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.

Belle was looking up at him, her emotions and thoughts as plain as day on her face as she searched him for any reaction. Peter had only been silent for a moment, but it was a moment too long.

Peter could not think about what this news meant for him. To do so was entirely and criminally selfish. Belle had told him that she saw him as safe, and he would continue to be that harbour for her, remembering Jim's words of advice.

"You are safe with me," he murmured to her softly.

He watched as some, not all, but some of the tension eased in Belle's shoulders. She nodded and she took a deep breath.

"I am sorry," she whispered, her voice shaking. "It ... it happened five years ago, when I was fourteen ..."

Fourteen? For God's sake, she was but a child!

"... my master, he ... he made me ... he always made me ... I don't know why he wanted to marriage me ... but I ... I had to." Belle was losing her voice again, her firmness all but gone as her words shook and her accent clouded her pronunciation.

Years from now when Peter would look back on this moment, he would always wonder how he managed to stay calm, to be still. Because inside he was raging. Peter could feel his blood boiling. His brain was about to burst with the ire that was coursing through his body. Those details, those brief details about Belle's former life were harrowing and heartbreaking and knowing that she had been subjected to this killed him.

Her master, whomever he was, had forced her ... forced her into everything. Peter couldn't picture it lest he explode right there in that alley, which only increased his guilt as he knew Belle had to live with the memories.

Belle had been a fourteen-year-old girl ...

And here she stood at nineteen, frightened, shaking ... but alive, here as evidence of her perseverance and strength –

"I do not want you to be angry with me in knowing that you cannot ... that we cannot ... that I have lied ... that we must stop ... I am so sorry to hurt you ..." Belle interrupted Peter's thoughts with such ludicrous ones of her own.

Why was she worried about him?

But his question was answered by one look upon her face. Belle was worried about Peter because she cared about him.

Hang that man. Peter really wished that the law would hang him. Hang him and his hold over her. How dare he and his evil eclipse one more day of Belle's precious life.

"You are free," Peter told her fervently. "You are a free woman with your own will. You make your own choices. You chose to come here. You chose to settle in Ashwood. You chose to make your own income. You chose ... you chose to trust me, Belle. You are no longer belonging to any one person but yourself. You are answerable to no one, not even me. You are a world away from that life, and I pray, I pray that you are able to forge a new one for yourself that brings you fulfilment, joy and peace. Peace above all. And if you so deign me good enough to be welcomed into your life, then I shall consider it the greatest privilege of my own."

Belle's eyes widened and her full lips parted as she whispered, "I am free?" The way she said the words sounded more like a question.

And so, Peter would assure her. "You are free," he promised. "Whatever hold that was once upon you no longer exists."

Peter did not know if this was true. He was not a solicitor. He had very little knowledge of the legality of owning humans. Quite frankly, the idea of researching the subject made him sick to his stomach. Logically, he knew that it would be a little more complicated than just wishing oneself free. But Belle was safe here. She had been away from Saint-Martin for more than a year. That life was behind her. Her master was long gone, destined to be a figure who would slowly fade from Belle's memory as she replaced him with good ones.

If they got married one day, what did it matter if it was not entirely legal? Only they would know. And Belle would further have the protection of his name.

"I am free," Belle said again, this time with confidence, her voice sounding the steadiest it had during their entire conversation.

Peter smiled down at her. He then saw something flash through her eyes that seemed rather like gumption. It was certainly nerve as she placed her hands upon his chest and stood up on her toes, leaning up to ...

... to kiss him. Peter did not need to be told, or invited, twice. He immediately reciprocated, gently placing a hand on her waist, and other on her cheek as he leaned down towards her.

But before he could kiss her, he felt her freeze in his arms. Before he could release her, before he could calm her, Belle cried out, "No!" and was ten feet away from him, having ripped herself out of his arms.

She was gripping onto one of the empty wooden crates in the alley, panting, her eyes darting about as all manner of embarrassment and shame flashed across her face.

"Belle, it's alright," Peter promised her.

She dared not look at him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she repeated over and over. "I thought I could ... I thought ... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't be angry."

The frustrated thought of 'When will she understand that I will never be angry with her?' crossed Peter's mind initially. But he then knew, and understood, that it had been ingrained into her to fear the reactions, the retaliation, the anger of men. He needed to change that.

Belle had tried to kiss him. She had tried to be vulnerable in a way that she was not yet ready to be. It meant the world to him that she had tried.

"I am not angry," Peter said gently, approaching her carefully. "I am not angry, I promise you."

Belle seemed to hear the sincerity in his voice, and she slowly turned her head to face him. She bit down on her bottom lip as she frowned sadly. "I am sorry," she whispered.

"Will you stop apologising, please?" he willed. "I am not angry, I promise."

Belle was quiet for a moment, before she finally nodded. "I believe you."

They stared at one another for a short moment, before Peter uttered once again, "You are free."

Those three words brought a smile to Belle's face, and after the anguish that he had seen upon her during this conversation, seeing that was blissful.

"Your maman invited me to supper," she said suddenly. "Perhaps ... perhaps I could go now. It would be alright to go now, would it not?"

Peter knew that Belle probably had no idea as to the level of enthusiasm that she would meet inside of his mother's house. But he could see that she had resisted going because she believed that she was not free to. Peter had succeeded in helping her to see that she did, indeed, have free will. If she wanted to exercise that free will to dine with his family, then so be it. He would shield her for the rest of his days.

"Let us go," said Peter, offering Belle his arm.

This time, without hesitation, she took it.

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Hope you enjoyed it!!!

I just lurrrrveee that Peter was able to fix everything so easily and it's all fine and all goooooddddd ..................... *evil laugh*

Side note, I just love that Remember Me (my quote for today) was written by Christopher Pike. Always reminds me of Star Trek hahaha

This will be my last chapter before Christmas! I hope you all have the most magical holiday with your families! I am so looking forward to giving my family their presents and then having a big dinner with my extended family. So looking forward to family KK as well. My cousin asked through the grapevine what my favourite Taylor Swift lyric is so I'm getting something Swiftie themed wooohooo!

I love you all. Thank you for filling another one of my years with so much positivity and support. I love coming and spending time with you every Saturday (more on school holidays!) and I hope you continue to come and visit me!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

Love Laura xo