Peepshow Ruffles

Adele walked the streets stumbling, clutching her red coat close to her body with one hand, as the other stood pressed against the crumbling brick walls of Paris. Blood trickled from between her thighs, making sad red trails that curved around her ankles and ended between her toes. She just had to make it back to the Rouge and into Christian’s arms. Everything would be okay then, everything would be fine.

She staggered up the stairs and watched with a falling heart as a dark haired, sharp boned woman descended past her eyeing her piteously as she saw her corrupted state. She made it to the doorway and pounded as loud as she could on the weak door. It creaked open and there he stood, glorious and disheveled with a cigarette between his lips.

“Christian,” she whispered before collapsing in his arms. He caught her, but just barely. His cigarette fell from his lips and landed on the floor, which he hastily stomped out, all while supporting his wonderful Adele. “Christian, please don’t let go of me,” she moaned, clearly delirious. Drunk as he was, he instantly recognized her need for comfort. And his need for vengeance at the sight of the blood winding around her ankles.

“Adele, what has happened to you?” He whispered, lifting her with ease into his arms and laying her delicately upon the bed. He opened her jacket and found her dress ripped to shreds. Tainted skin and blood was all that remained as he stared at her angry red wounds. He didn’t know what to do, or what to say but he grabbed the wet rag that lay in his bucket of ice and dabbed gently at her stomach.

“Please, don’t make me go back to him. Don’t let me. Just take me from here, Christian, please,” was the last she said before her eyes closed and she fell unconscious from pain and fear.