TMRDWMP CH 11
- Jun 4
- 6 min read
Chapter 11
• ────── ✦ ────── •
Pay Me Back!
Monica glared at him again.
Are you actually asking me that?
Whether he understood the look or not, Garcia let out a short, hollow laugh and reached out his hand.
“Hey, I asked if you were alright.”
Monica couldn't find the words. In her heart, she wanted to leap up and grab the collar of this suspicious man who was looking down at her with such a doubtful face.
“Just get up for now.”
She truly didn't want any help from this man, but unfortunately, her body had gone weak. Pouting, she reached out both hands. As she lifted her head and opened her mouth, Garcia hesitated. Instead of taking her hands, he shook his head and gripped her wrists instead. He couldn't exactly grab her with his bloodied palms. Tears burst out before she could even shout.
“Ah…”
Garcia muttered in surprise.
“Sniff…”
Regardless, Monica had never experienced anything like this in her life. The expensive ribbon she had finally plucked up the courage to buy was ruined, and the man she had bumped into on the street turned out to be a rascal with thugs at his heels.
As she tried to stand up, she groaned. Their gazes both fell toward her legs, and Monica's eyes widened again. She had only meant to call out to someone she recognised, yet she had ended up caught in his trouble, losing her ribbon and getting hurt. Of course she was not alright.
Her grey dress, which had not lost a single thread in five years, was now miserably torn. It was enough to make her tears stop from sheer shock. She wanted to snap back at him, but the tears kept falling. She pressed her hand over her mouth. Monica stopped crying and let out a shriek.
“My dress!”
“What?”
Her scalp still felt numb from where the thugs had grabbed her hair. That wasn't all. Her back, which had hit the wall, was still throbbing with pain.
Garcia, who had been beside her and glaring at her, looked at her as if she were speaking nonsense. Monica quickly tried to shake off his hand to check her dress, but she staggered under his grip, which was stronger than expected.
Only then did it hit her, that she was much more frightened than she had thought.
“Hey! Stay still for a second.”
“Wh-why are you crying?”
Garcia, who had been holding Monica tightly, nearly lost his balance as she suddenly tried to break free. In a panic, he grabbed her waist just as she was about to fall. The surprising fact was that the man in front of him was stammering, flustered by Monica's tears. He had looked as though he feared nothing in the world when he was throwing stones at the thugs.
In that moment, by some coincidence, Monica's dishevelled hair came completely undone. It had been shaken loose after being handled so roughly by the thugs. Her glossy black hair spilled down like a waterfall under the sunlight, filling Garcia's vision.
“And earlier you were shouting like you weren’t scared at all…”
Seriously, who was he to say that?
Even in that moment, Monica glared at him. She had so much to say, but her lips wouldn't move properly through the sobbing, instead she held out her palms to him. Garcia frowned, the blood was oozing from the scrapes she had gotten when she fell.
Regardless, Monica, was staring at her knees in disbelief. She only owned four proper outfits. The taffeta dress she wore for her interview at the Mollet mansion, this grey everyday dress, her nightgown, and one dull, suffocating green dress. The green one was made of much thicker fabric, that she couldn't even wear it in this summer heat!
“This...”
Monica trembled as she looked at her torn hem. It was a bit shabby, but it was perfect for daily wear. Since she wasn't a formal governess and the child she was caring for was a young boy, she had planned to wear this dress while looking after him.
Her tears stopped. No matter how much pain or humiliation one suffers, tears would always vanish in the face of immediate threats to one’s livelihood. A cold, sharp anger filled her eyes.
“Pay me back.”
“Huh?”
“Pay me back!”
Garcia, about to say what kind of a woman, suddenly shut his mouth. He sensed the dangerous aura radiating from her. Monica grabbed him by the collar. No one knows where she found the strength, but the man found himself choking as her slender hands tightened around his neck.
“My dress! My silk ribbon! My straw hat! Everything! Pay it all back! You...”
Monica's green eyes swept over him from head to toe. Then, she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“You gigolo!”
It was still morning, and the sun had not yet become truly piercing. In that dirty alleyway, Monica's voice echoed loudly.
You gigolo... gigolo... gigolo...
• ───────── ☽༓☾ ───────── •
The blonde man, his forehead creased with irritation, rummaged through his pockets and spat out a curse. Monica, glancing his way, immediately realised why he was annoyed. The cigar he pulled out from his shirt pocket was snapped completely in half.
“Damn it!”
That cigar had come from the very shirt pocket Monica had been clutching and tearing at just ten minutes ago. In other words, she was the one who had broken it.
With her cheeks swollen, Monica glared at him with a look that seemed to say he can curse at her all he wants.
But Garcia simply put the broken cigar in his mouth and lit it with a flint without a word. His expression was sour, but he said nothing. Beside him, Monica tried to tidy her hair, combing through it with her fingers.
Garcia exhaled a puff of smoke.
“So. Besides that, what were the other candidates?”
“Candidates?”
Monica knitted her brows in confusion. He took another puff, blowing the smoke away from her.
“What else were you going to call me, besides a gigolo?”
“Ah.”
Monica opened her mouth slightly. So that was what he was asking. They had spent a good while in that filthy alleyway, grabbing collars and bickering. When one of the unconscious thugs groaned as if he were waking up, they had reached a silent agreement: kick those bastards one more time and get out of there as fast as possible.
Now, Monica and Garcia were sitting on a corner of Argent Square. Before them was the bright sunlight, newsboys, old men pushing carts, pedestrians, and the polished stone floor. Occasionally, men stopping to smoke cheap cigarettes would glance at them.
A strikingly handsome but messy man smoking an expensive cigar, and a maid with a swollen face who had clearly been crying, her hair a mess and her clothes torn. It was certainly a combination that drew attention.
Monica, who was twisting her hair back into place, stared back at them. When their eyes met hers, the men quickly looked away and moved along.
It was a strange feeling. Usually, if Monica met a stranger's eyes, she was the one to look away first. That was only natural for a well-bred lady. But today, she felt like acting a bit bold.
There was a boy she used to know at the orphanage, someone who used his status as an orphan as an excuse to hang around with troublemakers before eventually running away. Monica had never liked him, but she had sometimes envied the way people would avoid his gaze or quietly leave the area when they saw him.
What was that boy's name again?
Monica tried to recall her fading memory.
“Thug.”
“Is that so?”
“Bully. Scoundrel.”
“I see.”
“Aside from those, there's rascal, and in a different category, idiot.”
Monica counted them off on her fingers, staring at Garcia. Garcia took a third puff and looked at her disparagingly.
“So, a gigolo is among them.”
“You should be grateful. Calling someone horse-tail. I'm being quite generous with you.”
Garcia scoffed at her sharp tone.
“I only called you horse-tail because you have a ponytail. I don't see what the problem is.”
“Fine, I called you a gigolo because you look like one, so let's agree we're even.”
“Then since you aren't a ponytail anymore, can I call you seaweed-hair? No complaints, right?”
“What did you say?”
Monica flared up at his sarcastic tone. Garcia simply ignored her and held up a palm to signal her to stop. He dropped his cigar ash on the ground and ground it out with his foot.
His relaxed attitude is so far removed from that of a gentleman!
Monica clenched her fists. But the man reached out and wrapped his large hand over her fist. His hand was so big that her fist was swallowed up in an instant.
“Let's stop being angry, alright?”
Monica was about to snap at him for touching her, but the words died in her throat. The man's deep blue eyes held the faint trace of a smile.
“Anyway, I did save you.”
“...Gigolo...”
Monica eventually muttered after a long pause.
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