Titanic: True Love Forever

Chapter 11: Teenage girls

I didn't have any time to let the guy realize what was going on, his moans would summon his maid maid including the old poodle at his side at any moment. I shoved a casually grabbed towel into his mouth before he could really resist the urge to scream. Calhokely's handsome face twisted even more as he first wrinkled his bushy eyebrows in disbelief and bit the piece of towel in his teeth with such force that he couldn't bear to bite it.

If he had any experience of being kicked in key areas then I might not have moved fast enough to catch him, whereas apparently he was in so much pain that his hands went to cover his bottom, so he was easily gagged by me.

I saw his upper eyelids roll up hard to reveal the amber pupils of his eyes, his lower lids were so tight that they pinched out the lines in the corners of his eyes, and his cheek muscles were shaking straight up.

It's a bummer, that's probably all he can think about before he even realizes he's disgraced himself. It was as if he was still dreaming a grotesque and unpleasant dream, there was no way a so-called upper class person like him, who grew up in the upper class, who had no worries about food and clothing, who lived an extravagant life, and who spelled a classy one in everything, would be kicked to the ground and have a washed out towel shoved into his mouth.

Of course the above are all my own for him to put himself in his shoes to think about.

I was also unlucky, if he had come two minutes later, I guess we could not have met again. Luckily I didn't see anyone outside who had come in with him, so it was enough for me to just tackle him.

I kicked out again when he was about to come back, for fear of crippling him for real, I kicked him in the stomach this time, a place where mastering the position wasn't enough to do any real damage. I usually rarely so violent, if it is not in the Titanic above, I was seen at most to kick him the first even back to the capital. The second kick was just to subdue this guy, I couldn't let him lure everyone over.

"Well." The man who was kicked down let out a muffled grunt of pain, his short, smooth, pitch-black hair all scattered to his forehead from the struggle, and the skin of his face, which was on the darker side, was covered in sweat.

When a person is in extreme pain, the screams of agony are able to break through the barrier of the fabric in their mouth and spread through the air. I could see this guy's long, slender fingers clasping the wooden floor in a death grip, with veins bursting out of them and the grimy feeling of his knuckles breaking out of his skin. And his expensive white undershirt, with glass slivers stuck to it, where he'd fallen just where the brandy glass had broken.

I could still smell the scent of alcohol staining his body as I breathed deeply, a smell that could almost set the air on fire.

It reminds me of a trip I once took to the Sahara Desert, which was after finishing a gig, and in search of inspiration I let myself go again and traveled from Hong Kong alone.

The Sahara Desert was the fifth place on my travel itinerary. It was dawn when I arrived, the air was desolate and dry, the sun was slowly rising, and the pre-dawn shadows were melted into the piles of white, bone-like sand like rose-colored sunlight blossoming out.

I hadn't realized that the smell of perfume laced with the delicate scent of brandy on this guy's body would create such a dry chemical reaction. Unfortunately, the Sahara Desert was not one of my favorite trips, and I had to eat a mouthful of sand with every step I took, even if I was already wearing a hat and sarong.

I dragged the guy into the more open living room, and in the process of panicking I knocked over a chair.

He was still curled up from the pain, and I could clearly see that his delicately manicured fingernails were cracked, and his lips were shivering straight up as they lost the color that had been so healthy to begin with.

Did I kick him too hard?

To prevent him from running out and calling for help, I grabbed a sheet from the bedroom and used it as a rope to wrap him up in knots. When I finally strangled the knot, I didn't have enough strength, so I directly stepped my foot on the guy's back so that I could use my strength to accomplish this difficult task.

I could have sworn I saw a blaze of anger burning in the eyes of this rich man, whose eyes were drooping badly but not at all depressed. He had finally come to his senses, and I had no doubt that if he was given any chance of escape at the moment, he would have had his old poodle kill me and then wrapped my body in the same sheet that had tied him up and thrown it overboard to the sharks.

What an undignified way to die, at least write my name phonetically on the sheet and throw me a rose for a funeral.

I sat down on the carpet after tying him off, a little frantic, propping my hand on my forehead and gasping under my breath, I'm so desperate for the aged bedtime story, if Jack Dawson doesn't get off the boat tomorrow I'll just get him killed and throw him in the ocean with a torn sheet and feed him to the dolphins. I shouldn't have gotten on this damn boat, and I shouldn't have bumped into this unlucky bastard and swept up his watch.

Now the ship is full of crew chasing me, and I'll have to figure out how to open the hatch below and swim ashore tomorrow when the ship stops. There are too many things, there is no time for me to feel sorry for myself, I don't even shake off Karl Hockley, who is tied up in a ball, if I don't move faster, this guy's fate will be my fate, maybe Hockley will use that old poodle's gun to shoot me directly into a hornet's nest.

Hurriedly running into the bathroom to change my dress, I finally realized whose dress it was, I had gone through the heroine's closet. No wonder the dress felt too baggy, her figure was too standard I couldn't spell malnourished.

Months of uprooted life had made my body even thinner, I used my own fingers to roughly feel the thickness of my body under the skin, it wasn't mature enough.

The dress was a beige high-waisted skirt, and it was said that all high-waisted skirt designs of the period were modeled after Japanese kimonos. Unfortunately, I have little interest in European clothing history, much less a hobby of collecting vintage clothing, so I'm not sure of the brand or designer of this kind of private couture dress.

Because I had to be quick, this unfamiliar dress I wore with some fumbling, and even at first when I ran into the lady's room wearing the dress and took out the make-up box from in front of someone's mirror and walked over to Calhokli, the high-waisted skirt collapsed on me somewhat without shape.

It's hard to appreciate those delicate cuts when a dress doesn't show its shape on you.

The bright mirror above the fireplace in the doorway was just what I needed; as a certified kidnapper, I was going to have to keep an eye on this guy while also keeping an eye out for anyone coming in from outside.

Carl looked like a large insect cocoon, wriggling caterpillar-like on the floor. He sees me appear and stares indignantly straight into his eyes that have finally stopped drooping, the cloth in his mouth almost swallowed, anger causing the muscles at the corners of his mouth to twist violently in a grimace. His black hair was sticking up in disarray or pasted onto his face and forehead.

I actually kind of regretted that if I hadn't already showered, I should have run down to the lower decks when I encountered this guy again and just hid in the boiler room; it wasn't safe to mix with the upper decks now. But having come this far, there was no turning back for me.

All I could do was sit down on the floor with my skirt up, the carpet looked like good material, perhaps from the weaving and dyeing techniques I had seen on a trip to India once. The man scuffed desperately at the carpet, but unfortunately he had never had any experience of anything like it, so all his strength was almost wasted in various useless struggles. We were two chairs away from each other and I sat quietly on my knees, the mirror was a bit high and when I sat down I could basically only see my slender neck and a freshly washed face, still messily covered by my long wet hair.

The face was very young, surprisingly youthful. Skin has not been wandering life ravaged too much, may be the age of youth so self-repair ability is still very good, because of the hot water of the dense white face cheeks flushed, these two clean color contrast can give me some kind of inspiration like things.

I was looking for dance steps, I need this kind of thing.

Quiet, red roses sitting in the dark snow. So I lift my hand sometime to find this soft rhythm of a silent and beautiful maiden.