A Woman's Devotion (Phantom Of The Opera x Reader)

2. Port Orleans

Y/n's POV:

Could it have been any hotter? After the long boat ride and the tedious immigration process, I'd practically gotten no sleep in the last month. Worse yet, Erik and I spent most of that time away from each other. The quarantine area of the port was separated by sex, just like the boat. All I wanted was to feel his body against mine again. Still, he was somewhere in this crowd waiting on me. Almost everyone I'd befriended on the ship was milling around outside the immigration port. They'd finally released most of us from the hot, crowded bay, and we were reuniting with family.

The crowd swallowed me, yet Erik was nowhere to be seen. In this blistering heat, sweat dampened entire patches of my dress. Even in March, the warmth was swelteringly unbearable. As I'd later learn, locals claimed that spring and summer broke records in both dry heat and sticky humidity.

I leaned against a building, trying to catch my breath. I looked towards the street, straining to single Erik out in this chaos. I needed to find him, so we could figure out where to go from here. He'd refused to tell me where in America we were headed other than New Orleans, lest our conversation be intercepted, but he did admit we were going to see an old friend of his.

I slapped a mosquito off my arm. Shit. Erik had insisted I avoid mosquitos at all cost, but I'd already let one bite me!

The sun began to sink below the line of buildings. I desperately need to find Erik, so I removed my sticky back from the red brick of the store I leaned against.

I'd ask the immigration officer if they had even discharged him, something I was beginning to doubt. The man stood with a notepad. There was a line of people in front of me. I patiently waited for them to ask their questions first, which were similar to the ones I had. Many were French immigrants like me, soothing my anxieties on not being able to speak English.

 "What can I help you with?" The young man asked in French.

 "I'm looking for somebody. Did you discharge an Erik Desteliar?" Desteliar was Erik's agreed-upon fake last name.

 "Um..." He scanned his notebook. "We have an Erik Destler."

 "Destler?"

 "Sometimes, names get changed if they don't speak clearly enough."

 "Oh." I'd heard about this. I had warned Erik to pick something more American, but he refused. "Well, did you discharge him?"

 "It appears he's on medical holdback."

 "Medical? Is he sick?"

 "Presumably. But I don't have all the details. If he is approved, you should be seeing him in two to seven days."

 "Am I just meant to wait?"

 "Yes, ma'am. Good day. There is a nearby common lodging house if you're looking for boarding."

 "Thank you."

I walked away, frantic nerves building inside me. Erik was going to be gone for two days at least! He had our meager funds in his luggage. Now, I was stranded in New Orleans with a carpetbag of my belongings and nothing else to my name. Even if I wanted to stay at the common lodging house, which was notoriously filthy and brimming with women of unholy means, I wouldn't have the money to pay my keep.

I could hardly read the signs! Some were in French, yes, but most were completely English. I meandered through the crowded streets, blindly following any sign I could read. My feet scurried across the cracked pavement. I couldn't look too urgent since I'd certainly betray myself as a terrified foreigner, but my collected mask was fraying.