Michele plans on running away with Alain before the end of the school year- after she got into an altercation with one of the girls going there and getting into a lot of trouble, but what causes her to change her mind?
Find out for yourself...
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「 ✦ Michele ✦ 」 Deans niece. Deans niece this. Deans niece that. If that stupid teacher hadn't opened his mouth, none of this stupid labelling would have happened to me. I've gotta stop thinking seriously, Ive always hated how easily I get distracted. And I have so much work to do in my parents butchery and after I need to do my homework but here I am thinking about silly school banter- and that stupid boy, man, whatever the hell he is, Descamps.
Michele couldn't help but think, not even realising how hard and aggressively she was tossing and grabbing the materials around the tiny shop. Just a reminder of him caused her to act like that. Not for long though as a voice caused her to jump up, quickly taking her out of her thoughts. The short girl turned around to face a tall man, realising it was just her brother, Jean-Pierre Magnan, the jewel of the family.
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"Why are you being so tough with the containers..?" he asked, taking a cigarette out from wherever, and putting it in his mouth.
" I don't know, maybe because it's 8:45pm and I'm here working instead of having the privilege to go out with my friends, do my homework early as well as go to sleep on time..?" she spoke after eyeing him up and down, turning her back to him again, continuing doing her job- cleaning the knives. A lighter, almost like a spark could be heard in the back which was him lighting up his cigarette, Michele rolled her eyes in annoyance. She hated being a girl in her family, she could never do what she wanted just once, solely because she was a female. Her parents only saw her as an employee, one that they wouldn't pay and would undermine instead of cherish. Her brother really got on her nerves- he was always a reminder to her that their parents only had eyes for only one of their kids. And that was definitely not her, which is strange to think about since she was the one helping in them out with the butchery. Maybe that's why she wasn't doing that great at school, cause she put so much time working forcefully on the shop rather than studying. All the time, every day, religiously. Not Jean-Pierre. But her parents were blinded by his success and good grades in school, his manners, his good looks. Blah blah blah. Whatever. She could do just as good if they gave her the time.
She loved her brother though. And he loved her. But she really resented the fact that he had so much more freedom, and many opportunities that their parents would risk value, to give to him without any hesitation, and not her. All because he was a man.
"...besides they're not made from butter" she trailed off her sentence, right before slicing the soft skin on her finger with one of the knives she was wiping, which caused her to gasp a bit
"But maybe you are" Jean Pierre said, parting his lips and placing the cigar between them in a quick motion,his face expressionless, as he walked over to the short girl calmly, and grabbed her hand which was dripping with red warm liquid , wrapping her finger in a white napkin to try and stop the bleeding. She couldn't help but chuckle, she never particularly liked how protective her brother could be- she hated it after the whole eye situation with Descamps, even though it served him right, but Michele was the one that got blamed for it even when she hadn't done anything wrong. Anything. At least that's what she told herself other than her uncle and her two friends Simone and Annick, everyone else seemed to just blame her for it. As if she was the one who put the bucket on the door and told her brother to go blind that son of a bitch. Why was she even thinking about it now? Was it because it was significant? First day of school? No. That was a very long time ago and school was bound to finish in a month. But because she acknowledged the fact that the useless space in his covered eyelid would always be a reminder of her to him- the story behind it and how she was the reason he had lost his eye. That damn eye. She would often think about the fact that he'd have to explain to people what happened, why he'd wear an eyepatch. Would he tell his future grandchildren? Would he even speak the truth or make it up? The thought of her would always be stuck with him. And that haunted her.
She never wanted anything like that to happen- to him or anyone. She would never forget how it felt when the cold water splashed her- how every boy in that class looked at her, their peering eyes looking through her drenched dress- at her brassiere. She remembered Descamp's reaction, how it took him by surprise as well, like he never expected her body to look that way. He deserved what happened to him, he was nothing more but a hungry pervert. Oh how she'd lie to herself to make the memories go away. But one thing for certain that still caused to have nightmares was the 18th of September, second day of High school. After, a long night of crying and the slaps she received from her father- that morning 6 months ago, when his cold gaze met hers. Oh God she'd never forget the moment Descamps stepped foot on the school grounds, how every conversation stopped and every single pair of eyes- including Michele's- were glued to him. But his were fixated on her, besides the fact that people were looking back and forth, between her and him since everyone knew. But something was different that time, when he stared at her- not that he was missing an eye but something else. Other than the fact that there was such hatred and anger behind his cold gaze - his spark was gone. That tiny little flame hidden within him, that shined, was blown out.
"Michelle! Snap out of it!" her brother yelled, as she flinched, awakening from her deep thoughts. "What's wrong with you ? Are you feeling dizzy? he asked, letting go of her hand to place his on her shoulder.
"I'm fine idiot." Michele spoke looking up at him, frowning, as she threw away the bloody napkin and examined the cut on her finger.
"No you're not, you were chuckling like a psycho and zoned out for like 4 minutes. I'm calling mum you can't be doing work like this when you're so distracted. Wash your hands." Jean-Pierre said, inhaling one last drag of his cigar before throwing it away and walking outside then upstairs to call their mother. Michele sighed, as she walked over to the sink, and began rinsing her hand with warm water. The cut was big and the girl winced in pain as the droplets hit the wound.
Her mother came down along with Jean-Pierre and did nothing but complain, how Michele hadn't done enough work and how useless, clumsy and stupid of a child she was. Which was nothing unusual for her, she'd hear it on a daily. Her mother saw the bloody wound and excused her, allowing her to go upstairs. Home. Jean-Pierre smiled at her, signalling to his younger sister that they leave together. She smiled and walked over to him, as he opened the shop's door. She made her way upstairs to their home and he walked down the street lighting up another cigarette, she just assumed he was going out with his friends,she'd like to think so. As she entered her house, she greeted her father who was sitting on the couch, and afterwards sheepishly made her way to her room. It was already 9:02 pm- and she needed to finish her English homework, which luckily for her was to read a few pages of a play her class was studying.
