me to get another round for the lot of them. As I was sashaying my way to their center table with the five mugs of ale, I was stopped with a jolt.

A burly man with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes gripped my wrist. He pulled me against him as he stood, my scantily clad body pressed firmly to his. He forced his ugly face just inches from mine, and snarled. His teeth were yellow and black, and his breath was vile.

"Well, you're a pretty little thing." His voice was hideous. It was everything I could do not to vomit at the stench of his rotting mouth. "How 'bout giving me a little taste." Before I knew it, his retched mouth was forced upon mine. I couldn't break free, and I heard hiccuped laughter in the background.

"Let me go." I hissed under my breath once I broke my tender lips from his forceful ones. I knew I would get a beating for that. Father said I had to do whatever the customers wanted, even if it meant sacrificing my virtue. Anything for the publicity.

I didn't care, though. Any other night, I would have accepted my vile fate-I would have let them lead me to the back rooms or give them some "fun" until they passed out-but not tonight.

"Oh, Blathen, you can do more than that!" One of the men from my father's table was struggling his words past his swollen tongue.

Wrenching my wrist free from his sticky grip, I ignored the ooh-ing of the intoxicated men and my father's angry shouts. I ran to my room, barring the door right before vomiting all over my dress. The tears came. I faintly remember the furious pounding on my door and the screams from my father. All there was was tears and vomit.

Another year. One more year had passed. That's why I wouldn't give in tonight. It was the anniversary of when we had met, though it was the only time we'd ever seen each other. He had promised to come some day. I understood though, for he had a purpose; a purpose that required a fraud identity and constant hiding.

I climbed into my straw bed, trying to ignore the scuffling of spiders in the grasses beneath me. Eventually I drifted off, for sleep and dreams were my only escape. This night, as I had every night for the past year, I dreamt of him; of his dark hair, black as pitch, and hypnotic blue eyes; I dreamt of my highwayman.