The night was unseasonably warm in Paris. The air conditioner whirred in the window - set up hastily some days before when the temperatures had started to climb. Even with its cool jet of air, though, it still felt as though sweat dripped from every pore.

Blankets had been forsaken by the couple, and Gérard, at least, was sound asleep. For Amélie, this was another sleepless night. Sweat clung her thin clothing to her body, which chafed and itched more than it should have, but no amount of squirming or scratching could alleviate it. Couple that with restless thoughts and the on-again-off-again snoring of her lover, and she was left to watch the billowing orange glow of the curtain as it caught itself again and again in the airflow from the whirring machine in the window, only to fall out, dangling back to where it had started. It was futility, and it was trapped.

For a moment, she sympathized.

The thought itself caught her off guard. How could she be sympathizing with a curtain? And yet as she watched it try again to free itself from its place beside the window by the currents of the chilled air, she wanted it to be free. And once again, it buckled, returning to its place.

Always beside the window. Always trapped.

Amélie frowned, beginning to prop herself up on her forearm. Why shouldn't it be free? Legs shifted over the side of the bed, and she finally gave up on trying to sleep. Gérard turned on his side, but continued to snore, and a smile slipped onto her lips. Good, she hadn't woken him. If she was quiet, she still wouldn't.

Her lithe form had been something she'd always hated; she felt too tall, and like it made her stand out. Now, though, it proved a benefit, and she was able to begin silently unhooking the curtain from its fastenings. Part of her longed to take the fabric and tear it odd to throw flailing across the quiet room. Its freedom deserved as much effort.

The curtain released, she gave it a smile before letting it drop quietly to the floor, and let her eyes scan over the streets and alleys that were in eyesight of the apartment. Here a man was taking out the trash behind his restaurant, looking satisfied with his earnings for the night, but still displeased by the trip to the dumpster through the heat of the night.

Her eyes flicked to the right, and she saw a couple having an argument as they walked down the street. From here she could read what their lips were saying - something having to do with the man having gotten a little too friendly with her friends. Accusations flew, words were misinterpreted, but the tension soon found its conclusion. Amélie pouted - she'd been hoping for a little bit more entertainment, but the couple sauntered awkwardly away, the man following several steps behind and looking as though he'd been properly called out.

Amélie turned her gaze back to her husband, wondering if he'd ever do anything like that to her. Wondering if he would break her heart. Wondering how she would react. Thoughts very quickly turned dark, and she pinched her eyes shut to chase them away. 'No, Amélie,' she told herself, 'we can't have any of that.'

Once again, she turned to the city for entertainment, trying to find something to help her pass the night-and there it was. A young woman rounded a corner into view, wearing far too little to have been anywhere but a club. She stumbled, barely managing to catch herself, and betraying her intoxication. 'At least she has the sense not to drive,' she thought, looking on as she began trying to walk again.

A moment passed, and a group of four men rounded the corner, their gaze on the woman as they slowly closed the distance. Amélie's eyes fixed on them. She could see their intent from the look in their eyes, what words she could make out from their lips, and the bulges in their trousers. Gazing again to the girl, it was clear what her fate could be. And given how at least one of the men had a knife in his pocket that she could see, it was time to act.

"Gérard," she called, keeping her gaze fixed on the woman, memorizing her position, and her route.

"What is it, love?" He asked moments later, his voice still groggy from sleep.

"Get up and put your suit on," she said, "you get to go be a hero."

With something of a groan, the man pushed himself up and began to dress. Amélie hadn't even looked his way. Only after he'd left the room did she stoop to retrieve the curtain, beginning to put it back. It would not be free this night, after all.