Frances stared at her uncle in disbelief. "Marry Mr. Winters? But he's almost three times my age! And I love Jonathan!"

Matthew Evans wouldn't meet her eyes. "Frances, you've been living on the charity of this house for sixteen years. Jonathan is nothing but poor street trash. Mr. Winters is from a good family, and he has money, and most importantly, he has agreed to take you as his wife. He can take care of you. You will marry him. That's final." He sighed. "I've let you run wild far too long. It's time you started acting like a proper lady instead of some tomboy street rat in a dress."

She stared at him in shock for a moment. Her uncle had never spoken to her like that before. He had never acted like this before, either. She knew that he had lost money, but...

She turned and ran up the stairs to her bedroom, trying not to cry. She would never, never marry Mr. Winters, no matter what her uncle said; But how was she going to get out of it?

"I'll run away," she whispered. "I'll go find Jonathan." She looked around her tidy room and tried to think of anything she wanted to take, but nothing really seemed important, so she just left.

It took her nearly and hour to walk to his apartment in the pouring rain, and by the time she got there, she was soaked through and freezing cold. She knocked on his door and waited, shivering, for him to answer.

After what seemed an eternity, he opened the door, and looked at her with surprise in his beautiful brown eyes. "What da hell are ya doin' heah, Frances?" He shook his head. "Nevah mind, come on." He pulled her inside and into his room, then dug through a drawer and tossed her some clothing. "Heah, change outta dose clothes before ya catch cold." He disappeared back into the other room of the apartment.

A few moments later, she rejoined him, leaving her ruined dress on the floor of the bedroom. He looked up, concern on his face. She went to sit beside him, and he wrapped his arms around her. "Now what's goin' on?"

Trying not to cry, Frances told him the whole story. "But I don't want to marry some dirty old man who's thirty years older than me, I want to marry you," she said softly, depression setting in. Jonathan sat looking at her with an odd look on his face, and his arms suddenly no longer seemed comforting. Hesitantly, she said, "What is it?" "Dat was a stupid thing ta do, Frances." She looked at him in surprise, then sighed. "I know. My uncle will probably disown me, but I just couldn't-" He cut her off, angrily. "Dat's right, he'll probably disown you!" He glared at her. "You idiot!" She stared at him in shock, not quite understanding what he meant. He stood and paced the room. "Maybe dey'll pay me for givin' ya back."

She jumped to her feet. "What? Jonathan, what are you saying?" A cold feeling swept over her.

"Whadda ya think I'm sayin'? I ain't got no use for ya without your money, Frances." He glared at her again.

She shook her head in disbelief. First her uncle, now Jonathan. "But but you love me, you said you did..." She trailed off. "I m not some bargaining chip to get money, and I won't be! I'm not going back!"

He slapped her. She brought her hand up to her cheek, shock and disbelief playing across her face as she stared at him. He glared at her with a chillingly dangerous look on his face. "You are goin' back, Frances." He grabbed her arm and dragged her into his bedroom, then left and locked the door.

She stared at the door for a moment, then turned and stared at the crumpled dress on the floor. It lay in a soggy, defeated looking puddle.

"I know exactly how you feel," she whispered. She sat for a moment on the bed, then set her jaw stubbornly. I won't cry. She looked around desperately, but there was no way out. I won't cry.

1902
I finished what I was doing and sighed. It was still fairly early, and I didn't really want to go home to my empty apartment. It was times like this that I felt lonely, despite myself, but I reminded myself that friends weren't worth the pain they caused. You can't trust anyone. Everyone does things for their own selfish reasons, and trusting anyone is asking to get hurt. I felt a wave of depression, but fought it off, and looked around for another job to distract me.

Distraction came from the least likely of places: Curse Edwards.

"Hey, Frankie, how ya f%#$in' doin'?" I mentally rolled my eyes at his language, but turned around.

"Just fine, Edwards, yourself?"

He didn't look especially happy. "Jostein told me I had ta f@#$in' clean out da f@#$in' tool closet."

I smiled. I hadn't thought there was anything left to do today, but I had forgotten the tool closet, which was a complete disaster. "Want some help?"

Curse shrugged. "Yeah, why da hell not?" he said. "It'll go a little faster dat way."