Part 4
Her thoughts of kisses and romance, of love, remind her that he never said that they are in a relationship of such a kind. It seems so obvious, despite that, from the way he looks at her – and can't stop doing so - to the way he doesn't want to let go off her.
She shouldn't know these things, not if she has actually been locked up all this time. Still, the awareness that her life isn't what she thinks it is, is becoming at least just as strong as her earlier conviction that none of this can be real. But despite the never ending implications, he hasn't actually said it.
"We... we were together, weren't we?"
She wants – has – to be certain, needs to find out as much about her supposed life as she can. She doesn't want to misunderstand, to be unaware... not again.
"Yes, we are. Were, I should say. Even before your accident, we..."
He shakes his head, as if forcing himself to stop talking that way. His confusion and frustration is almost palpable. She can completely relate to that sentiment, especially because his reply, albeit short and direct, causes only more questions of her own.
"Were we married?"
She already is quite certain that this is not the case, if only for the lack of wedding ring on his finger. It's another of those things that she knows without knowing. She just hopes that starting with a question that is relatively simple to answer will make it easier for him to share more complicated matters with her.
"We weren't," he replies without reluctance, a brief flicker of longing telling her that he regrets this.
"Were we together for a long time?"
She wishes she was better at this, that she could pry for information without being so very obvious about it. But this is important; at least knowing of the nature of the relationship between herself and this man might finally give her some of the peace of mind she has been craving all this time.
"Time is quite... relative here. But no, we haven't been together for long. We have known each other for only a while."
"For how long have we known each other?" she prompts, grateful for the easiness of her next question now that her mind is swimming almost more than it has done since waking up outside the hospital a few days ago.
"About a year. We've been... together for a few weeks. We lived together, in my house, before you moved to an apartment of your own."
Grateful as she is that he provides this information without further questions, these answers too only add to her confusion. By the sound of it, they have barely known each other, had a relationship that couldn't have been more than a few months old.
Yet, he looks at her like she is such a major part of his life, as if he can't truly exist without her... and there something inside of her, somewhere, that relates.
"It hasn't been easy. I'm... I'm a difficult man to love. And there are people who... I have enemies. Some of them used you to strike against me. That's how you ended up here... both times."
She clings to his every word, her entire being focused on what he is telling her, but she finds it almost impossible to process what he is saying. She can imagine - quite easily, in fact - for a man such as him to have enemies who are willing to go great lengths to hurt him. But to use her, apparently causing her to end up in the hospital not once but twice...
"Try not to worry," he adds, eyes pleading with her as if he wishes that he could take back what he just said, if only not to add to her anxiety. "You are safe now. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that no harm comes to you ever again."
There's something in his eyes, something so very earnest and hopeful and fierce that she is immediately and fully convinced of his sincerity.
"But why me?" she asks, aware of what he is saying but not entirely understanding it. "Why use me to hurt you?"
"Because the people who want to hurt me know that you are all what matters to me here," he says, his hand reaching for hers in the periphery of her vision. "Because I..."
He swallows harshly, pulling his hand away before it has touched hers.
"Because you what?" she urges as gently as she can, needing to hear it, to be entirely sure that it's real.
She covers his hand with her own, the gesture slightly awkward in its unusualness - for her, at least. Still, there is an unexpected pleasantness in the gentle touch, something which she wishes to learn more of - to have more of.
"Belle..."
He all but chokes on the name of which she knows by now that it is hers, tears welling in his eyes. Although the name still feels so very unfamiliar, so completely unlike her, it doesn't sound that wrong and intimidating any longer as it is being uttered by him like this.
The man opposite her is so lost, so broken, barely capable of speech. She can see now that this is what drove him to inadvertently scaring her earlier. Not anger or any of the harmful reasons she presumed, but affection and tenderness and...
"Because I love you."
He looks up at her several seconds after speaking, his expression raw and so very vulnerable, as if he expects her to tear out his heart and squash it below her feet, right in front of him.
It's as if a mask has fallen away. Whoever he might be, whoever he wants to be, it's like she's seeing him at his purest form now, the love he declares for her at the center of everything he has said and done in the past few days.
Now she is the one who has to fight back tears. She doesn't know this man, not really, but by now she is beginning to believe that she has. Similarly, it's clear to her that there's only one type of love he is referring to. He confirmed her assumption that they were 'together', but it's so much more than just that, whatever that single four letter word might mean exactly for them.
It's because their clasped hands are like an anchor, grounding her to the world, to life itself. Because there are tears in his eyes just like there are in hers and because there is a strange feeling in her chest, right where her heart is.
They were together, they were in love, experienced something so wonderful she could barely have imagined it. But she has known it, with him, and she can't remember.
There's a stirring inside of her, of things that are there but that she can't access, of knowing that she and this man had something very special.
And now that she doesn't have any memories of it, it's almost like it hasn't been there at all.
"I can't remember," she murmurs, the quiet exclamation this time a plea instead of an apology. "I can't recall any of it... of us."
"I know," he breathes, sounding as forlorn as before, but not nearly quite as desperate.
He reaches for her face, this time only with some hesitation, and wipes her tears away before they can fall down her cheeks.
He is blinking furiously and she brings her hands to his face in return, experimentally brushing the moisture near his eyes away with her thumb.
They share a watery smile, their hands remaining at the side of one another's faces.
"There are ways... there are solutions. Possibly. I'll do anything in my power to find a way to restore your memories. I swear it, Belle. I won't rest until I have undone this."
Her tears are falling again at his declaration, the devotion and loyalty of a man she can't remember giving her hope of a kind she didn't know existed. At the same time, what he says reminds of the way she unintentionally ruined his earlier attempt to return her memories.
"I broke your cup," she says, gesturing at the shards next to them, not really daring to look at them. "I'm truly sorry. I wish I hadn't done that, even if it weren't for my memories. It's important to you, to us I suppose, and I shouldn't have..."
"It's not your fault, Belle. I should have left you alone. I shouldn't have pushed you and..." He shakes his head, but not looking as upset as she presumed given his earlier reactions. "We've had this conversation before, haven't we?"
"We have," she smiles back at him, glad that they can at least talk like this now - and that she is at least capable of remembering this. "But I'd like to say again that it's all right. It really is. I was scared of what you did and because you wouldn't leave at first. But I'm not afraid any more."
The fear he evoked within her before is erased only more at the way he looks at her then, almost as if he is proud to her hear say this.
"The kiss was an attempt as well," he says, his voice softer than ever before and his eyes again not meeting hers. "I deeply regret doing that, Belle. But it worked before and I wanted you to have your memories back so badly... I didn't think of what it would be like for you in case it wouldn't help. I didn't dare to."
There's a turmoil of images and emotions and feelings at his words. It's hardly the first time that she recalls his kiss, far from it, but it's different this time. Now that she has seen another side of him, it's as if her memory of the kiss has expanded, like she's recalling new things about it only now.
Heat rises to her cheeks as she vividly remembers the sensation of his lips being pressed against her, so tender and careful and loving before her shock and the resulting fear overrode that. It makes it difficult to fully process what else he is saying.
"How can a kiss bring back memories?" she asks, before she might give voice to the increasing awareness that, in retrospect, she really doesn't mind all that much that he kissed her. Indeed, in that vague moment between sleep and wakefulness it had felt nice to have her lips touched by his. Very nice.
"It's..." The look he gives her is one of hopelessness. "It won't sound believable to you."
"Try me," she says, hoping that her small smile will persuade him that she's ready to believe so much more than just an hour ago.
"It's magic," he replies, giving her a depreciating gesture of apology, telling her this way that he is aware of how ridiculous he might sound, but that there's nothing he can do about that if he wants to be honest with her. "True Love is the most powerful magic of all. There are few things that can't be achieved with it."
The mere notion of magic, let alone the concept of True Love of all things, should be too bizarre to even consider. But he looks utterly convinced and although she has no idea how exactly a kiss could bring back her memories, there's the same something inside of her as before that recognizes the power and the truthfulness of his words.
"True Love," she breathes, awed and only slightly confused by now. More than anything, she wonders at the implication of those two words. She may have lost such a beautiful thing, but there are ways to bring it back, ways to remember. The wonderfulness which they - apparently - have known, albeit briefly, may not be lost forever after all.
And then she's crying again, of hope and joy this time. He must recognize her current lack of sadness and despair, for his expression of horror changes into another one of those watery smiles, his chin trembling ever so slightly.
They move closer together and after a brief, almost happy nod from her, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her against his chest, his embrace firm but ever so careful. It had felt good to hold him, like she did earlier, but the other way around is at least just as pleasant, especially now that her tears and need for nearness are caused by joy rather than fear or sorrow.
The part of her neck which is closest to his face is getting damp once more. She cards her hand through his hair like she learned to do a short while ago as she finds him weeping again as well.
He lets out a sob in reaction, but she too is aware that it's not a sign of distress this time. She simply tightens her hold on him, trying to get as close as she can to receive and give comfort alike... to get as close as possible to him.