Belle Rolfe Tue Nov 06, 2012 8:07 am[What I would do if it didn't start World War III. THIS IS NOT AU. Everything stated here regarding Belle and John's past is true.]
If the rain weren't enough, it was cold, too. But, she didn't care. She couldn't feel it. Eric was at the cabin. Flynn was at that bar with that slut whom was gladly throwing herself at him. He was drinking. Sure, she'd wanted him to drink before, but as she saw him there, cold and void of any emotion...She didn't want to see that again. But, she figured now she wouldn't. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want her. She laughed bitterly. At least now she knew what that felt like. Her whole frame was aching from the pain her chest was radiating. She felt completely empty -- her heart desolate of anything. She thought Eric could be what made her whole again. She thought she had been almost there. But, seeing Flynn had shattered everything. She was locked up in her head again, desperate to stop the pain.
John would know. He'd been through this. He was okay. He would be able to tell her what to do, right?
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"Belle...?" John asked, after having been ushered to the door by a flustered looking maid -- a maid who looked like she saw a ghost. And, well, she wasn't too far off. Belle was pale and lifeless. Might as well have been dead.
John's jaw set when his little sister said nothing of a acknowledgement, but instead walked past him and sat onto the sofa.
"Belle, what happened?" He urged her to speak, but she only stared at him, no words coming from her lips. John clenched his fist at his side. No. This couldn't be happening to her. She'd been better. She couldn't have fallen back into this after so many years, could she? Rider had been helping, hand't h-- "Where's Flynn?" John asked suddenly.
"Bar," She said simply, her voice bleak and emotionless.
"How long have you been apart?" John pressed.
"...I don't know," Belle muttered, glaring at the ground.
"Don't give me that bullshit, Belle," John snapped, jerking her chin up so that a gasp came from her. Her eyes were wide now. "How long?" He repeated, that sweet, charming gentleman Damon had brought about retreating from his eyes.
"A few days..." She whispered, then tried to move her chin from his grip. He didn't budge. If anything, he held her tighter.
"Why?" He muttered.
"I...I'm not supposed to be hap-" Belle didn't have the time to finish her sentence before John had glared at her and pulled her up from her sitting position on the couch by jerking her chin upwards forcefully. "Ow--" She started to protest, only to be cut off by his icy glare.
"You want to be an assassin, right? Hard and cold and blood thirsty?" He questioned, tilting his head in just the slightest. Belle remained solemn, her eyes only wide, though holding no emotion. "Like dad taught you to be. To have no emotion while he touched you, right?" John sneered. "You let him do it. You let him hit you when you tried to stop him from touching you. You stopped fighting, didn't you? I think it's because you liked it," He glared at her, his brotherly kinder gone from every inch of his expression and replaced by the cold one that had nearly cost Damon his life.
Belle looked away from him, which only brought about a growl from him. And, before she had a chance to know what had happened, she was struck in the face with what she gathered to be the back of his palm. She staggered backwards and fell onto the couch. She made no effort to touch her cheek, or even really respond.
"You know better than to look away," He said coldly, the phrase one spoken as a quote. That seemed to bring about a response from Belle's subconscious. She whimpered, though from her expression, you would never know the sound came from her. "Did he really fuck you up so badly, Belle? Convinced you that you were the mistake? That, for you to be worth anything, you had to know your place in the world as the bastard child who shouldn't exist?" John's words were crisp, the words burned into his memory. Belle's fist clenched at her side. John smirked.
"You're wrong," Belle mumbled, her voice shaky. John chuckled darkly and pulled her to her feet. "Is that so?" He asked, edging towards her. She backed up, her hand going behind her to try and find something to grab. "You're just like him," she whispered under her breath. He paused and tilted his head to the side as if to contemplate it. "Sadly, no. He wasn't affected by...emotions," John purred the word. Belle's back hit a wall, and a lump caught in her throat.
"See, boys? Didn't I tell you she had a pretty body? Young and clean and innocent...We should fix that last part, don't you think?" John cooed. Belle flinched, fear finally sinking into her eyes as the memories came back to her. "Stop it!" She whispered. "No, no...I was always curious as to what dad was talking about," John purred, stepping closer to her and grasping her chin and sliding his other hand along her hip.
"NO!" Belle cried, swinging her left hand around. John caught it, then used his free hand to land a punch square in her right cheek. She cried out and fell onto the ground, shattering the glass bar and wincing as she fell into the glass. He grabbed her arm far too tightly and yanked her up, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. "You just tried to hit me. You know that's a no-no," He smirked at her and threw her down on the ground.
She was shaking at that point, squirming and full of fear. She didn't see John anymore. No, she saw him. John's father. She'd never noticed how much they looked alike. Maybe she'd chosen to not notice it. Either way, there was no way around it now.
John pinned her down, holding her arms with a grip that was cutting off her circulation. "John! Stop! Please!" She begged, thrashing underneath him. He growled and slapped her hard across the face, pulling forth a yelp out of her.
"Stop fighting me, Belle," He cooed, moving his hands up to cup her cheeks. "I'm sorry for what he did to you. But, you know what? It can't be undone. You are what he made you. You're right, though. Rider is better off without you. What would he do when he was making love to you, and you suddenly had a relapse and stabbed him? Hmm?" John hummed, brushing a strand of her hair back.
Belle stilled a bit and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. She shook her head. "I-I have better control than that," She whispered. He scoffed at her. "You think that. You're too damaged. He was right to walk away. And what of Storm? I know his shirt when I see one," John muttered, grasping at her shirt. "You think you can match him up enough to keep yourself sane? You're not sane, Belle," he sighed, standing up and pulling her to her feet.
She'd stopped fighting. Her look was pained, but desolate -- hopeless. "I have to try, John. Like you. You're happy," She whispered brokenly. "I was only bruised as a child. You were men's delight when you were six years old. I tried to protect you, but you were far gone. I thought Rider would be the one to fix you, but apparently you can't even stay around a man that long, can you?" He questioned, furrowing his brow. "This has nothing to do with not being good enough for you. You're scared," He mused. She tightened her fist, but just looked away.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk...My poor baby sister..." He sighed, pulling her into his arms and caressing her hair.
"I don't know what to do, John," She mumbled, her voice empty again. "I tried everything. I thought I was okay again. I thought..." She trailed off as he hummed softly into her hair.
"I know, Belle...I wanted to see you happy -- doing good. Life handed you a shit card, and I know I'm responsible for a lot of it. I'm your big brother. I should have protected you. But...I can make it right," He nodded.
She leaned back to look at him with slightly curious eyes. He sighed and cupped her cheeks. "Do you trust me, Belle?" He questioned. She nodded mutely. John pursed his lips.
"There is a way to make it all go away. Make it better," He started. "Now, you may not like it, and I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it, but I know it's the-"
He yanked her head forcefully to the side. The snapping sound echoed through the room. He let go, and stared blankly ahead as he stepped over the now lifeless corpse on the ground.
"Right thing to do..."
[Have fun nightmares about John tonight, kiddies. Because, yes, he really would do that. Bri just won't let me.]
If the rain weren't enough, it was cold, too. But, she didn't care. She couldn't feel it. Eric was at the cabin. Flynn was at that bar with that slut whom was gladly throwing herself at him. He was drinking. Sure, she'd wanted him to drink before, but as she saw him there, cold and void of any emotion...She didn't want to see that again. But, she figured now she wouldn't. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want her. She laughed bitterly. At least now she knew what that felt like. Her whole frame was aching from the pain her chest was radiating. She felt completely empty -- her heart desolate of anything. She thought Eric could be what made her whole again. She thought she had been almost there. But, seeing Flynn had shattered everything. She was locked up in her head again, desperate to stop the pain.
John would know. He'd been through this. He was okay. He would be able to tell her what to do, right?
------------
"Belle...?" John asked, after having been ushered to the door by a flustered looking maid -- a maid who looked like she saw a ghost. And, well, she wasn't too far off. Belle was pale and lifeless. Might as well have been dead.
John's jaw set when his little sister said nothing of a acknowledgement, but instead walked past him and sat onto the sofa.
"Belle, what happened?" He urged her to speak, but she only stared at him, no words coming from her lips. John clenched his fist at his side. No. This couldn't be happening to her. She'd been better. She couldn't have fallen back into this after so many years, could she? Rider had been helping, hand't h-- "Where's Flynn?" John asked suddenly.
"Bar," She said simply, her voice bleak and emotionless.
"How long have you been apart?" John pressed.
"...I don't know," Belle muttered, glaring at the ground.
"Don't give me that bullshit, Belle," John snapped, jerking her chin up so that a gasp came from her. Her eyes were wide now. "How long?" He repeated, that sweet, charming gentleman Damon had brought about retreating from his eyes.
"A few days..." She whispered, then tried to move her chin from his grip. He didn't budge. If anything, he held her tighter.
"Why?" He muttered.
"I...I'm not supposed to be hap-" Belle didn't have the time to finish her sentence before John had glared at her and pulled her up from her sitting position on the couch by jerking her chin upwards forcefully. "Ow--" She started to protest, only to be cut off by his icy glare.
"You want to be an assassin, right? Hard and cold and blood thirsty?" He questioned, tilting his head in just the slightest. Belle remained solemn, her eyes only wide, though holding no emotion. "Like dad taught you to be. To have no emotion while he touched you, right?" John sneered. "You let him do it. You let him hit you when you tried to stop him from touching you. You stopped fighting, didn't you? I think it's because you liked it," He glared at her, his brotherly kinder gone from every inch of his expression and replaced by the cold one that had nearly cost Damon his life.
Belle looked away from him, which only brought about a growl from him. And, before she had a chance to know what had happened, she was struck in the face with what she gathered to be the back of his palm. She staggered backwards and fell onto the couch. She made no effort to touch her cheek, or even really respond.
"You know better than to look away," He said coldly, the phrase one spoken as a quote. That seemed to bring about a response from Belle's subconscious. She whimpered, though from her expression, you would never know the sound came from her. "Did he really fuck you up so badly, Belle? Convinced you that you were the mistake? That, for you to be worth anything, you had to know your place in the world as the bastard child who shouldn't exist?" John's words were crisp, the words burned into his memory. Belle's fist clenched at her side. John smirked.
"You're wrong," Belle mumbled, her voice shaky. John chuckled darkly and pulled her to her feet. "Is that so?" He asked, edging towards her. She backed up, her hand going behind her to try and find something to grab. "You're just like him," she whispered under her breath. He paused and tilted his head to the side as if to contemplate it. "Sadly, no. He wasn't affected by...emotions," John purred the word. Belle's back hit a wall, and a lump caught in her throat.
"See, boys? Didn't I tell you she had a pretty body? Young and clean and innocent...We should fix that last part, don't you think?" John cooed. Belle flinched, fear finally sinking into her eyes as the memories came back to her. "Stop it!" She whispered. "No, no...I was always curious as to what dad was talking about," John purred, stepping closer to her and grasping her chin and sliding his other hand along her hip.
"NO!" Belle cried, swinging her left hand around. John caught it, then used his free hand to land a punch square in her right cheek. She cried out and fell onto the ground, shattering the glass bar and wincing as she fell into the glass. He grabbed her arm far too tightly and yanked her up, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. "You just tried to hit me. You know that's a no-no," He smirked at her and threw her down on the ground.
She was shaking at that point, squirming and full of fear. She didn't see John anymore. No, she saw him. John's father. She'd never noticed how much they looked alike. Maybe she'd chosen to not notice it. Either way, there was no way around it now.
John pinned her down, holding her arms with a grip that was cutting off her circulation. "John! Stop! Please!" She begged, thrashing underneath him. He growled and slapped her hard across the face, pulling forth a yelp out of her.
"Stop fighting me, Belle," He cooed, moving his hands up to cup her cheeks. "I'm sorry for what he did to you. But, you know what? It can't be undone. You are what he made you. You're right, though. Rider is better off without you. What would he do when he was making love to you, and you suddenly had a relapse and stabbed him? Hmm?" John hummed, brushing a strand of her hair back.
Belle stilled a bit and looked at him with tear-filled eyes. She shook her head. "I-I have better control than that," She whispered. He scoffed at her. "You think that. You're too damaged. He was right to walk away. And what of Storm? I know his shirt when I see one," John muttered, grasping at her shirt. "You think you can match him up enough to keep yourself sane? You're not sane, Belle," he sighed, standing up and pulling her to her feet.
She'd stopped fighting. Her look was pained, but desolate -- hopeless. "I have to try, John. Like you. You're happy," She whispered brokenly. "I was only bruised as a child. You were men's delight when you were six years old. I tried to protect you, but you were far gone. I thought Rider would be the one to fix you, but apparently you can't even stay around a man that long, can you?" He questioned, furrowing his brow. "This has nothing to do with not being good enough for you. You're scared," He mused. She tightened her fist, but just looked away.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk...My poor baby sister..." He sighed, pulling her into his arms and caressing her hair.
"I don't know what to do, John," She mumbled, her voice empty again. "I tried everything. I thought I was okay again. I thought..." She trailed off as he hummed softly into her hair.
"I know, Belle...I wanted to see you happy -- doing good. Life handed you a shit card, and I know I'm responsible for a lot of it. I'm your big brother. I should have protected you. But...I can make it right," He nodded.
She leaned back to look at him with slightly curious eyes. He sighed and cupped her cheeks. "Do you trust me, Belle?" He questioned. She nodded mutely. John pursed his lips.
"There is a way to make it all go away. Make it better," He started. "Now, you may not like it, and I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it, but I know it's the-"
He yanked her head forcefully to the side. The snapping sound echoed through the room. He let go, and stared blankly ahead as he stepped over the now lifeless corpse on the ground.
"Right thing to do..."
[Have fun nightmares about John tonight, kiddies. Because, yes, he really would do that. Bri just won't let me.]
