The Scarlet Woman

chp. 8 ~ an eternity spent in a cupboard

***
Paris

I stared into the darkness, knowing full well that there were four wooden walls surrounding me.
I could touch them, I felt them on my fingertips and my toes, and I felt the ceiling graze against my head.

But the darkness swept me up in its embrace and took me to a place where it showed me the vilest parts of myself, parts that had before remained locked away in the recesses of my memory.

I know what Victor had done to me was what stirred these atrocities to surface level, and every second I thought about it I felt myself become more and more hopeless, then fear and loathing for him and Uncle Todd seethed from every pore on my body.
And the cycle would continue.

The memories that remained the most, however, were the events of a few hours ago, if it even was a few hours.
I didn't know if the day had passed, or two days, if Amon or Moonyoung were worried about me at all.

When the darkness had completely won me over, and all I could think of was bitter revenge, my thoughts then suddenly turned to the face of the scarlet woman.

Dumont.
Selene Dumont had been her name, and the last time I'd seen her she'd been dressed like an emerald necklace, and I'd tasted her lips and the smell of her perfume.

I couldn't remember those smells or tastes anymore because now my mouth felt raw and disgusting from screaming and being used over and over again until Victor had had his fill of me and thrown me in here with the rats.

Selene had said she'd help me.
How could she? She's just wealthy, not a soldier.
I wondered if she was an honest woman beneath that beautiful face and rich voice.

Suddenly, light streaked into the gloom, stinging my skin, and a man's dusty shoes appeared before me.
Hands grabbed at me and I tried to fight back, pushing against his grasp, but it felt as though my bones were made of rubber as I was violently dragged into the room.

"Paris, Paris, be quiet!"

I recognised that voice.

"Amon?"

The Egyptian man crouched down in front of me, his long hair falling in front of his eyes and he shook my shoulders.

"I need you to walk, and be quiet."

I nodded and Amon lifted me onto my feet, leaning me against his hip as support. As it turned out, I didn't really need to walk; Amon practically carried me from Victor's room all across the landing to my room. I vaguely noticed the lights of the club and just as I realised it was busy downstairs, Amon threw me into my room and locked the door from the inside.

I stared at my bed, not really recognising it at first, but Amon carried me towards it, a lot more gentle this time.
He laid me on the covers and carefully pulled my torn and bloody shirt over my head, his eyes growing wider and wider as he assessed the situation, but he never spoke a word as he pulled a new one on.

"Amon-" I coughed as my voice croaked out scratchy and dry, "Amon, how long-"

"You were in that godforsaken cupboard for four days, Paris. That redhead came looking for you yesterday, and I told her what had happened to you, but she left anyway. Now, you need to rest, and I'll be bring some water and food."

"I need a drink-"

"Of water. You have one sip of absinthe and you'll dissolve into a bag of bones."

I nodded my head and closed my eyes, pulling the covers over my chest as exhaustion poured into my aching limbs, praying that I had at least a decent amount of sleep before some man tried to come and kill me again.

***