Bleeding Hearts (Elysium Short Story)

Part III

Wren spent the rest of the night in his room, and Genevieve found herself lying awake in bed, her head reeling with empty thoughts as she resisted the urge to consider what she didn't want to be true. After hours of tossing and turning, she finally gave up and headed down to the kitchen to get an early start on the day. She occupied herself with anything she could find, desperate to keep herself from thinking about that fear in Wren's eyes.

"You rise before the sun, don't you?" Lyla said as she entered the room.

A wave of relief came over Genevieve at the girl's appearance, glad to have some conversation to drown out the niggling doubts tugging at her mind. "Well, when you have these many folks to care for, sleeping in is a luxury you can't afford."

"Shall I get tea started for us?"

"That would be lovely, thank you."

Lyla brought the kettle into the scullery while Genevieve busied herself with fetching ingredients for breakfast. "I must say, Ms. Barreau, you gave me quite a fright last night," Lyla said, setting the kettle on the stove Genevieve had scrubbed clean only an hour ago. "I didn't realize you knew how to wield a weapon like that."

"I wasn't exactly wielding anything. I brought it as a precaution."

"But you held it like someone who knows how to use it. I reckon if it came down to it, you'd be able to gut and castrate an intruder, wouldn't you?"

Genevieve made a face at the girl's choice of words but laughed, nonetheless. "Yes, I am familiar with how to defend myself. Growing up with just my mother in the slums, I had to learn. We lived in a nasty apartment building. Between the drunks and the lecherous landlord, I quickly learned how to handle a pistol and knife."

Lyla turned to her, eyes wide with both horror and fascination. "You can use a gun?"

"I had a beau when I was younger who thought I'd fare better with a firearm rather than a kitchen knife. So he gifted me an old one from his grandfather and taught me how to shoot it."

"That's . . . well, no, that's not very romantic, but I suppose it's sweet he was concerned?"

Chuckling to herself, Genevieve started slicing potatoes and tossing them into a frying pan. "Romance wasn't his strong suit, but I appreciated his confidence in my ability to take care of myself. He never tried to play the heroic knight with me."

"Sounds like the right sort of man for you. Did something happen to him? Why aren't you two together anymore?"

"Oh, it was nothing but a youthful fling, really. I did care for him, but we were too young to be thinking about getting serious. We eventually grew up and went our separate ways. But I'll always cherish the skills he taught me. As time went on, I got better with practice. I've fended off several burglars and even a few would-be rapists."

Lyla gasped, pressing her hands to her belly and leaning against the table. "Not here in the boarding house?"

"Not the rapists, but two of the burglars."

"My goodness, Ms. Barreau, your life is absolutely fascinating."

The kettle started to whistle, and Lyla went to fetch a rag. Genevieve watched her, wondering at the sincerity of the girl's apparent awe. While it was true that she was something of an actress, she did seem genuinely impressed with Genevieve's experiences. It made sense. The girl clearly longed for more freedom and excitement, and though Genevieve didn't approve of the methods she used to achieve that, she did feel for her. If Genevieve had been forced to live a dull, boring existence as a housewife, she would likely have rebelled, too.