A/N: As you already know if you read the summary, this is a modern-day retelling of Beauty and the Beast. It's rated R for adult themes, mostly in the first two chapters, and bad language throughout. Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale, so I decided to write this to try and fix what was wrong with the original tale (plus it just demanded to be written, ya know?). Anyways, I'm done rambling now…I think.
Oh, and don't forget to be nice and review. ^_^ I appreciate every review I get…really I do.
The wooden spoon descended, landing between Meg's shoulder blades with an impact that sent her sprawling. The plate of warm chocolate chip cookies fell to the floor and broke, sending broken pieces of glass everywhere as it shattered. Her hand landed atop one of the pieces as she fell and cut into it, and she winced as she felt blood trickle across her palm.
"Now look what you've done, you lazy bitch!" Ms. Hodges snarled, raising the spoon for another blow. Meg brought up one arm in a half-hearted attempt to block it, and the blow fell not against the side of her head as it had been intended, but against her arm, sending it slamming back into her ear.
She curled up into a ball, preparing herself for more blows, but they didn't come. Instead, Ms. Hodges merely snarled and stalked off, muttering under her breath. "Clean it up!" she snapped, looking over her shoulder as she left through the door to her room, most likely to inject herself with massive doses of cocaine.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Meg climbed to her feet, managing to avoid the rest of the pieces of glass. Looking at the mess of the cookies she had worked so hard to make, she felt tears spring to her eyes, but shoved them down relentlessly. Grabbing the broom and dustpan leaning up against the kitchen wall, she began to sweep the pieces of glass and cookie crumbs into the dustpan, depositing them at last inside the large trashcan.
Walking back out into the main room of the small excuse for an orphanage, she nearly ran straight into Jack Perrison. He didn't beat on her as she expected, but instead merely pinched her hip savagely, grinning at her. "Where's my cookies, darlin'?" he drawled at her, breathing into her face.
Smelling beer fumes on his breath, she winced. "I dropped 'em 'cause Ms. Hodges was bein' a bitch," she told him shortly, trying to make her way around him unobtrusively. Jack Perrison wasn't a good person to mess with when he was drunk, especially if you were young and female.
"She's always a bitch," Jack replied, maneuvering so that he was blocking her again. Grinning drunkenly at her, he slung an arm around her shoulders. "You promised me cookies, an' I think I oughta get somethin', don't you, darlin'?"
Meg winced. I haven't promised him anything, and I'm nobody's "darlin'," much less Jack Perrison's.
"I'll make cookies another day," she said vaguely, ducking under his arm. He tried to swing at her, but couldn't see clearly and missed, tripping over one of Melissa's toy cars and falling into the stone-hard mattress that served him for a bed.
"Ya leave Jack alone, girl," Paul called from across the room, despite the fact that Jack had been the one disturbing her. "He's so stoned he couldn' tell shit from shinola."
This got a laugh from Betsy, but Branwyn simply walked by and hit Paul lightly in the back of the head. "Yep, and that's why he looks in the mirror and thinks he looks beautiful," she said amicably. "Jack was the one messin' with our Meg, so you jest shut yer mouth an' keep quiet."
Meg smiled in relief; Branwyn, with her uncontrollable black hair and never-ending faith in Wicca, was her only friend in this hellhole she lived in. Meg didn't see how Branwyn managed to keep faith in anything, living here, but somehow she managed it. It was a good thing, too, for the others tended to leave her alone, probably in fear that she might put a spell on them or curse them if they pissed her off.
Meg sighed, looking around her at the small, barren room in which she and the other five spent their days and nights. There were ten small, hard mattresses in this room, five on each side of the room, on which they were intended to sleep. The front room was cluttered with toys, clothes, and God only knew what else--no one ever bothered to clean up after themselves here. Meg was the only one that ever even kept things in her backpack, and she did it to keep them safe.
The only other rooms in the 'orphanage' were the tiny kitchen and the largest room in the house, the bedroom where Ms. Hodges, their 'caretaker,' slept and took male companionship when she had it. Why they even bothered to call it an orphanage, and to pretend someone might come adopt them one day, Meg didn't know; no one had ever even visited here in years.
As for Ms. Hodges' title as caretaker, that was rankest folly. The 'kids' were the only ones that ever cooked--generally Meg or Branwyn, since Melissa was too little and the others too anal-retentive to help out. The best care Ms. Hodges ever took of them was to beat them with her trademark wooden spoon, generally followed by retreating to her bedroom to inject herself with cocaine or whatever other recreational drugs she might be trying this week.
As for the other 'kids,' the only ones she even liked were Branwyn and Melissa. Melissa was only seven, too little to constantly indulge in drugs, sex, and alcohol, like all the others except Branwyn did. The little blonde girl had adopted Meg as her older sister and surrogate mother almost as soon as she had come here, to which Meg didn't object. She liked the younger girl; it was nice to know there was someone here retaining some shred of innocence.
The others certainly didn't. Jack and Paul were rejects from another orphanage, a couple of large, burly seventeen-year-olds that had gotten in trouble for sleeping with the girls at the orphanage, some of them as young as Melissa. Somehow, they had ended up coming here, which they certainly thought was good luck; they could chase the girls around as much as they wanted, and Ms. Hodges certainly wouldn't care.
Betsy served as their playtoy most of the time; at just-turned-fifteen, she was blonde, big-chested, and beautiful, and had been working as a hooker for several years before somehow ending up here. The exact circumstances of how she ended up coming here, Meg didn't know, and had never cared enough to find out.
It was amazing that she actually managed to stay both a virgin and completely straight, Meg reflected, sinking down onto her pallet with a sigh. As far as she knew, Branwyn was the only other one there besides Melissa who fit both those requirements. Branwyn said it was because of her faith in Wicca; not only had she sworn never to use drugs, but the others were afraid to mess with her.
Well, it wasn't that easy for Meg, that was for sure. She had barely evaded the boys' overly warm advances a time or two, and had generally only succeeded because they were drunk, stoned, or both. As far as drugs went, most of the time she wasn't tempted. Sometimes, though, when life had been treating her particularly bad, when the boys lit up a joint and the too-sweet scent of pot drifted over to her nostrils, she was tempted to go join them, and smoke herself into oblivion.
She had never quite given in, though, mostly for fear of what the boys might do to her if she ever let herself drift away into that state of euphoria. With a sigh, she grabbed for her bookbag, rooting through her few treasured possessions that she wanted kept safe. She dug past her teddy bear, which she had to keep hidden--even Branwyn would have laughed at her for that, but she had had the thing for ten years, and couldn't manage to sleep without it.
Her hand landed upon the spiral notebook that served as her journal, and she pulled it out, digging for her pen and taking it as well. Her journal the others knew about, and didn't see why she kept it. If she had ever told them that she kept it so that she could escape from the harsh reality of life in the orphanage when she wrote, they would have laughed at her. They already laughed at her enough as it was, with her frizzy brown hair, glasses, and tall, skinny gangliness.
Taking up the pen, she chewed on the end of it, trying to think how best to continue the next chapter of the ongoing adventure contained in her journal. It wasn't a journal as much as a novel, but when she wrote, she was able to become her character, in a way she couldn't explain.
Closing her eyes, she put her pen to paper and began to write.
The Lady Bethany ran through the forest, bare feet silently skimming over the fallen autumn leaves. Her court dress, light blue silk with patterns embroidered in white, sleeves of a white, gauzy, floaty material, wound about her legs, tripping her. Falling to her hands and knees, she grimaced, waving her blonde hair out of her eyes with an impatient gesture. Rising again, she continued to run.
Her uncle, the ruthless Count DuTare, followed, intent upon capturing Bethany and using her for his own purposes. What purposes, she knew only part of, which was to drain her of her inherent magic power to use it for himself. As for his other purposes, she did not know, but was fairly certain she wouldn't survive with her virginity intact.
The sound of hoofbeats behind her alerted her to another pursuer. Turning, she gasped in surprise and delight, feeling her heart warm as Sir Eric tir Valon galloped up behind the Count, unsheathing his sword as he rode.
Eric's sword swung downwards, singing as it cut through the air to remove the evil Count's head from his shoulders. The knight turned his horse, halting the valiant steed and dismounting, turning at once to Bethany.
"Are you all right, milady?" he asked, worry in his warm voice.
"Perfectly all right, sir," she gasped, feeling breathless as a warm smile lit up his handsome features. Taking a step, her foot snagged upon a tree root, and she fell into his arms.
"We must still worry about the evil mage yon Count was working for," the brave knight told her. "But for now--" He scooped her up into his arms, kissing her warmly, tasting delicately of her sweet mou
Meg let out an involuntary cry of protest as her journal was snatched from her hands, Paul turning it around to inspect it interestedly. "What's this, girly?" he drawled, beginning to read the first few lines, lips moving as he did so.
"That's mine!" she protested, snatching at it in vain. "Give it back, that's mine, dammit!"
"Well, well, well, this is interesting," the bigger boy sneered. "Listen to this, you guys! 'The Lady Bethany ran through the forest, bare feet silently ski--ski--"
"Skimming," she snapped, leaping to her feet. "Give that back, you overgrown son of a bitch!" Snatching at it, she managed to get it from his grasp, but the page tore as she did so.
He grinned, darting effectively just out of her reach and continuing to read the bottom line. "'He scooped her up into his arms, kissing her warmly, tasting delicately of her sweet mouth--' What's this, darlin', whatcha been wantin' me an' Jack to do to you?"
"No, asshole, it's called a stor--" she started, but Jack, unnoticed, had crept up behind her. Leering, he grabbed her, pinning her arms behind her back. "Let go of me, dammit!"
"Not 'till you get what you deserve, darlin'," Paul drawled, tossing aside the ripped piece of paper and advancing menacingly. Before she so much as had a chance to move, he kissed her, his tongue shoving its way into her mouth.
Biting down as hard as she could on his tongue, she brought her knee up into his crotch at the same time. He backed off with a yelp of pain, and she managed to wrestle her arms free from Jack's grip. Resisting the urge to puke from the disgusting, lingering taste of Paul in her mouth, she turned and swung, punching Jack in the nose.
He yelped, head jerking back to bang into the wall. She tried to turn, but Paul grabbed her, one arm pinning her arms to her sides, the other clasped against her mouth. She bit down on his hand viciously; he yelped, dropping his hand from her mouth.
He didn't put it back, so she screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping that Branwyn, wherever she had gotten off to, would hear and come help. She tried to wrestle her arms free, but he succeeded in dragging her over to the corner of the room where his cot sat and throwing her down on top of it. She started to get up, but he hit her, bashing her head against the wall, and shoved one of his dirty socks in her mouth to shut her up.
She gagged and started to yank the sock out of her mouth, but he grabbed her arms, rolling her over on her stomach and pinning her arms underneath him. Panting heavily, he started to tear at her clothes, trying to figure out how to get her sweater off--
"Excuse me for interrupting," Branwyn's voice came from the doorway, "but Paul, unless you want me to get a knife from the kitchen and cut off your balls, you'd best leave Meg alone."
Paul started and backed away from her, but not before Ms. Hodges had come, awakened by all the noise, stoned off her ass on whatever drugs she was taking, and waving her favorite wooden spoon menacingly. "What in hell is going on here?" the fat woman roared, stumbling and weaving under the influence of the massive amounts of drugs in her bloodstream.
Meg sat up and pointing indignantly at Paul. "That bastard was trying to rape me! He--"
The spoon came down before she noticed it, hitting the side of her ear with such force that it sent her sprawling over Paul's bed with an acute lack of dignity. Jack and Betsy pointed and laughed, but shut up when Branwyn glared at them.
"Maybe if you wouldn't act like such a goddamn slut all the time, ya wouldn' have the boys tryin' to screw ya all the time, would ya?!" she yelled, and then, as she nearly fell over her own two feet, decided it might be best to go back to bed. Muttering under her breath, she left, weaving back and forth drunkenly.
Shaking, she stood, making her way back to her own pallet and falling over onto it tiredly. She knew the others were watching her intently, but didn't care. Rubbing the side of her ear, she winced, knowing it must be bright red by now.
Right now, she was feeling more depressed than she had in a long time. Writing in her journal had been her only refuge ever since the boys had burned all her books in a fit of maliciousness, and now it seemed as though even that wasn't safe. No matter how drunk the two boys were, most of the time the warmest they had gotten were teasing pats at her hip, or an attempt at fondling her breast, both of which she escaped from as quickly as possible. Never before had they actually attempted rape.
Suddenly, it seemed as if staying in the orphanage wasn't safe anymore.
But if she left, where would she go? The 'orphanage' was her only home, the other 'kids' the closest thing she had to a family. The other alternative was the street, which would be much worse; if she chose that way, she would probably end up like Betsy.
If this were a novel, right about now some kindly gentleman would come knocking on the door and take me in, and I'd turn out to be the princess of some long-lost country or something like that. But this isn't a novel, and I'm completely on my own.
For a moment, she seriously contemplated suicide. She knew where Ms. Hodges kept her cocaine, and she could manage to find it and use it herself, give herself an overdose guaranteed to kill. Suicide might be her only way out of the situation.
But still...something hidden deep inside rebelled against that notion, protesting that maybe, just maybe, this would turn out to be like a novel, and there would be some other way out of her horrible situation. No matter how ready the rest of her might be to surrender and take the easy way out, there was a part of her that stubbornly refused to give up--at times, it was the only thing that kept her alive.
So, sighing, she closed her eyes, curled into a ball on her pallet, and let herself sleep.