Chapter 21

The light of the sun hurt Belle's eyes while the snow stung her knees. Due to the angle of the handcuffs, the only choices were to sit, kneel or crouch. Sitting was preferable, in terms of both dignity and pain levels, but the snow was beginning to melt and soak her skirt.

Her heart sank as the bell rang and the playground flooded with the ruckus of teenagers shouting, shoving each other, and kicking balls about.

'Please don't notice me,' she thought, trying to disguise herself behind a bush that was more like a fine collection of twigs. The only attention she wanted was Damien's.

When a ball hit the gate, she heard the skid of trainers approaching and tried to ball herself up smaller.

"What the heck," a boy cried. "What are you doing there?"

With a defeated sigh, Belle unfurled herself and looked up at him. With a head of blonde curls, pink cheeks, and dimples, he looked a little bit like an angel.

"Please could you just pretend you didn't see me," Belle asked him, flashing him her most winning smile.

When he turned away, she thought he'd listened. Until she heard him shout. "Oi, lads!"

Moments later she was surrounded, and it wasn't long before she had gathered a crowd.

Letting the dark cloud take force, she sat in a daze, ignoring their fervent questions and waiting for them to go away. When the group separated to clear a path she held her breath, assuming they had altered the attention of a teacher.

She was relieved to find it was the special boy with the golden glow—the one who'd punched Drew. He could save her. Somehow, she just knew it. He was good, she sensed this much, but there was nothing kind about his face as he scowled down at her. He tutted and shook his head in disgust before walking away.

"Okay, okay, back up, people," an older voice boomed from behind the crowd.

'The dreaded moment has arrived,' Belle signed inwardly.

It was Mr. Devon, and in the grand scheme of things, it could be a lot worse. Mr. Devon, the PE teacher, was one of the younger and cooler of the teaching staff.

'Somehow I don't think he's going to be cool with this, though,' Belle thought, jiggling the handcuffs.

"Miss Ross?" he asked, crouching on the other side of the metal gate.

"Hello Mr. Devon," Belle replied in a conversational tone, as though they had bumped into each other in the supermarket.

"I'm going to have to ask you to move," he said.

Belle's response was a sarcastic smile and a jiggle of her handcuffs.

"Do you have the key?" he asked.

"Nope," Belle replied honestly.

Mr. Devon stood, wiping his forehead. "So, who has the key?"

Belle shrugged. If she told him it was Damien, they might force him to remove them and send her on her way.

"It's still a free country, isn't it? The school doesn't own the pavement," she argued.

"We do own the gate you're attached to," Mr. Devon offered up as a counterpoint.

'Damn it, he's right.'

"You used to be cool, Mr. Devon. Can't you just pretend you didn't see me?" Belle pleaded, making the same puppy dog eyes that never worked on Damien. The chain of her cuffs clattered against the gate as she pressed her hands together.

"I thought you only made that face for me?" Damien said, appearing at the teacher's side.

The dark clouds blew away, replaced with bursts of color as serotonin flooded her nerve endings.

"Damien!" Belle reached through the bars, grabbing at his clothes.

"Please tell me you aren't responsible for this," the teacher asked. The whining tone of his voice suggested he'd had run-ins with Damien previously.

The man looked about, sighed heavily, and asked for the keys.

"Why? I'm not breaking any school rules," Damien demanded.

"Not this again." Mr. Devon sucked his teeth. "Just because something isn't specified in the school rules doesn't mean you can do it. I'm the teacher and I'm going to send you home if you don't—"

As the teacher trailed off Damien took the opportunity to argue.

"Well, you can call my parents at the hospital and explain why they have to suspend today's surgeries to come and collect me from school," Damien told him.

The way the teacher subtly rolled his eyes told Belle he'd heard this line before too.

"Please, Damien. I don't want to deal with this. I don't want to have to call the principal down and give him a heart attack. Just. Please."

"In teacher training, they tell you to never, ever plead with your students," Damien said as he searched through his pockets. "You just broke the rules."

"How do you know that—" The teacher shook his head. "Never mind. This never happened. Okay?"

Once the cuffs were removed Belle squeezed her arms through and hugged Damien’s leg so hard he almost fell over. She pulled him toward the gate and rubbed her face on his leg while the teacher looked increasingly perturbed.

"Save this stuff for the bedroom in future," he said.

As Damien pulled away the color drained back out of the world, dripping away like a child's painting left out in the rain.

"I think you should go home," Damien said. The words were like daggers in her chest.

"Oh, please. Please, please, please. I'll sit across the road. Please, please let me stay," she babbled in desperation.

"Okay, fine," Damien caved when he saw the look the teacher was giving him. "Sit on that wall until I come back."

He pointed to the wall opposite. It marked the edge of a residential home, but the building had very few windows on the front. She should be fine to sit there for a few hours.

Anything was better than going home. Home was grey. Dead.

Watching him walk away, the cold fingers of dread crept up her spine and pressed their sharp talons into her brain.

'He'll be back soon. He'll be back soon. He'll be back soon.'

Focusing on the fact he would return was the only way to cope. She repeated the mantra maybe a hundred thousand times before he appeared at the gates.

The rush of endorphins hit before she saw him, letting her know he was closing in. The relief was so bright and vivid she felt like her heart might explode.

She flew over to him, smiling like a lunatic.

When he clicked his finger and pointed at the floor without even looking at her face she dropped immediately. The snide remarks and laughter of his peers meant nothing. Only Damien mattered. If he was happy, nobody else's opinion could harm her.

'Why are people so caught up in the opinions of others anyway?' she wondered. Everything about Belle's persona and style was designed to make other people think she was interesting, worthy, or unique. It was all rubbish. Deep down, she wasn't interesting.

'Well, I guess I am now,' she thought, seeing the crowd of onlookers.

She was vaguely aware that the pretty girl was begging Damien to let her walk.

'Doesn't she realize it's pointless?'

"Fine," Damien said. He yanked on the collar, telling her to stand.

"I think you should let her go," the girl was saying. "Please, Damien, look at her, she looks like she's lost the will to live."

"She hasn't," Damien assured the concerned girl, voice laced with confidence. "Have you?"

When Belle realized the question was for her, she nodded. "I'm very happy to be here."

This made the horrible boy laugh. Belle prayed he wouldn't come home with them.

'Home,' Belle thought. 'Damien's house is my home now. I haven't seen my best friend, my boyfriend -ex-boyfriend- or family in weeks. I haven't been to work or University.'

Damien passed the leash to the horrid boy when the girl asked to speak to him in private. It was impossible to overhear the conversation, but from her expression, it seemed the girl was pleading, whining, and finally giving in.

Belle watched as the girl's slender arms flew up in defeat before she stomped away, leaving her in the hands of Damien and his awful friend.

She understood on some level why Damien was torturing her. But this other guy? What was his problem?

'You're just a next-level douchebag,' she thought, giving him a snide glace.

"I'm worse than that," he whispered.

Belle felt her heart thud.

"D—did... did I say," Belle stammered. "Did I say that out loud?"

Instead of answering, he burst into song.

"It’s a disease they’ll never have a cure for.

You’re the only way to dry my eyes."

August Winterman—It had been Belle's favorite song as a teenager. She listened to it on repeat for weeks on end. The lyrics were apt, given her situation; Damien was the only cure for her strange affliction.

'But how does he know that?' Belle wondered.

She shook her head, deciding it had to be a coincidence. Besides, if magic was real, why couldn't this guy be a psychic?

'And maybe I'll grow a tail and swim away,' she thought dreamily. 'If only.'

She felt her smile grow wider with every step Damien took in her direction. When he stopped in front of her and took the leash from Psychic Boy, Damien looked at her like she'd gone crazy.

"I don't remember you ever smiling this much," he commented.

He had a point.

"Uh, well, you make me happy," Belle explained.

"The spell has turned her into your dog," Psychic Boy offered an alternative theory. "If she had a tail it would be wagging. She whines all day when you're gone. Obeys your every command."

...

'He's right.'