Chapter 3: The bottom of the bottle

Belle hurried the rest of the way home, not even attempting to read this time. She had finally kicked the habit of walking and reading so she could be more on guard. She arrived at her front door, and with a wave of relief entered her home. The relief didn't last long. The fire had died, dinner was not prepared, and the days cleaning still had to be done.

"Belle, where the devil had you been, I'm starving!" Exclaimed her Father, bottle already in hand.
"I was held up." Belle explained hurriedly, not wanting to worry her father. "Come one, how about you sit down and I'll get dinner ready. Do you want some water?" she offered.
"Water! Where would you get an idea like that?" He chortled, slumping into his worn-out armchair.

Belle sighed and got to work.

Maurice French, her father, had once been an aspiring inventor, a visionary. Belle's mother had died when she was twelve, and her father had escaped into a bottle. Belle didn't have any time to grieve for her mother; she had lost her childhood that day. For ten years she had scrubbed, cleaned, washed, cooked and tried to save money where possible. The only friend she had was Red, and because both of them were so busy, they seldom had time to spend with each other. Her one comfort was her books, the wonderful stories of places faraway, with dashing heroes and endless adventures. Belle could get lost in her books and pretend that she was one of the beautiful brave princesses she read about, only to have her reality crash in when her father returned home drunk, demanding food. It broke her heart to think that her father had been someone she had looked up to, and now he was someone she cared for out of duty. She knew that the people in town no longer respected him, and they only pitied her in her unfortunate situation.

Belle placed the bread, cheese and boiled potatoes on the table alongside the sad mismatched crockery. Maurice looked at the table at the meagre offering and sighed. The alcohol dampened his appetite, but he still had visions of a well-stocked larder fit for a king. The two ate their meals in silence, Maurice slowing down already from his afternoon drinking, and Belle exhausted from her emotional day. She opened her book and began to read, eating with one hand. One she was finished, she quickly cleared the table, stoked the fire and made some tea.

She sat by the hearth and sipped her tea out of her mother' chipped teacup. Her nerves were still rattled from her day, and wondered if she was ever going to be left in peace. She was still trying to understand Gaston's possessiveness this afternoon. He had never gone so far as to call her his property before. Was it only brought on by the thought of competition from the Pirate? Belle knew that she would never, ever marry a man like Gaston, and she thought that she had made it pretty clear to Gaston that she wasn't interested. Clearly she hadn't been clear enough at trying to drive him away. Belle had no respect for the man, he was arrogant, rude and conceited, and was only pursuing her because he thought her beautiful.

Belle got up from the floor and looked into the mirror on the side wall and stared at her reflection. Looking back at her was a girl she thought was rather plain. She had blue eyes, tangled brown hair and wore a careworn expression and a tattered dress. She looked down at her boots that were stained with mud, and he hands that were rough from gardening. "I'm not beautiful" she thought, fighting back a tear.

She finished the tea and began to wash her cup, suddenly startled by a knock on the door. Who could it be this late at night? They never had visitors. She received a shock when it was Gaston at her front door, flowers in hand.
"Belle, I came to apologise for today, I lost my temper, and it wasn't fair to treat you that way."
"Thank you, Gaston for your apology and the flowers" Belle said, trying to keep her voice even. "But it's very late, and father is asleep, so it's not appropriate for me to invite you in. Goodnight."

Upon hearing the noise of the conversation, Maurice awoke from his dozing and saw Gaston at the door. "Gaston, my dear fellow, come in and have a drink with me! Don't stand on ceremony at the door. Belle, let him in already!"
Smugly, Gaston entered the house and shook hands with her father before hastily placing the hot house flowers in Belle's hand. Belle sighed and found an old pitcher to house the flowers in, and then proceeded to get drinks for her father and their guest. She could hear their conversation in the next room.
"Maurice, I've come to ask your permission to marry your daughter. She's the most beautiful girl in town, and she deserves the best."
Poor old Maurice saw the match between Belle and Gaston as quite advantageous, the kind where he would be cared for forever, and live out his days drinking in comfort never worrying about his next meal. Without hesitation he gave his hearty consent.
"Splendid! Splendid my dear boy; what an honour!" Maurice slurred his speech with excitement.

Belle was furious. She could not believe what her father had just said. She flew into the tiny room and yelled.
"No Gaston, I will not marry you, because I don't love you, and could never love you. Father, please don't make me do this!" Her heart was beating furiously in her chest, her little hands balled into fists at her side. Maurice appeared shocked by the yelling, however was too drunk to contemplate anything.

Gaston grabbed her arms angrily and dragged her back into the kitchen, Belle yelping in protest.
"You WILL be my wife and you WILL please me." Gaston hissed, tightening his grip.
"Gaston, please understand, I can't marry you!" Belle exclaimed, her confidence failing.
"I will have you either way, and since you abhor the idea of marriage, you will be my whore." He said severely.

Belle's mouth opened wide in shock.
"I-I can't!" She stammered, eyes welling with tears. Gaston's grip tightened around her waist.
"Then you leave me no choice, Belle, you refuse to be my wife. I tried to be reasonable with you. Do you think anyone else will have you with no dowry and that shameful father of yours?
Belle remained in shocked silence.
"Be mine, Belle; If you do not, I will burn this house to the ground, your father included, and you will have nothing left."
"No, Gaston, please show mercy! Don't hurt my father!"
"Then say you'll be mine." He growled carnally, placing rough kisses along her throat.
"I accept" Belle wept as Gaston smiled triumphantly.
"Excellent choice Belle, you have made me a very happy man." Gaston snaked his hands up her skirt, Belle trying desperately to push him away. She felt waves of nausea come over her. She couldn't believe she had agreed to let his man touch her.
Gaston began to pull at the ties of her dress, only to be interrupted by Maurice smashing his bottle on the ground in the next room.
"Until tomorrow then," Gaston whispered. "In the meantime I want you to dry those infernal tears, and clean yourself up, this dress is filthy."
Gaston stood and strode out of the house. He was proud of his achievement. As much as he enjoyed the chase, his favourite moment was when his prey finally submitted to him. He continued onto the tavern to tell his gang that Belle was now his, and congratulated himself that he had even spared the inconvenience and expense of a wedding.

Belle found her father was sound asleep snoring in his chair. Her hands shook as she cleaned the broken glass and tried to think. She needed to protect herself against Gaston. Belle had long since given up on falling in love and being married. She had no dowry, no prospects, and most men found her odd. Belle had decided long ago that even if she could never marry, she could still keep her dignity and her virtue. She didn't have much, and now she was going to lose that as well.

A thought flashed through her. She had heard tales of the Imp, Rumpelstiltskin, who lived in a castle in the woods. He was said to make deals and might be able to help her. She knew there would be consequences, but she was willing to pay it.