Before It's Too Late

Three

I walked into the Saint Michele bakery to buy a loaf of bread with my spare francs. The room was engulfed with the smell of bread. It made my mouth water.

"Here you are, Mademoiselle. One loaf of bread." The male baker said, setting the bread on the counter between us.

"Merci, Monsieur. Here is five francs." I set the money down.

"That's not enough." He said pushing my money back to me.

"What?" I asked in disbelief. "I thought bread here was five francs."

"No, mademoiselle. It is seven now," he continued, "with all the people getting as much food as they can before the war, I needed to make some extra francs."

I scooped my francs up and put them in the small cross-chest bag at my waist. I thanked the man one more time before I stepped outside to leave.

What am I going to do now?

I decided to walk to the Amis de ABC. Though I wasn't sure where I was going, I'm sure I would figure it out.

I walked for a long time, trying to find the café, but it was nowhere to be seen. In fact, I didn't think I was even in Saint Michele anymore. I had no idea where I was. I scanned my surroundings and tried to find some buildings that looked familiar. I couldn't find any. Before I knew it, somebody grabbed my arm and twisted me around.

"How old are you? I like to know what I buy," a large, fat man with thick facial hair sneered at me. With those few words, I knew exactly where I was. I was where the prostitutes lurk, waiting for men. This man must have thought I was a prostitute.

"No, I'm not a prostitute!" I tried to free myself from his grip. I noticed there were girls of all ages spread across the street. Most of them had their breast nearly popping out of the tiny dresses they wore.

"Is this some sort of trick?" his voice raised and his grip tightened. I squealed as my wrist started to go numb.

"Stop! Let me go!" I somehow broke free from the grip of the man. I ran. I ran faster than I ever had before. I hated that place more than anything.

---

I finally got back to the commons area. My lungs fought for breath. I put my hands on my knees while I tried to catch my breath.

"I know you," I heard a voice say. I lifted my eyes to see a women. She was dressed beautifully and was crowned in fabulous jewels.

What was she doing in the slums?

"You were at the speech that happened yesterday. I saw you disrespect that police officer."

"Yeah. So?" I stood up, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing me threatened by her.

"You are lucky he didn't kill you. He should have. It would've put one more piece of scum out of their misery." She smiled evilly and started to strut off, probably feeling pretty high and mighty.

"What if I said that your the real scum that lives here? How would you take that?" I shouted at her. I didn't care who heard me, as long as I was making a point. "You never share your wealth, you smother yourself in expensive clothes while people here are dying." I felt a hand touch my arm. I didn't look back to see who it was. I wasn't done with this woman. "How dare you call us scum when your the real scum that lives in France!" I spat at her. A pair of arms suddenly grabbed my waist, lifting me from the ground. I didn't get to see the lady's expression before I was thrown down and against the wall.

"What were you thinking, Adéle?" Enjolras chided. "She could of call the police on you!" his face was like a rock. His cheeks were red and a lock of his blond curly hair fell across his broad forehead.