Belle should probably be happy her father was home again. He'd returned from London without really explaining why to her, but then he'd never really been one to explain things he termed "business" to her in the first place and was even more reluctant to do so now when he still hadn't quite figured out what sorts of things would leave her shaking uncontrollably. She really was feeling better than she had been the last time he'd seen her, although you wouldn't have known it from the way he had maids stalking her every move and how he watched her like a hawk at the dinner table as though he were afraid she'd take up a carving knife and plunge it into her chest right there. Granted, there had been a time those fears were not entirely unfounded but she really was trying to be better.

She'd taken up strolls in the yard (and had been forced to accept a parasol to keep the peace with her father) after her breakdown on the wedding day. She measured her success at getting better by how often walking turned into pacing, and she was now only going into those sorts of states every two or three days, and she was learning to accept the small victories. Getting out of bed in the morning before someone came along to force her out had become an accomplishment, not thinking about what had happened to her was an accomplishment, and not visibly flinching away from the footmen if they had to ask her a question had become her largest victory to date. The poor boys had been forced to learn to stand a good ten feet away from her if they needed to ask a question and to never come up behind her where she couldn't see them.

Having her father back may not have been for the best, though. Maurice brought along with him all her old troubles. He had finally agreed to press a suit against the man who had hurt her, but she could see it was killing him to do it. Initially, both he and Gaston had been of the opinion she should accept the proposal that had been offered to her as though she could forget what he had done to her – as though it had been a forgivable offense and with a little time and patience they could have a happy marriage in spite of it.

She hated that man more than she had ever hated anything or anyone in her life, and she would hold that hate close to her heart and let it slowly turn her hard if that's what it took. She certainly wouldn't ever put herself in a position to be vulnerable to him again. She wasn't going to be vulnerable to any man ever, if she had her way. The old Belle had been too soft and too kind to kick up a fuss when he'd come for her, this Belle wasn't that stupid or that trusting.

That, perhaps, was the thing that Belle would go to her grave hating everyone for – for letting her be soft and kind and ignorant. She resented her father and Gaston for not preparing her for the chance that a man might hurt her. She despised society for telling her it was her fault. She loathed everyone who had walked in on it when it had been too late to save her. There were times she wanted nothing more than to burn the whole world and dance in the ashes. She wanted to destroy like she'd been destroyed.

Even poor Mr. Gold, whose only crime had been coming across her when she was upset and raising her hopes with the idea that she might someday be able to carry on a conversation with a man wasn't spared from her wrath. She saw him sometimes. He still took his walks past her garden, though he hadn't dared to speak to her since she'd run off the last time. He'd wave sometimes and sometimes she would wave back, because a lifetime of training to be polite wasn't going to go away overnight and also because she sometimes wished he'd come speak to her again. She'd been so close to having a proper conversation with him, she wanted to see if she could complete it now. Being able to carry on an entire conversation would be a measurable improvement, something she could point to and remind herself that she was getting better.

She wouldn't let herself be destroyed, but it was so hard not to when everyone else seemed hell bent on reminding her of how damaged she'd been. Belle knew she'd been broken before. She knew that better than anyone, really. No one else had been in her mind when she'd been bedridden for six weeks – or in the dark days leading up to that.

It was the memories of those early months that kept her from fully letting her guard down for anyone, but especially her father. She could tell the court case she'd wanted wasn't going well. Her father seemed tired now, drawn into himself. Her deepest fear, beyond even being a victim again, was that this was killing her father. He wasn't a young man anymore, and his health had always been precarious. She'd been the one to insist on pressing the issue, and she wasn't sure how to tell him to stop now.

The damn lawsuit was taking so long, and costing so much money. Before all of this had happened, Belle had been used to keeping her father's accounts. She knew better than almost anyone what his finances looked like. She wasn't sure how much longer he could honestly keep this up – primarily because running the household was a job that had been taken from her while she convalesced and hadn't ever been reinstated. Not that she could focus for more than five minutes at a time anyway, but she missed being useful. She missed having something to do beyond embroidery and walking.

She saw Mr. Gold as she approached her house. He was leaving, and she paused for a minute, lurking in the garden while she could watch him leave. He didn't terrify her, she decided. Most men scared her now (and he did a little bit) but she found him easier to be around than most men. He caught sight of her and she fought her instinct to dodge behind a trellis. She would be brave, and she would stand her ground.

Mr. Gold waved to her and she waved back, waiting with a pounding heart until he was out of sight before she carefully retreated to the relative safety of her house. Her father was waiting for her in the sitting room, a grimace on his face.

Belle tried to sneak past, but he was waiting for her.

"Belle," he called out. "Can you come in here?"

She nodded, walking into the room as carefully as if the floor were coated with broken glass. She didn't think her father would do anything to her, she was just completely unable to control the fear that was slowly creeping up her spine.

"Yes, Papa?"

"We've received another reply from Nottingham," he said bluntly, handing a piece of paper to her. "He'll expect an answer soon."

Belle wished she was wearing gloves, as the idea of touching this paper that Nottingham had touched was making her skin crawl. She held it gingerly between her fingertips and scanned the text.

He had proposed again. She should be distraught, and she knew her father was prepared for her to become hysterical. She just felt numb, though. Numb and tired and beyond caring.

"My answer is the same as last time," Belle replied as steadily as she could. "I don't want anything to do with him."

"I know you don't," her father said, sounding as though she were an easily startled bird. "But if you're going to keep refusing him it's going to keep this all dragging out my...dear."

She felt face flushing and her pulse racing at how close he'd come to using the old endearment, but he'd caught himself and she could be okay. She just had to keep focused. She wasn't there, she wasn't there anymore. She'd never be there again.

"I don't care," she replied. "I just can't, Papa. I can barely look at him."

"You'll have to testify," he said at last. "Sooner or later, if this keeps going you're going to have to testify."

"I'll deal with that when I need to," she replied, crumpling the proposal letter to disguise the shaking of her hands. "If I need to."

Her father didn't look as though he believed her, but she scarcely believed herself.

Belle turned and fled the room, needing to leave before she had to spend too much more time thinking about being forced to marry Nottingham. She could feel the air trying to squeeze out of her lungs, and she rushed to her room trying so hard to hold herself together until she got there.

She locked the door behind herself, taking up her pacing across the floor at the foot of her bed until her legs ached and her nerves had settled. He couldn't touch her anymore. She was safe. She wasn't there anymore. Her father would protect her, Gaston would never kick her out, and she would never be at the mercy of the Earl of Nottingham again.

Belle fought the urge to dig out one of her weapons before giving up and diving for the kitchen knife she kept hidden under her pillow. It was strange how something could be so beautiful and so hard. She traced the blade with her finger, admiring the coolness of the metal and the way the blade felt dangerous underneath her skin. The slightest bit of pressure would break her skin, spilling the blood inside of her.

Her skin felt too tight now, crawling across her bones and she wanted to explode. She dragged her thumb across the blade firmly, savoring the feel of splitting skin and blood flowing out of it. She watched as it flowed down to her palm and spilled down her wrist.

She suddenly snapped back to herself, setting the knife on the duvet and wrapping a handkerchief around her thumb. She rushed over to the vanity, pouring some water from the pitcher into a bowl. The water turned brown with the blood. When her hand was clean, she wrapped the handkerchief back around her thumb and held it tightly.

She shouldn't have done that. It was a stupid idea, and had done nothing to hurt anyone besides herself. Belle had no idea what she'd been thinking, but at least she hadn't cut too deep. Now she couldn't even try to distract herself with embroidery, though, and she'd be left to her own thoughts.

Stupid.

She sighed deeply, curling up on the window seat and gazing out across the yard. In the stories, there was always a Prince Charming to save the princess from her fate. Belle would have died for a Prince Charming now. She needed someone to take up her cause because she was so tired. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, one of the heroines who could wait for her happy ending to fall into her lap.

Belle didn't even need a prince and a castle, really. Her dreams had become so much smaller now. She just wanted a home and a place to be safe. She wanted to not jump when she saw strangers and to stop being afraid all the time. All that had been stolen from her, she'd lost her very self this past year and she honestly had no idea how to go about recovering it, or if she even wanted to. Her old self had been the one to be vulnerable, after all, the one who had let herself be hurt. She didn't want to risk that again.

She just wanted to stop hurting, was that really so big a wish?