Odiaba que la llamaran Rosie. Pero, quizá, no lo hacía tanto como ese preciso momento. Iba de Han Solo y ella de Leia. ¿No podían ser más predecibles? Le había pedido una foto al tipo a espaldas simplemente porque pensó que sería lindo tenerla con un desconocido. Mas no lo era. La sangre migró de la cabeza a los pies. “Samuel…” musitó su nombre, frunció el ceño. El corazón latía frenético en su pecho. “¿Qué haces aquí?” y no se refería a la convención.
Confusión y frustración inhundaron sus sentidos mientras intentaba formular algún tipo de respuesta coherente. ¿Qué hacía ahí, realmente? En su mente, el último lugar en el que Marjorie podía aparecer era en New Heaven... La conocía, jamás añoró el lugar, incluso parecía rechazarlo. Parecía. “Yo... Estoy viviendo hace unos meses aquí.” Expresó. “Marjorie, lo siento mucho, lo que menos quiero es incomodarte, lo prometo.” Intentó mantener sus miradas conectadas, sinceridad pura en sus ojos. Si ella se lo pedía, se largaba lejos.
DATE ❦ May 10th, 1940
LOCATION ❦ Marseille, France. Philippe’s house.
WORDCOUNT ❦ 612
SUMMARY ❦ Philippe leaves Paris to meet Marjorie in Marseille so they can flee the country during the war.
The iron front gates gave way to the mansion and the vehicle came to a stop at the front door. Philippe didn’t take a moment to throw his home one last appreciative glance. The war was at his ankles. He had fled Paris before those foolish humans could do him any harm, but there were casualties in war and though he could’ve headed to the north, to get on a boat at Calais off to England, he opted to travel south for Marjorie instead.
He pushed the front doors open and called for his fledgling. “Marjorie! It’s time to go, love, come on.” Just before he left off to Paris, they’d had an argument. She refused to attend another one of his events and he left without her. Fine then, have it your way. The vampire was a hot-headed man and though he lost himself in bursts of raw emotion, he wouldn’t let such a small thing get in his way now.
“The war won’t wait for you to pack up!” Philippe betrayed his own words when he rushed into the study room, going through his drawers until he found an old, rusted iron key. “Marjorie!” He called for her again, moving towards the bookshelf and pushing his entire collection of Shakespeare works aside to find a small key hole on the wall where he inserted the iron key and turned. There would be no time to move his belongings, best to be sure they can’t be taken away.
Finally, her absence struck him. “Marjorie?” He turned around, clearing his mind of all thought to try and locate her through sound --- to no avail. His worry came out disguised as anger. “If you don’t answer me right this instant...!” Philippe’s voice thundered through the house into a threat. Pocketing the key, he reached the hallway to look for her around the house despite the quiet. The reasonable part of him knew she wasn’t anywhere to be found, but he had to look.
Could the war have reached her first? Had she been taken? It wouldn’t be the first time someone broke into the house. Was she careless? Could hunters have tracked her down? Was she gone?
Philippe wished he hadn’t been there enough times that he knew exactly where to look. There was a heaviness in his stomach that sickened him as he made his way over to the bedroom and lingered at the doorway. Gathering the courage to walk the distance to the closet. Doors pulled open to reveal the empty space where she used to keep her clothes. Missing jewels from the drawers at her vanity table and the small pile of books from the nightstand.
Gone, not dead. Philippe took a seat on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees and dragging a hand across his tired face. Another disappearing act, and this time he had barely lasted a decade before he was forced to face it.
Had it been the fight? Words thrown around carelessly in the heat of the moment? What had he done? To deserve this, time and again, what God had he crossed? Why did they think they could do that to him?
He loved her, he did, in his own messed up way, but his skin burned with the anger of a scorned lover the moment she turned her back on him and he wanted to kill her for that. Not for walking out on him, but for having any sort of lasting power over him. Even in her absence, in her abandonment. He felt it when she left even as she lacked in love for him, and he hated her for that.
