This isn't Normal

(Tuesday-Wednesday Night, June 25th – 26th)

When Mal enters the office and shuts the door, she notices Ben laying on the pull-out bed with the aqua blanket up to his waist, "For someone who got everything he wanted, you don't seem very happy."

Ben sits up and closes the leather-bound book, "Hey."

Mal frowns as she goes to sit next to him, "You want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever's bothering you," she clarifies, before she places a hand to his face. "You look tired." She notices the dark circles beneath his eyes contrast against his skin, "And pale." He looks down, and her hand falls into her lap. "You weren't at dinner."

"I just can't stop reading it," he whispers. "I keep thinking it will make sense, but…"

"But?" Mal prompts, and he faces her.

Ben's mouth opens, but it's hard for him to say, "This is my mother's journal from when she first met my father." He looks back down, and her eyes follow his to the brown book. "The only thing that makes sense…"

Mal takes his hand, "Ben, it's okay. Whatever it is, you can trust me."

He looks back at her, tears filling his hazel green eyes, and his voice shakes, "I can't even… the words."

"Take as much time as you need," she reassures.

His eyes shift, "Mal." and he makes a noise. He can't say the words. He takes a deep breath, "You know how smart and… and curious my mother can be."

"Yes," she confirms, her frown deepening.

"I think it got her in trouble," his pitch raises, before he gulps. "If she wasn't— It— She—" He whimpers inaudible syllables, and then some French words are heard.

Mal places a hand on his shoulder, "Ben." and when he meets her eyes, she glows hers. "Breathe. Slow down."

After Ben settles he slowly shakes his head, "Mal. My mother, she changed so much." He takes a couple more breaths, "If she wasn't so… her, she would have left."

"Ben." Mal hesitates, "I don't understand."

"She wanted to leave," Ben nearly shouts, "but they took her need for knowledge and gave her a story to relate to." The tears leave his eyes, and he whispers, "They took ad— ad… advantage of her intellect, so she could find common ground with a— a monster." Mal finds herself speechless, and all she can do is hug him. He shakes in her arms, "He saved her life, gave her some books, and she stayed. And the wolves. They…"

He sobs and Mal holds him tighter, "Hey. It's okay."

"They kept her from leaving," he finishes. "She could have left if they just leave her alone." Mal feels his heart race and hears his breathing quicken. "She wanted to leave, but by the time she could, she forgot why."

Mal feels his skin become hotter, and when she places a hand on the back of his neck, he lets out a long breath. "It's okay, Ben. She seems happy, right? It turned out fine."

"Nothing's fine," he whispers back. "It's never fine." Mal continues to hug him, until his breathing slows and his become incoherent. She holds onto his shoulders, his eyes weary, as he mutters, "This was never…"

Mal slowly lays him down, moving the light brown bangs from his warm face, his eyes shut. "It's going to be fine." She swipes his bangs once more, before she places a kiss on his forehead, sets the book aside, and readjusts the blanket to cover him more. Ben places one arm beneath his head, and Mal watches as he takes his other arm out from the blanket, tucking it under his chest as he squeezes the plush fabric and moves a thumb over its surface.

When Ben sees his mother sitting in the library, he halts in the doorway. There's this feeling, solemn and unsettling, and his heart races. How is he supposed to face her, accuse her of this tabloid assumption? He glances down at the book in his hands, takes a deep breath, and steps inside the large room. His mother is laying on the blue, gold-rimmed chaise lounge, and when she notices him, she sits up to make room for him. Ben smiles for a second, but when he sits on the armless side of the couch, he folds his hands nervously. "Honey, what is it?" He meets her warm brown eyes, and the words escape him as he becomes breathless. She looks so happy. How could he possibly ruin this illusion of hers? "Ben? What's wrong?"

Ben wets his lips, before he hands her the journal, "I found this… Well, actually, Evie found it, but she doesn't know French, so…"

His mother frowns as she takes it, a concern crossing her face as her eyes meet his, "I can only assume you've read it." and when Ben stays silent, she nods. "Well," she breathes, her tone deeper and more structured. "What is your analysis of it?"

Ben hesitates, "You became grateful for not being treated as horribly as you first were, you were slowly given privileges that you didn't take advantage of to escape, and by the time you were told you could leave at will, you had developed enough feelings for your captor to return to him on your own." She waits for his conclusion, and he takes a breath, "You have Stockholm Syndrome."

She nods once, "Anything else?"

"What?" Ben disbelieves. "I just told you—" She places a hand to his cheek, and the rest of the air in his lungs slowly release. "You already knew."

"Honey," she partly smiles and slightly shakes her head, her eyes seeming filled with sparkling wisdom. "It doesn't make the love I share with your father any less valid."

"They tricked you," he stresses, and when the tears intrude his eyes, he lowers his head.

Her hand moves to his shoulder, and she peers down at him, "All they did was tell me the truth. There was no malicious intent."

He faces her and seethes, "They told you it wasn't safe to leave."

"And it wasn't," she calmly responds. "The winter was harsh, and the wolves were still roaming rampant."

"They made you feel comfortable there," he says louder.

"And that's a bad thing?" she laughs. The tears leave his eyes, and she lifts a brow as she smiles, "Would you rather had him keep me in that cell?"

Ben sniffles, "No."

"And you need to think," she addresses, "had none of that happened, if I never met or stayed with your father, then this lovely country would still be warring kingdoms." He looks up at her. "And had I not loved your father, we would have never had you." She shakes her head, "Your father may have been some mistakes along the way, but we have a good life and I wouldn't trade it nor you for anything in the world." Ben wraps his arms around her, and she returns the hug, placing a hand on his head as she does so. "You see? Everything is as it was meant to be."

Ben sniffles again, and with a deep breath the sweet scent engulfs him. He lets go of her and turns his head away, "Mom." He wets his lips, "Mother?"

"Yes?"

He wipes the tears from his face, before he looks at her, "There is still something."

"What is it?" He takes a hopeless breath. Her brown curls and elegant features, he's never going to get over it. He hates that every conversation has to be like this. "Well?"

He shakes his head, "It's just…" before he faces her again. "In your journal, you said that… that whole thing about Father being a carnivore."

"The beast was a combination of a lion and a wolf," she informs, "so yes. He was."

Ben hesitates, "Is he still?"

It takes her a moment, "I wouldn't say that." and her eyes shift before continuing. "People, they grow accustomed to things. Your father may still eat a lot of meat, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything."

"But if he were still a carnivore," Ben pauses, "do you ever worry that something like that could have been passed down to me?"

"I used to," she nods.

"But you don't now?" he shakes his head.

"No," she partly smiles.

"Why not?" he frowns.

"Well," she half laughs, "if it were to happen, it would have happened by now, wouldn't it have?"

Ben's eyes shift, "Yes." before he meets hers. "It would have." He notices her smile widen, and as the scent finds him again his eyes trail down to her neck. He could have her right now, take her into his arms and drink himself breathless. He shuts his eyes hard, furrowing his brows in annoyance, as he places a hand to his forehead. "Uh. Speaking of food." He stupidly takes another breath in stress, opening his eyes to meet hers in question, "What's going to be for dinner? Do you know?"

"Spaghetti, I believe."

He makes a hard attempt not to glare at her. If he had it his way, the sauce and meatballs would be his main course; however, his mother had always guilted him into rationing it out for the rest of the family. Also, the meatballs are just the most spiced, overcooked meat of all time. It might as well not even be meat anymore. "What else?"

"Steamed vegetables, cheese bread, and pie for desert," she lists. Ben shuts his eyes, as he feels the tension in his teeth. They're just aching to bite something. He opens his eyes. He'd give anything to be able to bite her, engulf himself, and erase her memory right now. That scent, it's been driving him crazy for so long. "Honey? Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah," Ben gulps. "I was just thinking about grabbing a bite— a snack." His eyes widen, and he awkwardly smiles as he clears his throat, "What time did you say dinner was?"

"In a couple hours."

"Okay." He quickly stands and starts off, "See you then."

"Hey," she calls after him, and he rolls his eyes before twisting back around. She raises her eyebrows as she stretches her arm out to him, "Don't you want this?"

Ben slowly steps towards her, "You want me to have it?"

"Just make sure your father doesn't see it," she informs. "As you may have noticed, my first impressions of him weren't the most affectionate." Ben stares down past the book. The sleeve has moved down, and now the wrist is bare. Every blue vein is visible perfection, but there are the white scars his father had left her. How he wishes he could tear into her as he did, as he longingly looks at the pale skin. His heart beats faster. He imagines what it would be like, but he really must stop thinking that way. It's crazy. He's human. He shouldn't be getting these cravings. It's crazy. "Honey? Are you alright?"

He meets her eyes and admits, "Just a little lightheaded."

"Not a fever?" she concerns, her arm lowering some.

"No," he confirms.

"When was the last time you ate?" Ben tries to remember, but when he can't recall he shrugs. Her eyes widen, "You worry me, you know."

"I know," he quietly confirms.

She sighs and hands him the book again, "Here." before he takes it and she nods to the door. "Now, go. Eat."

"Will do," Ben breathes, before he turns around to leave.

Ben places his head in his hands, as his elbows rest on the table, but when the Brunette enters the area his eyes rest on her. The tight, black top exposes her arms and neck, and he gazes at them as the smell of sugar and crème grows greater. "Ben?"

He shakes himself from the thought, "Sorry?"

"Would you like the usual?" Bridget questions.

"Oh." Ben looks away and stares down at the red tablecloth. It looks like blood. "No."

"Then, what?"

He tries to remember, and he takes a deep breath before answering, "Two steaks and the soda. That's it."

"You sure?"

He looks back at her and nods, "I still have dinner tonight. This is to just hold me over."

She smiles, "See you soon."

Ben watches her turn to leave and urgently requests, "Wait." and when she turns around he reads the concern on her face.

"Yes?" she nervously asks.

"Um." His heart races, and he tries to smile through his pained expression, "Thank you."

Her blue eyes scan over him, "I will be back soon."

Soon, there was two plates in front of him, matched with a pitcher of Diet Coke. He tore into the steak with his teeth, and when he reached for the soda it complemented the blood greatly. There's another bite, and he moves a finger up his chin, sucking the loose juice off from it. Minutes later the steaks are gone, he texts the waitress for more, and he brings the empty plates to his lips to drink the red juice.

After the next two are gone, Ben pushes the plates away, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his hands over his face. It seems like only a moment ago he had ordered, and now he'd finished his seconds. He lets out a displeased noise, before he takes in more air and folds his arms over each other. He'd done it again, and this time hadn't been planned. He was supposed to have just enough to satisfy him, but now he's going to have to attend dinner without any spare room to stomach anything. "Hey."

Ben looks at the waitress and mumbles, "Hey." before rubbing a knuckle over his forehead. "I'm done."

"You sure?" she questions, and he nods. "Okay." The brunette piles the plates onto each other, before she hesitates, "Is something wrong?"

"You're not an idiot," he snaps at her, and the tears intrude his eyes. "You know something's wrong."

Bridget frowns, "My job is to serve you, not judge."

"Judge," he shouts. "I know this isn't normal."

"Your highness," she murmurs.

"Ben," he interrupts. "I don't want your manners. I want your honesty." He watches as Bridget sits down across from him, and he shakily laughs, "I don't know why it has to be so hard all the time."

"Ben," she begins, before she shakes her head and eyes him. "All people have a hard time with food at some point in their lives. For some people it's just harder than others."

"I'm just always so hungry," he admits, and he notices her look down in thought. "What? What is it?"

She shuts her eyes and tries to smile, "This really isn't my place."

"No," he denies. "Tell me. What is it?"

She opens her eyes and meets his, "It's just…" Bridget hesitates, "If you're expecting a carnivore to join you again—" His eyes dart from the plates back to her. "We do offer blood now. It's animal, but fresh from the butcher." She offers an unsure look, "Maybe that could help your guest?"

Ben thinks for a moment, "Could it be warm?"

She shrugs, "I don't see why it couldn't be."

Ben nods, "Okay." before he takes a deep breath. "I think they would be willing to try it— But next time. We have a dinner to go to."

She nods, "Next time, then." before she stands, and Ben watches as she picks up the plates and pitcher.

"Bridget." She looks at him, and he attempts to smile, "Thank you. Really."

The waitress smirks, "You can thank me by not forgetting to pay."

Ben looks around for his checkbook, "Right." and she laughs as she leaves the backroom.