Defining Belle

~Prologue~

© Copyright Sweetdreamer747 2015, All Rights Reserved

~Prologue~

The day we met was in the corner of the library. I was trying to find a spot which would have no disturbances from studying that I needed for chemistry. She found the spot first, sitting in the corner, beautifully quiet and hidden almost like it was her purpose. Her messy blond hair tucked away delicately behind her ear  and her tear stained cheeks were fair and flushed all at once.

I'd seen her before but her beauty is almost of intimidation so we never spoke a word. I nearly decided to leave her until her brown eyes rose to meet mine and jolted up from the floor out of surprise. She must not have seen me approach her and her shock startled me enough to drop my books. 

"So sorry this is my fault" her british accent sang as she offered a hand, "here let me."

I am clumsy and an utter nerd when it comes to shakespear and literature. It's no surprise I am also incredibly awkward. 

"It's fine." I rush to pick up my things, "didn't mean to disturb you." 

"It's alright," she assures me as she picks up her copy of 'days gone by', "I don't mind... I was getting to rapped up in this novel anyway." 

"A tragic love story. No wonder you were crying." 

A look of guilt crosses her face, "there are many reasons to cry in this world." Her tone grew from shaky to bothered, "but fictional tragedy is not one of them." 

Some how I understood where that notion came from yet not the reason she felt that way. Whatever tragedy she has gone through or is experience I would only learn by her telling not my asking. I may question things but I very seldom am a nosey person. 

"Have you read it?" She asks with a gleam in her voice as she raises the book to my attention. 

I shake my head.

"Well, you should." She hands it to me with a small smile, "Belle Weslan." 

I smirk, "Kendal Riley." 

"Let me know what you think of it after a read, Kendal Riley." She said my name with amusement and curiosity. 

Life with Belle Weslan was very much like the many novels she liked to read. And the people in her life were like mystery novels waiting to be read. She looked at the world with hope and possibility as she often said. I was just one of those people, a mystery for her to solve as she was for me only I never got to finish...the pages were torn out and the book ended when she was murdered. And it's up to me to finish writing her story. 

----

Have you ever thought of a word so complicated that no definition was good enough? Maybe the same goes for characteristics of people. There isn't one good way to describe me and certainly not belle. Her and I bounced back and forth on this topic several times. 

"Neurotic?" 

"Certainly not." Belle scoffed as if me being neurotic was the craziest notion.

"Alright then Belle, if you know me soooo well." I jested. 

"I'll give it a go then," she started confidently and then added after a long pause, "pure." 

I laugh, "Pure?"

"It can mean many things...loyal, kind, innocent-"

"Naive?" I interrupt.

"Of course not," she snided, "you know most people would take that as a compliment these days..."

"And why is that?" 

"The world is anything but pure." She retorted as her face grew with a cold expression that didn't suit her. 

"Nothing is, you know, pure." I add, "the world is full of good and bad things and you can't have one without the other. But, just because it isn't pure doesn't mean than life is any less than what it is unless you perceive it that way." 

She smirks as she throws a pillow my way, "you're kind of too young to be so philosophical."

I catch the pillow as I chime with laughter, "and you're too young to be so full of it."  

She tosses her hair and pulls out a queen-esque accent, "it's one of my best qualities to be full of myself. Confidence is everything my dear."

We talked all night about things like this and found out a great deal about each other. Or should I say she found more about me? I've noticed I'm quite more open about myself than she is and I don't mind. Usually I am the listener in social situations as I love to learn new things, but when there's someone to listen to you for once, you can learn more about yourself. Even so, I still was curious what made her so sad and faded at times. 

----

It was October 3rd...my mom woke me in a panic. Her hair was tangled in brown knots and her eyes watered down and swollen.. unlike her usual pampered and proper self. She didn't show much emotion towards me unless my grades dropped below a ninety-five. 

"Kendal... KENDAL!" she frenzied, shaking me awake. 

"Mom, it's the weekend...im not late for school." I mumble, nearly falling out of bed.

She grabbed my arm tightly and pulled me to the other room to face the news reports on the tv. They were about a girl beaten to death, buried, and found two miles into a hiking trail off Helbrooke park. I couldn't believe my eyes... mostly because they were becoming strangly like my mothers were a few seconds ago. 

"Please tell me you don't know anything about this.." her voice shakes with guilt, worry and accusation all at once. I had to look past the fact that my mom thought that I had been associated with my best friends murder and more addressed it as an attempt to care about my safety... more or less. 

"No, mother."

But, I sure as hell am going to find out.