A Defiant Liaison

XVIII

"Relationships are mysterious. We doubt the positive qualities in others, seldom the negative. You will say to your partner: do you really love me? Are you sure you love me? You will ask this a dozen times and drive the person nuts. But you never ask: are you really mad at me? Are you sure you're angry? When someone is angry, you don't doubt it for a moment. Yet the reverse should be true. We should doubt the negative in life, and have faith in the positive." Christopher Pike, Remember Me

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XVIII.

Peter did not know the right thing to say. He never seemed to. He always seemed to find some way to stumble over his words, or to say something odd, or something that he had not meant to. But he wanted to be better. He wanted to be better for Belle.

It affected him deeply to see her so frightened, so tortured by memories past, as she tried to speak about it. He wanted so badly to be able to say the right thing, and yet he couldn't find the words.

All he could do was assure her that whatever she had to say would not anger him. He had already made that commitment within himself to never show Belle anger, and he never would.

Peter wanted to hold her. He wanted to take her somewhere far quieter, far safer, than the rear of Mr Andrews' shop. He wished that they could be alone without the gossip mongers of this village having a field day.

With how he was feeling, the anguish, the concern, and the torment, it was as though his heart had begun to live outside of his own body. As though it had been placed with Belle without either of them realising until now.

"I know what you wish," Belle stammered after a long minute of silence. Her accent was heavier than ever as her voice was thick with emotion. "I know what you want. I know ... your maman told me ... but I know, too. I want it, too."

She was so torn, so conflicted, so tortured. Her eyes were molten, filled with fear, grief and regret.

Peter's first thoughts were that his mother had said something to frighten Belle, to pressure her without realising. But he quickly saw that Belle's reaction was quite beyond this. Her fear was remnant of when she had told him the story of her capture.

What was going on inside of her mind?

"Belle," said Peter again, using every ounce of his being to remain steady and calm. "Find your words. Just tell me, please."

Whatever it was, it was tearing her apart. She had to know that whatever she needed to tell him would not change anything. Nothing she had done, or ever could do, would change anything. That had become apparent quicker than anything. And he knew, sadly and infuriatingly, that it was highly likely whatever she needed to tell him had nothing to do with what she had done, but what had been done to her.

"I am already married."

The words tumbled out of Belle's mouth so quickly, and so heavily accented that Peter needed to stop for a moment to wonder if she had actually said them in French as he could not possibly have understood her properly. But after that moment, he realised that she had, indeed, spoken English, and she had confessed what he had heard.

Married. Married? How was this possible? How could she be married already? To whom? Where was this husband? Why was she not with –

Peter's irrational thoughts ceased immediately. Belle was not an unhappy wife seeking a torrid affair.

Belle was barely of age, and had suffered a monumental life of abuse, culminating in her escape, recapture, and liberation from that life. He only needed to read the terror in her eyes to know that her husband, whomever he was, could only be seen as a contributor to her torture.