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Like my math? I do; my teachers have other opinions… anyways… on to the fict ; )

And they Call me Crazy
Rumpbelle Rumpelstilskin/Belle

"Regina's here to see you" says Nurse Janet kindly. I hug my legs closer to my chest.
"I don't want to see her; she's evil" say. I hear a laugh from outside the cold metal door. Janet goes away, leaving me with Regina once again. I don't like it when she visits.
"Mabel it's so nice to see you again..." says Regina her voice dripping with fake sincerity.
"That's not my name." I say clutching my legs tighter to my chest wishing she would go away; wishing she wouldn't hurt me anymore. I wasn't crazy; she was evil. She was the Evil Queen. She was the person who caused all this. I'm sure of it.
"Oh that's right" she says coyly "You prefer to be called Belle"
"That's my name..." I mutter pressing my head into my knees.
"Right..." she says not willing to admit yet she knows. She knows the truth. Janet must still be close by.
She knows I know; that's why I'm locked away in here. That way if I say anything at all about the truth; she can just claim I'm crazy, but I'm not.

I'm not crazy; I'm sure of it.

I know about the curse. I know about the lives she wrecked. I remember I loved someone and I remember she was the one who wreaked my happy ending not my love, not my father, not anyone else it was all her.
It's still foggy though like it was a dream. I still try to tell people here but they all think I'm crazy. I know who's responsible for that.
"Have any new dreams lately, Belle...?" She said, peering in on me through the open slit in the metal door.

She doesn't really care if I respond. The only reason she's here is to see that, I still am. She wants to know that I'm still locked up here and no one believes a word I say. That's all she really cares about, so what does it matter to her if I say anything. It's probably a plus for her if I just keep my mouth shut. Then again, when I don't talk; she does…

And as if on cue she begins to tell me about the town, Storybrooke, as she calls it. Though none of it is quiet familiar to me, I can still remember some of it. It's like a story with the same characters but a completely different plot line, albeit with her telling it it's a sick twisted plot line, with her controlling everything and no happy endings. But still the fabrication is vaguely recognizable.

I swear that, even though I may not be crazy now; if I have to listen to many more of her deranged tales I might just go insane. Good thing I'm already in here, in case of that. I smirked at my own thoughts, hiding my face in the hair that fell in knotted strands around my head.

It's like this every week. She'll sit outside the cold door and tell me her twisted tales about the people she double crossed, lied to, and on really special visits, killed. It hard to tell though, if she actually feels sorry for any of it, or she's just tells me because I have to sit and listen. Oh how I'd love not to listen but it's hard not to pay attention to the detached voice spinning stories outside my door.

Occasionally to piqué my interest (though I'm not sure why she even cares); she'll talk about Him, my love. I know she's only teasing me. She knows of all the things I can remember it's the only thing I've forgotten. His name, oh how I'd love to hear it just once maybe I could finally recall the rest of my memories. Maybe, it make my dreams into something tangible. Maybe, I'd finally have proof I'm not crazy. I know it's a lot to put in a name, but I have a feeling that might be the key to set myself free.

So I listen and cringe along waiting for her to slip up.

She never does.

But all the times she comes here it makes me wonder why, she tells me all of this. Why does she give me so much information? What if I get out of here? What if I get out…?

But a single glace at her haunting smirk crushed every one of my hopes. I know I'm never getting out of here. But somehow the despair leads me to hope. In some way I feel a misplaced sense of trust in the steel walls that surround me. In some ways I find myself not wanting to get out. Somehow I know I am so much safe in here. If I was between me and her I knew who would be dubbed insane.

I knew I never killed.

I knew could feel remorse.

I knew I could love even if the pain was all I had to prove it.

I knew I wasn't crazy.

I knew she was.

And one look at her taunting smile, as she left my door once again and asked the nurse to give me a sedative, told me she knew it too.

And as I fell in to the drugged sleep and welcomed my dreams of a brighter time with happy endings found in the darkest of places and my nameless love; I knew the truth.

I didn't deny it, as she did.

I didn't let it eat me up inside and form a gaping sore where my heart should be,

like she did

And they call me crazy.

A/N: So this is just something that was going through my mind... if the same thing wasn't going throught you mind please don't comment and tell me how wrong i am. I only do as my plot bunnies comandeth... speacking of which i have to get goining one of my plot bunnies has yoga in five and i have to drive them. So... yeah Read and Review ;)- Song

P.S. Sorry if you cant deal with the lack of grammar i write for content not conformity.