A/N: Stayed up a bit later than I wanted to. I worked hard on this, and I hope you love it. I backed myself into a corner, and I finally got myself out, thank goodness. I hope you are all well. Love, Joanne.
Rumplestilzkin watched as Belle stormed out of the room. He sighed, and brushed the hair away from his face. "Wait!" said Belle as she walked back into the room. Her face was reddish and blotchy, tears still streaming. "You can have this memory. This one is my worst memory ever. I owe you one of my darkest memories."
An inky black projectile flew into Rumplestilzkin's hand, and he quickly bottled and corked it for viewing later. Belle stormed out of the room, and a small, miniscule part of the Dark One yearned to chase after her to comfort her, but he did not. Showing any tenderness towards her would continue to fuel her fantasy, the imp thought. No one could love him, or even want to touch him or even BE with him that way.
He opened the vial, and instantly, the blackness overtook him. He spun violently, until finally settling on cold stone floor. He looked around and saw a filthy looking Belle lying on the floor in a tattered dress. She had a nasty looking bruise on her arm and legs, and a nasty looking handprint across her face. The Dark One jumped as the cell door opened, slamming against the moldy stones that oozed slime and God knows what violently with a BANG!
"GET UP!" barked a dark haired man in a black hood and brown pants and matching boots. When Belle made a sound, a cross between a groan and a whimper, the man strode quickly into her cell, and picked her up by her neck. "WHEN I SAY GET UP, YOU FUCKING GET UP, WHORE!"
Belle choked and gasped, the tips of her toes just barely brushing the stone floor. "You are a weak, pathetic princess." She cried out as he released his hold on her, and she fell to the floor, coughing and rubbing her neck. Belle moved a dirty strand of hair away, and Rumplestilzkin saw the angry red finger marks that were slowly but surely turning into bruises. His stomach dropped as he continued to watch.
"Let's try this again," hissed Belle's abuser. "GET UP!"
Belle quickly got to her feet, stumbling like a newly born foal. "Much better. I promise, your pain will all be worth it, my sweet."
"G-gaston," rasped Belle as his hand snaked around her waist. "You know we can't… I have to remain chaste until we're married."
"Oh that old law," scoffed Gaston as his hand slowly moved under her dress. "It's a shame you insist on staying a virgin. It's quite pathetic if you ask me."
"P-please," whimpered Belle. "Please stop."
"Oh, if only I could just take you right now," growled Gaston. "I wouldn't care if the rats crawled all over us, I'd fuck you right here, right now."
"Please STOP!" sobbed Belle.
"ENOUGH!" cried Rumplestilzkin as he snapped his fingers. The Dark One had seen enough, and now he was contemplating what he was going to do next with this new found information.
Mr. Gold looked around online for chorophobia, and some of the causes for the fear of dancing. "What in the world could possibly make her hate dancing?" said Gold to his computer screen. He began to look deeper into the situation, pulling up Belle's online file. "Nothing out of sorts. No psychological problems noted… Was she making up an excuse?"
Just before he closed the screen, a file caught his eye. "A police report?" questioned the pawn broker. He clicked the file, and his eyes widened as he read.
Ms. Belle French, filing a molestation charge against one Mr. Gaston Favre.
Ms. French frequented her dance class at The Glass Slipper on October 13th, 2004.
Mr. Favre, who was Ms. French's dance instructor, presided over the class that day. Ms. French claims that after all of the students had left class, that Mr. Favre blocked her from leaving the premises. Mr. Favre propositioned her, and when Ms. French declined, he forcibly, in Ms. French's words, "groped her breasts and tried to stick his hand down her pants."
"The bastard!" growled Mr. Gold as he slammed his fist down on the counter. "No wonder she has nightmares of dancing! I should have done more research on her! I'm such an imbecile!"
. . .
I sat at home, reading my book. I didn't want to think about my conversation with Mr. Gold. The memories of Monsieur Favre, my former dance instructor, still haunted me. I did partly lie to Gold. I was a great dancer. Problem was, my anxiety after what Monsieur Gaston did to me caused me to develop a fear of dancing. So, after that horrific incident, I vowed never to dance again.
Dancing, to me, was a reminder of Gaston's sexual harassment. Dancing, especially with a partner, was a sexual thing. One had to make a connection with their partner, and it was important to be able to be sexy and feel the rhythm of the music. I wanted no such part in any of that. It brought back my old fear, all of the memories that haunted my dreams and thoughts.
Suddenly, my cell phone pinged. I jumped, and checked my phone. I sighed. It was Mr. Gold.
I am sorry for offending you and hurting you. It was not my intention. I do wish you would come with me as my dancing partner. I promise, I will not let harm come to you. It is in my contract, whether signed or not, to make sure you are safe at all times.
I sighed and texted him back.
It's okay, you didn't know. And I am considering going with you, but as an observer.
Instantly, I received a follow-up text.
I look forward to going with you, and possibly getting the chance to dance with you, if you change your mind that is.
"I doubt I will change my mind," I sighed as I set my phone down.