I glance at my rescuer, his kind eyes peering from beneath bushy eyebrows.
“I... I don’t know. Siberia, maybe?”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Drew sounds irritated. “And Siberia? That doesn’t make sense. Hannah, what have you gotten yourself into?” He releases an impatient breath. “You know what, never mind. Can you hand the phone to someone else who’s more... Just give it to someone who knows what’s happening. You’re clearly not thinking straight.”
I yank the phone from my ear and end the call. I’m breathing hard, which makes my chest ache. I push the phone back at my rescuer and pull my arms under the warm blankets.
I hate the tears gathering in my eyes almost as much as I hate the thought racing through my head:what an absolute asshole.
I turn away from my rescuer, facing the couch, and curl deeper into the covers.
The fire’s heat feels wonderful against my back. A thousand memories with Drew flood my mind. Him reaching overimpatiently when I wasn’t cutting my food fast enough to do it for me. His constant refrain of “Hannah, no, not like that” whenever we were in public. Correcting me like I was an embarrassing child.
Whether I wasn’t using my napkin properly—apparently it belonged in your lap when not in use—or my laugh was too loud in movie theaters, or my crutches were always “in the way” when I wasn’t using them. I could never store them anywhere that wasn’t somehow inconvenient for him, though he swore he wasn’t embarrassed by them.
But he was. I could tell by how he’d apologize for me around other people. In that cringey way where his cheeks would color if I bumped into something in a crowded restaurant. “Sorry,” he’d say, “she’s disabled.”
Like it isn’t fucking obvious.
Like it’s something to apologize for.
I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to feel this furious about it, but sudden white-hot rage fills my chest.
I’m not even primarily angry at him. I mean, I am. He’s a condescending, privileged, ableist bastard who never deserved me. But I’m mostly furious at myself for accepting that treatment. For believing for even one second that he was all I deserved.
As absurd as it sounds, the beast has treated me better.
Yes, he wants me kneeling while he feeds me, but at least it’s honest. He calls me his consort openly. Even the Queen of England called her husband her consort.
And in bed... unlike Drew, Beast gives as much as he takes.God, does he give.My cheeks burn with memories even as tears slide down my face.
He’s the one who granted me my miracle. Even though I haven’t honored my side of our bargain.
Because I ran away like a scared, selfish child. And now I’m here with nowhere else to go.
Shit.
What if I’ve made a terrible mistake?
But those creatures in the basement!
Now that I’m finally stationary, I can think through what actually happened. One of them spoke to me. The handsome one... before his head literally rotated on his shoulders, anyway. I shudder and grip the blanket tighter.
Before the transformation, he’d addressed me. Called me consort. He knew who I was and warned me to run.
What if they’re imprisoned for legitimate reasons? Or am I just trying to rationalize my...monster’s... behavior?
They were genuinely terrifying. But does any creature deserve to live chained in darkness like that? Could anything justify such conditions?
Running was the right choice, I tell myself. At least after opening that door. But did I really need to go down there in the first place? I shake my head. I’d needed answers...
I bury my face in the musty pillow. I don’t know what’s right anymore, though I’m developing a sinking suspicion that I... that I’ve acted wrongly.
What if Beast was protecting peoplefromthose creatures rather than torturing them? What if his absences weren’t about cruelty but about necessity?
What if I’ve completely misunderstood everything?
The thought makes my stomach twist. I fled from someone who healed me, who gave me pleasure I never knew existed, who was learning to communicate with me...
