Remember

East End Night

It was already dark when Elisabeth entered the narrow, dirty streets of the East End. As always, she walked the path lightly but firmly, she could not afford to show weakness. Extremely aware of each blind angle, of each possible escape route and of each character that appeared on the scene, she gradually approached her destiny. Only a couple of streets were missing when she noticed. Someone was following her.

She heard the rhythmic sound of another person's shoes behind her, hitting the pavement, splashing in the puddles. Judging by the strength and weight of the steps, it was most likely a man, and that was very bad news. Elisabeth squeezed the rhythm trying in vain not to show her incipient insecurity. She was afraid that turning around would alert her persecutor and he would start running to reach her, because that would be her end. Speed ​​had never been her strength, much less with a skirt so long that it brushed her ankles.

The man also accelerated, causing Elisabeth to panic. She had to sneak, fast ... no. It was too late. He was going to reach her. He was going to reach her! She unconsciously put her hand on her waist, where she kept a knife under her clothes, but she realized that she could not get it out on time.

"Hey you!"

When Elisabeth turned, she found herself face to face with a fool of light complexion and dark curls that smiled charmingly.

"James!" she was surprised, but once recovered she punched him in the chest with all her reduced strength "You're a jerk!"

" Wow, I don't even know your name and you're already beating me like you're my wife" he joked, stroking where she had hit him, trying to mitigate the pain.

" Do you think I'm going to tell my name to a stalker who persecutes me when I walk alone at night? " she snapped, wrathfully. She did not even bother to explain how inappropriate his joke had seemed to her, especially having grown up in a neighborhood where most of the women had been forced to prostitute themselves after losing their husbands or having been expelled from home, many for hitting the bottle to bear the beatings. It was not the first time she had heard such comments among men, but the truth was very different, as Elisabeth knew it well. Who is the one beating?  she thought, not realizing that the rage had blinded her in the process, to the point of not having heard the young man's answer. " What?"

" I didn't mean to do anything wrong to you" he repeated, excusing himself.

"And how would I know ?! Approaching someone from behind is not usually accompanied by good intentions, precisely.

" I'm sorry, I'm sorry, mea culpa" he raised his hands in surrender.

"Well yes, tua maxima culpa" she replied.

"Wait, do you know Latin?" the young man was surprised. "My master insists that I learn classic phrases to enrich my sketches, but the truth is that for now they have only served me to show off " James laughed cheerfully.

"I was educated to be a governess" Elisabeth responded, dignified. And suddenly she felt as if a weight she had not been aware of  disappeared from her chest. It had been years since she had told anyone about that, it hurt too much. And yet now she felt liberated.

"No way!" he mocked, however, oblivious to her feelings. -"Don't be offended, but someone from the East End will never get that far. You are not children of bourgeois, you are children of workers, just like me. In addition, it is obvious from your outfit that you are nothing more than a maid" he dismissed the idea with his hand.

" I said that I was educated to be a governess, not that I'm one - she replied bitterly, not wanting to delve deeper into the subject. "If you have finished bothering me, I would like to go home. I'm exhausted."