My thoughts on Gaston

Father

Rebecca looked out of the window and sighed heavily. The wheels of her carriage bounced and creaked, making her seat shudder beneath her.

When her high school expelled her for low grades and bullying, and her parents disowned her, she saw no other choice but to flee to the country. Away from Paris, and her mother and father, and the teachers.

She'd remembered her cousin moving to a cute town in the middle of nowhere, after giving birth to a set of triplets. Hopefully they wouldn't run into each other, Rebecca hated her family with a passion.

The carriage came to a stop, jolting her out of her daydreams. Shortly after taking her belongings she found her cottage and immediately started unpacking. She didn't even watch the carriage leave.

A few days after moving in, Rebecca realised that she couldn't camp out in her bedroom living off of the few pieces of bread and chocolate she had brought with her. Putting together a basket and hiding under a cloak, she made her way into the town.

The reaction was immediate. As soon as she had stepped into the main square, all eyes were on her. She could feel their gaze as she shuffled through the market. Stopping at the bakers, she bought a few extra pieces, before hurrying out.

In hindsight, covering her eyes with a cloak and stepping into a busy street wasn't a good idea. And without looking where she was going, she collided with something rock solid and fell to the ground.

"Sorry sorry sorry." A small voice muttered, and she felt the bread being removed from her lap and placed into her basket. Lifting her cloak from her eyes, she looked up.

There was someone standing over her. A tall man, about twenty, maybe less. He had pitch black hair, and chiselled features, and he loomed over her like a mountain.

Realising she was still on the floor, she quickly scurried to her feet, and wiped her dress down. Something was stuffed into her arms, and looking down she saw that it was her basket, carefully filled with her bought bread.

"Sorry sorry sorry." The voice said again, and it was then that she noticed a shorter man next to her. He was chubby, and had a large nose. She ignored him.

"My apologies miss. I wasn't looking where I was going." The taller man said, offering her a hand. Forgetting about her basket, she took it, and he kissed it lightly. A tiny flutter broke through her cold exterior, and she smiled gratefully. The man smiled back, his glacier-cold eyes flashing at her as he took in her appearance.

"My name is Gaston," he told her, his baritone voice dripping with charm. "and this is Lefou." The smaller man grinned dopily at the woman but she , again, ignored him. A quiet voice in her head wondered if she was looking at Gaston the same way.

"I'm Rebecca." she said, clutching her basket tighter to her chest. Better to play the distant-and-formal act than him seeing through her tough outline.

"A pleasure." he winked at her, and looked down at her hand he was holding, and she wondered if he was going to kiss it again. She'd like that.

"Well Lefou, we'd best be off." he said to his friend, grinning proudly. "we're going on a hunting trip, we need to pack supplies." he told her, before he stepped into the bakery, Lefou stumbling after him.

"Wow." Rebecca breathed, forgetting herself for a second. She didn't move until she felt the cold stare of the people around her and she hurried off back to her cottage, away from everyone else.

Rebecca and Gaston saw each other two other times.

The first was a month later, when her cousin recognised her in the street, and excitedly invited her over. That was an hour and a half of hell, as she sat through patty cake with three giddy toddlers and one giddy mother.

Thankfully Gaston had knocked the door, delivering the newspaper for his daily route. The blonde ditz had snatched up the opportunity, and begged him to stay with her. He'd obliged, and made Rebecca's last half hour slightly more bearable, and he chatted with her about his trip and her family and god weren't these babies a nightmare?

Her cousin had spent the remaining time racing about trying to get him a drink or cake or anything to make him stay longer. Rebecca scowled as she watched the bimbo drooling over his biceps and triceps and quadceps. But thankfully Gaston seemed oblivious to her shameful flattery and politely took whatever she gave him. Rebecca's respect for him grew tremendously. Honestly, the man seemed to have unlimited patience, as she knew for a fact that the rock cakes were stall and the tea was watery.

The second time was at the triplets second birthday. It had, sadly, not been as dignified as Rebecca would have liked. All she remembered was being cajoled by her cousin into coming, downing a bottle of wine before hand to prepare herself, and being chatted up her Gaston at the open bar. (Who has an open bar at a second birthday party? Probably the same person who can't deal with two year olds).

The last thing she remembers was waking up next to him, vomiting spectacularly  on his duvet (thankfully not waking him up, the man slept like a log), running back to her cottage, packing her things and running the f*ck away!

And she'd only been there two months.

*Five years later*

Rebecca looked out of the window and sighed. Her 'beloved' husband had passed away just barely a month ago, and left her all of his money. The police had come round and asked her some questions, and she swore she didn't kill him. And she didn't, he'd died of a heart attack in his sleep.

She should be happy, the man was as fun as a wet blanket and she was glad to be rid of him, but now she had an extra mouth to feed. Even with all of this extra money, Rebecca wanted nothing more than to throw his wretched child out onto the street, but that was 'illegal' and their city didn't have any orphanages. Boo.

You see, the man had been gone almost a whole month and his daughter was still mourning! When Rebecca had passed his bedroom, she found the poor child knelt by his bed, weeping like a willow.

Such a shame really, if Rebecca didn't hate the child so much, she'd have let her play with her own daughters. But, the girl had a naturally rounded face, blonde hair and blue eyes, and Rebecca had learnt long ago that beautiful people can never be trusted. She'd find a job for her eventually.

She looked away from the window just in time to hear a loud crash coming from downstairs, and a scream. She frowned, and her thin face creased with wrinkles. Her daughters must have been playing with the cat again, and knocked something over. They were clumsy, but well-meaning.

She hitched up her skirts in annoyance, and called downstairs in her reedy voice:

"Anastacia! Drizella!"