In My Darkness: La Chatte Noire

Chapter Eleven: Protector

Chapter Eleven: Protector

Her laugh echoed in the room, mingling with at least a dozen other voices. It had been a long time since she'd spent any respectable amount of time in a pub on her own and she had forgotten how much fun it could be. Despite the occasional uncomfortably flirtatious drunk, most of the men here had respect for a woman who could hold her own liquor. After a whiskey shot and two glasses of brandy, she knew she was done. It was enough to get her slightly numbed to the world, as much as she needed to be. It wouldn't do for Camillé to be losing her head in a place like this. It wasn't safe for her or anyone else here.

"Donc, what's une très belle femme (a very beautiful woman) like you doing in a place like this?" asked a very slurred voice that had obviously had a few too many shots since coming here.

Of course, there would be a man that just couldn't keep his hands to himself. There was always one. Usually, though, they were more touchy than talkative. But she was used to dealing with this sort of man. If she made it clear that she wasn't interested, it was likely he wouldn't take the hint. Still, it was worth a try.

She pushed the drunk off her shoulder and didn't give him even a glance. "Getting less drunk than you," she retorted, getting up from her chair.

His hand clasped her elbow and pulled her back. "Come now, chérie, you know as well as I; you won't find a better man in this place."

Obviously, her previous plan wasn't working. Time for her normal tactic – being aggressive and leaving. That always drove them off. She took on a defensive and dangerous attitude almost instantly. The other patrons must have noticed, because they all looked at her and looked back down at their drinks. Some of them even moved away from the scene.

"Let go of my elbow," she warned the man, pulling her arm free of his grasp and quickly walking out.

It seemed, however, that this man simply didn't know how to take no for an answer. He followed her out of the pub quite obviously, and spun her around to face him again, going in for a kiss. Without thinking, her hand flew up in a fist and made contact with his face. A loud crack and the sound of something being crushed indicated to her that she had broken something – likely his nose. Most times, this would make them come to their senses and she'd feel sorry for hurting them later. But this guy wasn't like most drunks. In a split second, she was turned and slammed against the wall, getting a fist to the eye. Her instincts kicked in and she began fighting dirty and necessary. She kicked him in les bijous de sa famille (his family jewels) and tried to run off, but someone – assumedly the idiot she was fighting – grabbed her wrist and yanked her around.

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Erik stretched rather lazily as he stood up from his organ bench. He looked to his left, only to see the usually occupied desk chair devoid of his cat. It was quite odd that she was missing; she almost always stayed up as late as he did, if not later on some nights. That worried him. However, he simply brushed it off as her having gone to bed early and he simply hadn't noticed or had been playing. He was glad – she needed sleep anyway. Her staying up like he did wasn't good for her and he really did want what was best for her. He did love her, after all. Gently, he blew out the lamp over his organ.

Carefully – for if Camillé was asleep, he didn't want to wake her – he stepped down the stairs, up the incline and stopped for a split second, mentally battling with himself. He wanted to check on her. Though he had no clue now to admit it aloud, his love for her had grown in the past month. She was everything he wanted; everything he needed. Her every movement was entrancing. He was driven insane by this wonderful woman he lived with and loved. What would be the harm in checking on her? Besides, it would just be a quick peek and he'd leave the sleeping woman. Finally, he gave in to his own prodding and went into her room, looking down at her... empty bed. Quoi? Why was her bed empty? Her bed should not have been empty at this time of night and she shouldn't have been out at this time of night. It wasn't safe. Who knew what could happen to her in the Parisian streets?