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❁ུ۪۪
The narrow streets were barren and mostly deserted by the time Marjorie left Durham. She had worked double overtime, first sanitizing all the supplies in the kitchen, then mopping the entire cafeteria building. Usually, this was a job for another girl, but that night she had come down with fever. Marjorie was indifferent to the additional chores, as it meant that she received a sliver of extra pay. Truthfully, the only reason that she didn't complain was that the entity of the time she spent cleaning, she was watching for a certain young man. I know what you're thinking—he would show up sometime before she left, and then they would get together just like any good love story. I wanted them to, I did. But it so happened that the moment Heinrich passed by the cafeteria door to return from the library to his dormitory, Marjorie had excused herself to the restroom.
Heinrich had hoped to see the girl from dinner as he left the library. He had a thick novel tucked under his arm and allowed it to crash onto the ground when he walked by the entrance to the cafeteria. There were better alternatives for his circumstances, but Heinrich was not one for bold actions. Since no specific brunette seemed to inhabit the kitchen, he meandered off at last.
In the restroom, Marjorie nonchalantly washed her hands and adjusted her plait. She figured that she was alone, but could've sworn she heard a muffled thump from somewhere outside. However, when she exited the room, the grand cafeteria was entirely uninhabited. So she concluded her work and left to traverse across the River Wear home in the dark. You would think she'd be afraid, sauntering down the street an hour before midnight. Strangers often lurked in the shadows, waiting for the prime moment to take advantage of another. She wasn't, though, and instead found pleasure in the silent solitude.
The only troublesome spot on her way home was the pub on the corner by Elvet Bridge. Ever since Marjorie had begun working at Durham, the Half Moon Inn had been her least favorite place to walk past. Drunken men would stumble out of the door, wrong in the head and often struggling to find their way home in the night.
As Marjorie passed the place, an overweight man practically fell out of the doorway. "Help... me," he slurred, incoherently motioning her over.
"Sorry, I can't," Marjorie mumbled in reply, quickening her pace. Someday the foolish ingenuousness may reveal its tragic repercussions.
She could hear the footsteps of the intoxicated pursuer behind her. "Where are you going?" His voice was garbled and hoarse. Marjorie clutched her purse and started to jog down to the bridge. By then the man was gone, and she exhaled a sigh of relief. One more block and she'd be home.
When Marjorie arrived, she slowly pushed the door open. It moved creakily no matter what was tried, but all the other occupants were asleep. She tiptoed up the stairs into her bedroom, careful to avoid the looser floorboards. No one would be worried as to why she was out late; extra working hours were a usual activity.
