Morbid Bite

XI :: A Darker Side

"Don't be so horrible, George." The whore teasingly hit him on the head and he kissed her neck. "For all y' know she could just be confused or unsure what she wants." The woman turned her head to look at Nicholas her eyes sincere but vacant like her true self had been lost a long time ago.

"Ah!" George spat. "Like girls don't know what they want," he lustily said as he picked up the woman in his lap and carried her away. As her laughter died into moans, Nicholas swallowed again, his hope lost, his heat beating faster than it had in a long time. His eyes caught a glimpse of Sébastian's full cup of ale. His heart and his brain battled against dominance over his sobriety. But his torn emotions won, and he grabbed the ale unable to supress the edge.

"Nick!" Sebastian shouted in surprise as he placed his hand over Nicholas's gripped knuckles. "You said you wouldn't drink again." He looked around before leaning in to whisper. "Remember. After Paris." Nicholas slammed his fist into the table making Sebastian jerk back into the bench.

"Fine," he said standing up and shaking his head. "I'm not standing here to watch you shred apart whatever contentment you have left."

Sébastien threw down some coins, placed his hat upon his head and left but not without one last look back at his friend. Nicholas sat alone his eyes focused on the alcohol that swum around in front of him. For a moment he thought about going back but he knew he could do nothing to stop the inevitable.

Marriage. The word burrowed into her brain as Belle said it again and again twisting it this way and that to try and make sense of this word. It was not the thought of it per say but the idea of it with Nicholas. She liked him very much, but she just was not sure she could spend the rest of her life with him the memory of Raoul pulled at her heart strings like the cruel puppet master constantly toying with her emotions. Two brothers, so similar, both had the same power when it came to her feelings.

Belle sighed as she stared down at her father's grave. All she wanted was to be a little girl again cuddled up in his arms as he told stories of daring adventures, out of this world inventions and magical places that you could only enter in your dreams. She missed him so much and now more than anything she wanted his guidance. Feeling the sadness swelling in her chest she pushed it down not wanting to cry.

The graveyard was alight with colour and it reminded Belle of home. The small garden they had had in Paris had always been planted with exotic flowers her father would bring back from his travels. Belle tightened her grip around the white rose she had taken from Raoul's garden. He had not been home when she had wandered towards his home in a dreamlike state, unsure where or who she was heading for. Now she stood in front of the cold grave stone, her father's name etched harshly into the patched marble.

Kneeling down she brushed away the mud and placed down the rose, its ivory petals nestling into the ground like it had always belonged there. A slow thump of footsteps made Belle turn her head towards the church where she saw the priest, his hands nuzzled in his wide sleeves. His eyes were concentrated on her, but she could not look at him – it did not feel right to her.

"Papa," she whispered as she placed her hand on the gravestone. Her throat caught, and a sudden guilt took over her. What would he think of her actions? Would he disapprove of her like her sisters had? She could not bear it if he knew of what she had done, what she had hidden. Standing up she brushed the dry mud from her dress.

A sudden wet drop fell down the back of her neck and she shivered. Looking up at the sky she saw the mackerel clouds, their ominous prediction a warning to the ground. Belle felt her body shiver again at the drop-in temperature and moving away from her father's grave she headed towards the church her mind ablaze with the yearning for absolution.