B E L L A || ✔️✔️

41 || Away

THREE YEARS LATER

ARABELLA

Three years had passed since the darkness had swallowed me whole, wrenching me from the familiar confines of my old life and thrusting me into a world of uncertainty and fear. Time had become a nebulous concept, its passing marked only by the slow erosion of hope that had once burned bright within me.

My surroundings had changed dramatically since that fateful day, the streets of Paris now stretching out before me in a maze of cobblestone alleyways and bustling boulevards. Gone were the familiar sights and sounds of home, replaced instead by the unfamiliar cadence of a foreign city.

I found myself standing behind the counter of a quaint French coffee shop, the scent of freshly brewed espresso mingling with the aroma of freshly baked croissants. It was a far cry from the life I had once known, but in this new world, it was a semblance of normalcy—a small ray of light in the darkness that had enveloped me.

As I poured steaming milk into a cup of coffee, my thoughts drifted back to the life I had left behind—the friends I had lost, the memories that had faded into obscurity. Jace's face, once so clear in my mind, had become little more than a distant memory, his voice a faint echo in the recesses of my mind.

But amidst the pain of loss, there was a flicker of hope—a quiet determination that refused to be extinguished. For though I had been torn from my old life, I refused to let the shadows consume me entirely. In this new world, I would carve out a place for myself—a new beginning forged from the ashes of the past.

The rhythm of life in the café was like a soothing melody, a comforting backdrop against the chaos of my thoughts. With each passing day, I found solace in the mundane tasks that filled my hours—the clink of dishes, the murmur of conversation, the gentle hum of the espresso machine.

But amidst the familiarity of my surroundings, there was an undercurrent of unease—a constant reminder of the shadows that lurked just beyond the safety of the café's walls. Memories of my past haunted me like ghosts, their whispers echoing in the recesses of my mind.

As I moved through the motions of my daily routine, my thoughts often drifted back to Jace—a distant figure from a life left behind. I could no longer recall the sound of his laughter or the warmth of his touch, his presence reduced to little more than a hazy memory.

But still, there were moments when his face would flicker in my mind—a fleeting reminder of the life I had lost. In those moments, I would pause, my heart heavy with longing for a past that seemed like a distant dream.

But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, I began to find a sense of purpose in my new life—a quiet determination to carve out a place for myself in this unfamiliar world. I threw myself into my work with renewed vigor, determined to make the most of the opportunities that lay before me.

And amidst the hustle and bustle of the café, I found moments of joy—simple pleasures that served as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still beauty to be found. Whether it was the smile of a satisfied customer or the warmth of the morning sun filtering through the windows, each small moment served as a beacon of hope in the darkness.

As I wiped down the counter at the end of another long day, a sense of peace settled over me—a quiet acceptance of the life I had been given. Though the shadows of my past still lingered, I refused to let them define me. In this new world, I would find my own path—a path illuminated by the light of hope and fueled by the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Just as I finished, a regular customer approached, a kind smile on her face. "Merci," she said, thank you, her voice warm with gratitude. "Ton café illumine toujours ma journée." Your coffee always brightens my day.

I returned her smile, the weight of the past momentarily lifted by her words. "De rien c'est avec plaisir," I replied, my voice steady. You're welcome, it's my pleasure.

I'd been practicing french for a while before my father kidnapped me but during my time in france, practically speaking it every second of every day, I'd learned to speak fluently. I'd been here long enough that I had the tiniest inkling of an accent. I doubt you could hear it unless you focused

And as I turned back to my work, a sense of hope blossomed within me—a quiet reassurance that no matter what trials lay ahead, I would face them with courage and determination. In this new life, I would find my strength, my purpose, and perhaps even a glimmer of the light that had guided me through the darkness.

After the café closed for the day, I made my way back to the small apartment I shared with my father—a place that had once been a sanctuary, but now felt more like a prison. As I stepped through the door, the familiar scent of stale cigarette smoke and cheap cologne assaulted my senses, a stark reminder of the life I had left behind.

My father sat in the dimly lit living room, his gaze fixed on the television screen as he nursed a glass of whiskey in hand. His eyes flickered with recognition as I entered, a twisted smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Well, well, look who decided to grace us with her presence," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "And how was your day, my dear?"

I swallowed hard, the bile rising in my throat as I forced myself to meet his gaze. "It was fine," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. "I made some tips at the café."

His smile widened, but there was a darkness in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine. "Ah, excellent," he said, his voice oozing with false sweetness. "And I trust you'll be handing those tips over to me, as usual?"

I nodded, a sense of resignation settling over me like a heavy blanket. With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket and withdrew the small wad of bills I had earned that day, holding it out to him like a sacrificial offering.

He snatched the money from my grasp, his fingers closing around it like a vice as he counted the bills with a satisfied smirk. "Very good, my dear," he said, his voice a low growl. "Now, run along and make yourself useful. There's dinner to be made, and I expect it to be ready when I get hungry."

I nodded mutely, my heart heavy with the weight of his demands. As I turned to leave the room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over me—a crushing reminder of the prison that my life had become, and the shadows that still lurked just beyond my reach.