Hysterical Encounters of the Third Kind [Semper]

"No, it's not that I don't want you here, it's just-... weekly wages, and all..." Gavroche wasn't particularly sure what the other staff was all getting paid since they didn't live at the tavern like he did, but he was certain that a week's worth would be more than enough to fix just one window. His voice trailed off as he began realizing that there would be a lot of answering to do to his one-eyed uncle. Where would she stay? What about her family? What about clothes for her? What if something else happened to her, like if she got caught in a fight betweeen drunks? Gavroche honestly wasn't even sure if his uncle would let her stay at all. He was a nice and fair man, though, so the boy hoped that he was okay in telling Liseolette that she could stay.

Then she reached out and touched his head.

On any other occasion Gavroche would have flinched away, but Liseolette had already proven that she didn't mean any harm. However, her animal teeth still put him on edge. When she began apologizing, he looked up at her, quickly going to reassure her that she hadn't done anything wrong. "No, no, no, don't worry about it. I just can't stand things like hugs, or stay in a completely closed room for more than a few minutes. Or crowds. I can't do crowds." He said, shaking his head. He hoped that she wouldn't feel bad for having touched his head, but her actions said otherwise. Liseolette stood up, and for a moment he thought that she was going to back away from him the way he had done when he had first seen her animal teeth, but she sat back down. "Not many people know, actually..." He added in a small voice, more of a realization for himself than a statement to her.

Looking over at her when she asked for a long sleeved shirt, he couldn't help but think she was somewhat crazy. Wearing both jeans and a long sleeved shirt in this heat? That was just asking for a heat stroke. But after hearing the reason why she preferred that kind of clothing, even in this unbearable heat, he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. The one-eyed tavern owner had done everything he could to make Gavroche feel at ease in the old wooden building, so why not do the same to her? The boy didn't want her to have another panic attack. "I think I have one or two. They're up on the shelf with the jeans. You can go take your pick." He told her, getting up to his feet and picking up the lantern as he did so.

Turning to face the back wall, Gavroche reached up and placed the lantern back onto its hook, pausing when he heard Liseolette say that his secret was safe with her. What secret? Other than not being able to read like other people his age and having spontaneous pangs of phantom pain, he had no secret. Being forced to live in the same room for nearly fourteen years wasn't exactly a secret, but he preferred to not tell anyone about that, so it could technically be classified as something to be hidden like a secret.

Snapping out of a trance-like state, he turned to look in her general direction but kept his eyes downcast. "No, no, it's alright. I'll sweep it up soon." He reached down to pick up the pail full of water. "Take whatever you need. I won't need anything else for today." Setting the pail by the sink, he lifted his gaze to watch her head upstairs, disappearing behind the wall.

Liseolette appeared to be extremely friendly, obviously. But if he told her his "secret" as to why he was so terribly claustrophobic, would she ridicule him like the other students at the school had? She had pretty much laid her own deepest secret out for him to see, but for all he was certain of maybe she was just stringing together lies to reel him in so she could rob the tavern more easily. Tipping the pail so that the water fell into the sink, Gavroche absentmindedly peeked a glance behind him at the stairs, not seeing the animal-toothed girl anywhere. Perhaps she was just starting with snagging his clothes and then would move onto more important items.

'No, don't think about that. Liseolette isn't trying to steal anything or she would've taken me out while no one else is here.' Assured by the thought, Gavroche then picked up a broom and dust pan as he heard the girl coming back down the stairs and asking more questions.

"This is my uncle's tavern. I just work here because I live upstairs." He answered, going up to the landing on the stairs and beginning to sweep up the shards of glass, his eyes watching the way the sunlight reflected off each surface. He was much more hesitant about answering the next set of questions, but the longer he kept silent about it, the more he simply wanted to rant and rave. His uncle was the only one to have heard about his parents, so why not tell it to a complete stranger who was unbiased? 'She'll judge me, that's what. Just like the others did.' As soon as he realized that he was sweeping in much harder strokes, he calmed himself down a bit. "As far as I know, my mother's dead. The man I'm forced to call my father... I hope he's dead. He deserves it." He said harshly, letting all the pent-up anger come to vent. "He kept my mother as a sort of pet, locking her up in a room and never letting her leave and only using her for his sexual desires. I was born in that room and I lived in there for nearly thirteen or fourteen years, and I never left it either. Not even so much as a window to look outside." His eyes remained narrowed darkly onto the pieces of glass, swiping the broom at them with a sort of malice. "And as if room claustrophobia wasn't enough, he then thought that it would be 'fun' to r--... use me, so I hate it when other people touch me. And sometimes I would get this terrible pain in my abdomen just randomly -- out of the blue -- a sort of phantom pain, and it'd hurt like hell, so of course, being the little boy that I was, I cried for him to make the pain go away, but all he'd do was hit me and scream, 'I'll give you something real to cry about, bitch.'" Gavroche regretted telling her everything he had meant to keep secret, but ranting and raving angrily made him feel much better about the whole thing, as if a weight had been lifted off of his chest and allowed him to breathe easier. Kneeling down, he swept the bits of glass onto the dustpan, starting back down the stairs. "No, I don't think my uncle will be mad if you stay here. And I didn't mean to go off on you like that with my life story, but I just.... feel so much better now that more than one person knows."





((Yaayyy, fail nearly!two!AM post. xDx ))

I didn't realize that the grip I had on the dustpan's handle was so tight that my knuckles were white, but that was just a natural response to all that anger and burning hatred that was building up inside of me. It was all in the past, but I still couldn't get over it. It was because of him that I'm so terrified of closed-off rooms; because of him that I get these phantom pains in my stomach that reduce me to a crumbled heap in the corner, trembling and on the verge of sobbing because it hurts so bad; because of him that I can't stand any sort of human contact without my mind immediately going into fight-or-flight mode. I was furious.

The grip on the handle didn't lessen any until I reached a trash bin. Dumping the glass shards into the bin, I then dropped the dustpan onto the floor and nudging it against the wall with my foot, not really caring where it went. The broom, though, it had its spot over in the other corner of the tavern.

I was about to pass by Lise, but she decided to say something, this time using my real name. I paused, my gaze staying on the ground, feeling somewhat like I was going to be scolded. My body was was unintentionally tensing as if she was going to hit me, but this was Lise we were talking about. She wouldn't hit anyone... to my knowledge, at least. She was kind, and I honestly couldn't see her hitting anyone. But still, I avoided any sort of eye contact with her, choosing to stare blankly at the floor, brows furrowed, even while she grabbed the broom stick and shook it.

"Friends?"

Friends? What? I slowly turned my head to look at her, the expression on my face lightening from anger to just plain old confusion. What did she mean by just "friends?" Did she want to be friends, or did she already think we were? She had the look on her face like she was expecting an answer, so I was pretty sure that she was asking if we were friends. When weren't we friends? Or at least not friendly toward each other? Well, I guess we weren't exactly friends when I was about to hit her with my trumpet... but that's besides the point. I could feel a faint smile appearing on my mouth. Why not? Lise hasn't done anything to me to make me feel threatened or put down because I can't read, and besides my uncle, I honestly think she's the only one who's even considered being my friend. "Friends."

My day had gotten a good bit better after I realized that I had pretty much just made a friend. The other kitchen staff, once they arrived, didn't believe me, but oh well. Especially when they prodded the answer out of me that Lise was a lady friend. For some reason they thought that it was funny. What's wrong with having a girl friend? She wasn't freaked out by my claustrophobia, and after all, she was the one that asked to be friends, not me. Lise wanted to befriend me, of all people. Of course I was happy about it, but I just didn't get why the other workers found it funny.

Well, today I was helping out in the kitchen instead of being out and waiting tables. I was in charge of the meat, so I had my long butcher knife and sharpened it along a smooth stone (Uncle never did like the metal sharpeners, always insisting that rocks were just as good, if not better) and I then got to slicing up illegally obtained raccoon, deer, and rabbit meat that were used in soups and sandwiches and things of that nature. No one else particularly liked the "meat job," as we called it, because it involved skinning and gutting the dead animals since Uncle always bought the freshest kills he could get. Often times hunters would just bring the dead animals to us as soon as they kill them just because Uncle tries to pay them good so they continue to bring their meat. Anyway, I got to skinning the deer, sawing off the legs and then taking off the skin, and because it was a fresh kill, it was quite bloody. Well, it'd be bloody even if it wasn't fresh, but that's besides the point.

I managed to lift the deer and hang it from a hook dangling from the ceiling so I could finish taking the skin off when I heard what sounded like a stool being shoved across the wood floor. 'Probably just some drunks getting into a fight,' I thought, and just went on with peeling the last bits of fur off, but I stopped when I heard another kitchen worker commenting on the supposed drunkard's fight.

"That's that new girl waiter, right? The one that guy's got by the arms?"

Stopping what I was doing, I peered around the naked dangling carcass. "Who's fighting?" I called out to them, feeling the beginning stages of panic setting in. "That girl waitress," he answered. "She must've done something to upset that man because he looks awful pissed."

Not realizing that I still had the knife in my red-stained hand, I quickly went over to where a small group of cooks were watching what was happening, and as soon as I saw the scuffle, I felt all the blood drain from my face.

Whoever this guy was, he was obviously really mad. He had Lise by her arms, but he suddenly shoved her backwards so that she fell over. She tried to get back up, but he hit her. Hard. And then he took her by the arm and began to drag her to the door.

She screamed.

My brain quickly made the connections: the man was dragging her to the door and it was sunny outside. Lise hated sunlight. I won't ever forget the way she reacted when she fell out of the window, clinging to me and then bolting for the inside where it was safe. Everything was happening so fast and I didn't quite know what to do. Lise was my friend, and here was this guy dragging her against her will into something that completely terrified her. He was obviously much stronger than her... and forcing her into something she didn't want to do... much like what my "dad" did to me and my mother when we were locked in that one room for so many years. Mother did all she could to help me escape, so maybe I could do the same and help Lise escape from the person who is dominating her.

Despite my trembling hands and legs, I forced myself to quickly climb up and over the counter, not really caring if my blood-soaked clothes streaked red across the wood. I doubted the butcher knife would do me any good -- especially since I didn't know how to use it properly in a fight -- but it made me feel a bit stronger. Lise's screams were terrifying me, though, and I instinctively knew that rebelling against someone who was much stronger than me like this would only result in pain. But Lise was my friend, and I wanted to help her. I mustered up my wavering courage and took a few steps after the man, calling out in the most forceful voice I could get to not show the terror I was feeling: "Let her go."

Oh my good Ripred, what the hell was I getting myself into?! I couldn't fight, I couldn't defend myself, and here I was being stared down by Lise's father. A brute of a man, that's what he was. And a drunk, but that didn't deter him from giving me one of the most terrifying glares I've ever seen in my entire life. Ones very similar to what my d-... biological father looked like when he was harassing me or my mother.

I stood absolutely still, paralyzed with fear and my face horribly pale. The stray blood splatter on my face stood out very noticeably against my ghost-white skin. "I-I said let her go," I repeated, but the strength I had before was gone and there was no force whatsoever in my tone. "She yer little whore, huh? She turning tricks for ya, boy?" No, no, no, I could never do that to her! The man had absolutely no idea how traumatizing it was for me to even think of me or her being a-... a... a whore. I couldn't help it; I was reduced by fear and was forced to take a step back, eyes wide and my limbs shaking. I was scared, so fucking scared of this man that I could feel my instinct kicking in: get away as fast as you can. When the man made a sudden movement, I quickly shut my eyes and turned my head away, bracing myself for a blow, and when it came I was sure I was going to die. Pure, cold terror ran through me as I felt myself being hit on the chest, but a faint, familiar smell stopped me from an all-out panic attack. It was Lise. I opened my eyes in time to see her fall, and I tried to catch her, but she fell before I could do anything. Her father spat some words that I didn't catch because all my attention was focused on Lise, my only friend. She was hurt. "Lise," I said, starting to bend down toward her, but she was up and gone in a flash, leaving me alone in a deathly silent tavern with the gazes of dozens of men and women boring into me like burning pikes. I wanted to get away, but I was still frozen in place as if the man was still there in front of me. He wasn't, though; he was nowhere to be seen. As if coming out of a trance, I shakily went over to the bar and set the skinning knife down and then quickly headed upstairs.

I found Lise in my room, curled up behind my bed and crying. I hesitated in the doorway, unsure of myself. Would she want me there? Would she shove me away? I wanted to comfort her, but maybe her father was as traumatizing to her the way mine was to me and all she wanted was to be alone so that she could be reassured that he was gone. I wanted to be there for her the way my mother was there for me when I was first raped; the comfort she gave me probably saved me from more mental damage than I already had.

Closing the door quietly behind me, I went over to where Lise was and sat down beside her. My heart was already racing at the invasion of personal space, but my friend was worth it. I didn't want to see her cry.... Maybe I felt such a strong attachment to her already because we both had the same issues: our fathers were tormentors and we were abused. Well, I don't know if Lise was abused, but after the display her father put on earlier, I could only assume that he had done the act before. So before I could think twice about the fear of what I was doing, I reached over and gently pulled her up into a hug, the same way my mother did to me when I was terrified and crying. And I just held her.