3. Belle

The enemies are just about to become lovers, and I become completely engrossed in the story.

Now I am lost in the pages of my book, and nothing, absolutely nothing can rip me away.

Not even my chores.

There"s a pile of dirty dishes that need doing, but they can wait.

Not when the main male character is about to kiss the girl…

I have a pulse reaction next, and soon I don"t even see the words anymore as they morph into images, playing like a movie reel in my head.

Yes, yes, yes!

It"s getting to the good part.

The tumblers of the door click, and I am sucked away from the mini-universe of my book and back into the cold, harsh reality of the real world.

No!

Not when I was just getting to the good part.

How is he even back so soon? Normally, he comes and goes, but he is never this unpredictable.

I"m currently hiding under my sheets, as if reading a smutty book is forbidden somehow.

I don"t see why. It"s just a book.

And Francis bought me the book.It"s not my fault that he doesn"t check its contents properly.

"Belle?"

With a sigh, I drag the sheets off my head, hiding my book beneath the pillow. Then I check my embarrassing bedhead in the mirror, smoothing down my ebony hair.

Francis would blow a fuse if he saw the state of my head.

At least my hands are clean now. And I made sure my dress was perfectly ironed and pressed.

Considering I have been lying in bed, it doesn"t appear to be too creased, and now I leave the safety of my room, approaching the man who bought me in the main foyer.

But am I really safe? After all, I live in a cage.

And I"m not wholly sure if I can trust Francis.

Why does he impose all these strict rules? And why does he never touch me?

It"s strange.

I find him by the door, and I almost stop in my tracks when I spy the state he"s in. He is nervous, and his normally smooth hair is mussed.

Also, he smells… odd.

It"s sharp, overpowering his dried ink and old newspaper scent.

His eyes appraise me next, and then he straightens his posture, wiping down his suit. "What took you so long?"

I keep my arms folded neatly in front of me, always keeping my gaze on the ground at his feet, He doesn"t like me looking him directly in the eyes.

"Well?" he probes.

A sigh escapes me, and then I say, " I was brushing my hair."

It"s only a half-lie. Really, I was getting down and dirty with the pages of my book.

Francis seems to approve of my answer, and now he stalks around the apartment, running his finger over several surfaces.

When they come up dirt-free, he nods and then pulls out a white handkerchief from his pocket to clean his hand.

He starts toward the kitchen, and my heart flies to my throat.

The dishes.

Francis freezes at the threshold, and I keep my gaze on the floor, my cheeks heating up in shame at my tardiness.

"Belle? Why are these dishes still by the sink?"

I don"t reply at first. I"m at a loss for words.

Honestly, I don"t know why he cares so much. It"s not like he lives here, but he still wants me to keep the place spic and span.

Maybe he"s just averse to dirt.

I personally love a clean environment too, but I was happy to put the dishes on hold. At least until I got to see the magical moment where my characters realized they loved each other…

Enemies to lovers… How could I resist?

Francis whirls around, pinning me with a vicious stare, and I step away.

What on earth has gotten into him? I"ve only known him for three years, but he is really acting odd today.

As a matter of fact, I"ve felt this rising tension for the last several weeks. Around the time I started to obsess over pillows, blankets, and all things soft.

Around the time that strange caramel scent took over my person.

I don"t know where it came from. Francis doesn"t gift me perfume…

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Finally, I meet his watery eyes, but I still make sure I gaze at the wall to his left. "I… I was distracted…"

It takes him a moment to catch on. But when he does, I feel my soul leaving my body.

He"s going to take something else I love from me.

"Those books… I knew it was a mistake letting you read that filth. They"ve only poisoned your mind…"

The word "filth" catches my attention, and I forget my place for a moment, meeting his eyes.

Wait… does he know they"re smutty?

His eyes flash in warning, and then a hair falls in front of his face. "Where is it?"

I play dumb. "Where… where is what?"

"The book, Belle."

My lower lip shakes, and when I don"t answer, he storms toward my bedroom.

No.

I run after him.

"Wait, where are you…?"

He doesn"t reply, continuing his course to my bedroom, and now I watch in horror as he slips on his white latex gloves and lifts my pillows and blankets as if they"re diseased.

He finds the book, and I realize my first mistake. I shouldn"t have dog-eared the page. Now Francis will find the chapter I"d been reading immediately.

He picks up the book as if it"s tainted, and when his eyes find the page, they bulge. A look of disgust takes over his face, and then he crushes the book beneath his fingers.

"I should have known… Pure filth…"

It happens in slow motion. He starts to rip the pages of the book, but I act on instinct.

"No!"

And that had been my second mistake that day. Because I dared to touch him.

I tug at the sleeve of his suit jacket, and when his hand swings toward my face, sending me flying against the wall, I hardly feel the sting.

All I feel is shame and grief.

For I am about to lose something else I love…

For my mishap, Francis will take even more from me.

He may take away the garden and even my bird feeder.

"I said to never touch me!" he shrieks, and I merely nod, the apple of my cheek bruising at last.

"Y-yes, Francis…"

He breathes heavily, hovering high above me as he decides how best to punish me. Then he steps away, going straight toward my bookshelf.

Now I watch helplessly as he throws all my books into a black trash bag, and it"s utterly hopeless.

I never even got to see the enemies become lovers, and who was I kidding?

As if I could ever have anything precious…

I don"t deserve anything nice. For I am a filthy person.

"No more books. I have had enough. They are filling your head with poison, making you ambitious, and we can"t have that."

No, we can"t. Because God forbid I ever make my own choices.

I"m starting to think that little girl was me. Because I still feel her inside me at times. Her rebellious spirit.

But I am so far gone now, that she may as well have been just another character I read about in a book once.

She is dead to me.

Francis finally disposes of my books, and then to really dig the nail into the coffin, he takes my pillows, too.

Even my blankets until my bed is nothing but a bare mattress.

"At least now you may get some dishes done. Those books were nothing but a distraction. I never should have given them to you in the first place."

I still don"t understand. It appears he did know what those books were about, and it doesn"t make sense.

Why give me smut to read if he is so averse to the subject?

The man hates filth in general. And physical touch seems to repulse him.

Unless it"s just me that repulses him.

I never move from my spot on the floor. Not even when the door shuts behind him and he locks me inside.

I don"t even cry. I merely stare at my empty bookshelf, one once filled with little words that I could escape to, and then my barren bed.

No matter what I do, it will never be good enough. Francis will take everything I love from me, and it seems I will never know another moment of happiness again, even if it is brief.

Still. There"s a small flame inside me. One that has yet to be snuffed out.

It was the same flame that kept me alive all those years at the Facility.

One day, I will know freedom.

I just have to bide my time and strike at the right moment.

I just hope I am brave enough to take the leap.