A Defiant Liaison

XXIV

"Purgatory is hell with hope." Philip José Farmer, To Your Scattered Bodies Go

---- 

XXIV.

Belle was not certain for how long they travelled. The days seemed the blend into each other, and the haze from the two concussions that Jean had bestowed upon her didn't not help with her ability to focus.

She wanted to be able to. She wanted to concentrate on what she could see out the window. She wanted to be able to memorise the roads, any particular landmarks, or special trees, anything to be able to determine her location.

But her mind wouldn't let her.

The carriage only stopped to change horses. Belle was not permitted out of the carriage during these stops, and Jean made sure to wait with her. They didn't stop to rest overnight. And as much as she wanted to remain awake and alert, restless, broken sleep found her.

Jean had not touched her again, most likely because his size made manoeuvring inside a carriage quite awkward and challenging. But that did not stop him from watching her with his corpse eyes, leaving Belle wishing that she had a heavy, thick cloak to wear to cover herself from his hungry gaze.

Belle did not say another word to him. As much as she was glad that she had spoken up against him, she knew that she needed to be smart. She wanted to live. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see Peter again. She needed to keep herself alive.

She would allow Jean to think that she had returned to her submissive demeanour. But Belle would be damned if he ever laid his hands on her again. She would kill him first.

Jean did not refrain from speaking. He filled the silence comfortably, seemingly regaling her with his triumph in locating her after more than a year's absence.

"I am ashamed to say that it did take me a day or two to notice that you have disappeared after the hurricane," Jean confessed. "My mind was elsewhere. The damage needed to be seen to. But when I realised that you had disappeared, I must say that I laughed." Even now, he snickered, his lips peeling back over his teeth in a sinister grin.

Belle said nothing.

"It must have been a little of this spirit that you now have," he surmised, tilting his head a little, his eyes raking over her from top to bottom.

Belle looked away.

"I do like it, you know," Jean reminded her coolly. "It is more fun when they fight."

An icy shiver ran down Belle's spine as bile rose up in her throat. But she didn't say anything, no matter how she wanted to curse him. She wanted to tell this vile excuse for a pig person that he was condemned. She wanted to tell him that he would rot in hell for how he had treated her, and those like her.

And she would. Belle promised herself that she would tell him exactly what she thought when she was in a position of power. She would not remain powerless. She would take the power from him somehow.

"I hate to admit it, but it did take me a little while to track where you had gone. But I wasn't going to let you go. Not you." His voice thickened, and Belle could hear his sickening desire.

He leaned forward, though struggling a little in the small confines of the carriage, and he placed one of his meaty hands on her thigh over her skirt.

Belle reflexively swatted his hand away, like she would if an insect had landed on her sleeve. A deep chuckle gurgled within Jean's chest as he placed his hand back firmly on her leg, gripping the sides of her thigh in a tight vice. His hand was large enough to nearly envelope half of her leg, and she winced as his grip tightened to hurt her.