Beloved Beast

Chapter Fifty

Her pulse was a concentrated mess, drumming so hard in her ears that it drowned out the room as it beat with anticipation, excitement, and a modicum of fear, not because she was afraid of Don and his disfigurements, but because she feared he would always keep some part of him locked away as he hesitated to step into the light.

He seemed of two minds, confessing his true love for her in one tortured breath, only to cling to his self-preservation tactics the next.

If you look upon my unsightly face and feel nothing but disgust and loathing for me, then I vow to release you and disturb you no more.

It was disheartening, that after all this time, after everything that had transpired between them, he would still insist on self-disparagement.

How could he not see that it was the parts he considered undesirable, and the selfless acts he disguised behind cynicism and a mercurial temperament, that had attracted her the most. It was the underlay of melancholy and rancor in his gravelly voice, the loneliness forced upon him in the wake of his unending curse, and the unmitigated guilt that drove him to desensitize from an unsympathetic world that made her realize that if anyone needed affection and understanding the most, it was those deemed unlovable by society.

"If you want my heart," Elle swallowed, choking back tears as her lungs inflated with an overdue breath. "Take it. It is yours; I ask for nothing in return, but ..." she wet her lips, allowing the weight of her words to register. "I simply ask that you relinquish this standing belief that I could feel anything other than horror or pity for you."

"A reasonable request, nymph, were you opinion not an unbiased one. I fear once you truly see and know what renders me ghastly, what lurks deep in my heart that I humbly surrender to you, that your ardent feelings may dramatically change."

"No," she replied firmly, her steady voice belying the fervid feelings churning within her. "When have I ever given you the impression that I had unrealistic expectations of love? I would never ask you to go against your beliefs, but if we are not willing to compromise or be transparent when needed, our love may never flourish. It is what nurtures familiarity, fondness, and trust. I want this. I want you, Don. Your ghastly moniker. Your ironclad curse. All your failings and imperfections. I want them all because they are every bit apart of you."

"You deserve everything that is good and unsullied."

Elle shook her head in disbelief. "I never asked for perfection, nor do I want it."

"You did not ask for a monster either."

Frustration burned hot across her chest as she gaped at him – or rather, his shadow. It was as if her words were falling on deaf fears. Moisture pooled in her eyes and began to dampen her cheeks, furious that Seraphine had wounded him so deeply that even when faced with unconditional love and understanding, he still believed that her feelings would not uphold against his scars and the sins he had committed in his past.

There had to be something else. Something he was withholding from her.

"I may be new to sight, Don, but I have seen what monsters are truly made of," she paused, a flurry of disturbing images flitting through her gutted memory.

Large beasts made of asphyxiating smoke. A diabolical witch with changing emotionless eyes. A leering man with bruising hands. A fire that never seemed to stop burning, and a bloody, gaping throat belonging to an innocent girl.

Elle blanched, her breath faltering.

Remnants of her panic attack bloomed at the edges of her frayed awareness, threatening to resurface should she linger on the images that haunted her. Don was the only thing keeping her unpleasant reflections at bay. His presence a soothing balm that assuaged a surplus of fear and uncertainty, making it easier for her to breathe, to think.