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Ding.
Everyone has these lines they won't cross. But then you cross them. And suddenly you posses the very dangerous information that you can break the rules and the world won't instantly come to an end. You have taken a big, black bold line and you've made it a little bit gray. And now, every time you cross it again, it just gets grayer and grayer until one day you look around and think, There was a line there once, I think.
Right now, the world seemed insanely gray for Jean Pierre.
Michele is his family ─ his little sister; he had to. Vivienne knew Jean Pierre had every fucking right to do something to Descamps; he was fueled by the need to defend his sister's honour. There was no secret what Vivienne Satre thought of Joseph Descamps. He was a pest, a pain in the neck ─ he had this sense of egoism about him, which would radiate off of him, plaguing everyone around him. Descamps had always been a thorn in her side, a constant source of irritation with his arrogant demeanor and penchant for being a dick. Vivenne couldn't point ONE good thing about him (maybe his mousy coloured hair, but that was not the point) even if she tried. So why in the world was she thinking how the Joseph Descamps was doing?
Despite her best efforts to push aside the events of the day, she had been thinking about Michele and Jean Pierre. And Joseph. Would they be okay? Would he be okay? Truth to be told, she didn't know why she cared how Descamps was. Actually, she didn't. But then, she would see the dried blood under her fingernails, that she desperately tried to clean in the school bathroom ─ and failed. It reminded Vivienne that that was his blood and immediately a sense of guilt dawned upon her. Vivienne, help me. Seeing him like that, begging her to help him...
Ding.
"Do you really think they will move us," Annick is the first one to remind her that class had finished. "They can't do that, right Vivienne? I mean, for some people it's this or nothing." Annick looked at her as if pleading for her to say something other than what she deeply dreaded.
The brunette girl took a deep breath in attempt to calm herself down, her grip thightening on the brownish bag that hung from her right shoulder. "I don't know. They'll probably blame it on Michele."
Annick deep down knew Vivienne was right, but a part of her clung onto the hope that it might not be true. No matter how hard France tried to act revolutionary and ahead of other countries, the society within it was still flawed. The situation will be potrayed like this: Michele (the girl) was provoking Joseph (the male) and he responded. In their eyes girls are the cause of all problems. What bullshit.
