#3: Belle Is Not My Wife

Ava:

The more time passed, the less I believed I could possibly pull this off. How could I keep up this ignorant act when every word that came out of Scott’s mouth triggered me?

My hands balled into fists at my sides, my worried expression faltering.

Belle and her herbs to ‘make me feel better’. Seriously?

Unfortunately, my memory of the past wasn’t yet as perfect as I wanted. Key details like specific dates of past events were still a bit fuzzy, so I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment I’d returned to. However, judging from my youthful undamaged body, and the fact that Scott was being nice to me, I suspected this must be the second year of our marriage, when I’d single-handedly written the script that had transformed his film production company and made it one of the most talked about overnight.

Pretending with Scott was one thing, but pretending to still be best friends with Belle was going to be a lot more difficult. She’d been my best friend since high school, along with Amelia, my other best friend. I mentally pinched myself when I remembered the stupid reason I’d stopped being friends with Amelia, but if my guess was correct, then I hadn’t cut ties with her just yet.

“I don’t think I need those herbs yet, you know. I just woke up from sleep,” I said to him, tapping his arm slightly because that was the most contact I could bring myself to create, without disintegrating.

“Nonsense,” he said, placing his other hand above mine. I shut my eyes, fighting the very strong urge within me to toss his hand away. It was funny how even in his pain, he still needed a way to remind me he was above me, by the strategic placement of his palm.

“My baby, you’ve worked your ass off for the success of my company. You need all the rest in the world and I won’t rest until you get it,” he continued, placing a small kiss on my forehead.

I stood up immediately, stretching my hand so I could stylishly wipe off the print of his cold lips on my skin. Unfortunately, he must have mistaken my action for tiredness, which made him more confident in my need for a rest, although to be fair, he didn’t need convincing. Like it had always been, once he had made up his mind about anything, he expected me to follow, and like a fool doing the duties of a submissive and loving wife, I alwaysdid.

“I don’t need sleep,” I pushed, moving toward the large window in the bedroom and looking out at the city. My heart filled with longing. “I just need to go out. Stretch my legs. I don’t remember the last time I toured the city.”

My voice broke in the last sentence because it was more true than he even realized. Right after the astronomical success of the first film I’d written, he had figured out that he could make even more money quicker if he just had a non-stop source of scripts, which obviously came from me.

I had essentially been trapped and exploited for my writing. It was a calculated scheme that my younger, naive self mistook for a necessary sacrifice, a grueling path to becoming the best, fueled by the promise that years of "paying my dues" would eventually earn me a lifetime of rest and financial freedom. He made me write scripts that could only possibly be used in at least a decade, that is, if production was extremely quick.

I completed countless scripts in months, constructing complicated storylines and characters within a short time, that it was quite surprising how each one had come out somehow better than the last, without plots getting mixed up or the quality of the scripts dwindling.

The fact that I worked better on my own was used to my disadvantage because that only made it easy for me to be locked away to avoid ‘distractions’, even though it was simultaneously a ploy to keep me away while my husband played house with Belle, and my name was erased from every work of mine while I was way too busy and hidden away, to notice.

I blinked over and over to stop the angry tears that had pooled in my eyes. I knew I had to remember, but I couldn’t afford to mess everything up just because of the emotions that came with the memories. It was going to be really difficult, as everything, even looking outside reminded me of the life I had lost.

I had been so lost in thought that I didn’t notice when Scott crept up behind me. I jumped when he placed his hands on my waist and began to rub. My breath hitched in my throat, every single cell in my body screaming at me to abort the mission and give him another reason to groan in pain.

“You will stay back and rest,” he muttered in my ear decisively. “You’re a celebrity now, you know. Your name is all over the tabloids. Your pictures are plastered everywhere on the internet for your excellent work. If you go out now, you won’t be able to handle the attention. You don’t know how crazy fans can be. I’ll have to teach you how to handle them, and get you a personal bodyguard. But until I do that, you’ll have to stay here my love. I’ll be here.”

This position was all too familiar. Him standing behind me, touching me and muttering words in a way I’d always found seductive. I’d always been desperate for his attention, his affection, which he very sparingly gave. I did everything I could to make him really want me, working exceptionally hard on my appearance, doing whatever he asked and risking everything I had, including my sanity to make him a success.

Every touch made me long for more, because I’d always felt I was unworthy of him, considering the circumstance of the way we’d met, which he always used to his advantage. Whenever he put me in this position, I always did whatever he requested, no questions asked, if it meant a chance to feel him reward me with his touch.

At that point, I didn’t know which was stronger; my newfound murderous hatred toward him for all he’d put me through, or my disgust at myself for how pathetic I had been.

He planted a kiss on the top of my ear, while his hand slowly trailed the length of my stomach, coming dangerously close to my chest. I could already feel my legs gearing up to attack on their own accord.

“I can’t stay,” I muttered, unable to keep the sharpness out of my tone. His reaction was immediate. His hands stilled on my body, as though he’d become suddenly frozen. I’d never disagreed with him before, not even indirectly, especially not when he was this close to me.

“Excuse me?” He asked, the surprise evident in his voice. I could hear the slight fear in his voice.

I sighed deeply, to drive the point further.

“I haven’t had anything to do but write, eat and sleep in months. The last thing I need now is more rest. I need to exercise my legs a little, fill my head with new ideas for the next book, get new inspiration. Nothing good can come out from me being cooped up in here, staring at the same damn walls every single day. I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind, and we’d both hate to see that happen, won’t we?”

I turned to face him, not surprised when I noticed the twitch in his jaw. Even though he tried to conceal his emotions, I could still see the frustration radiating off him. He definitely didn’t want me to go out, but he wouldn’t risk it if there was a chance that denying me this would hamper his success. The sour look on his face turned into a smile that looked so genuine, I would have believed it if I didn’t know what I knew. He had made a decision.

“You’re absolutely right, my love, but you won’t have to write for another month at least. When the buzz from the last movie dies down, then I can think of letting you go out. I know how soft you are. You won’t be able to handle the press and the crazy fans. Stay back for me, baby. Okay?” He said, placing another kiss on my forehead.

This time, I slid past him.

“If I knew I’d be punished for writing your script, then maybe I’d have just not have done it,” I grumbled, crossing my arms like a sad child. His eyes widened. “Belle was an actor in the movie and I don’t remember her getting any lectures on how to handle crazed fans, yet she gets to go wherever she wants without a bodyguard, and nothing has happened to her. Are you trying to say the writer who nobody even knows is somehow more popular and in danger than the actor…baby?”

I had forced out the word "baby," even though it made my skin crawl. I needed him to buy the lie. I wasn’t an actor, and I knew my performance was shaky at best, but I was a writer. I knew exactly how to flip the script, bridge the plot holes, and force the ending I wanted, even if anything went wrong. I was in charge now, and I knew what to expect from the characters around me.

Scott’s smile faltered. He could tell something was different about me, but he had to be careful because he had more to lose than I did, at least now. I wonder how I hadn’t realized that before. He may act like he had the power now, but his struggling company was nothing without me.

“Belle is not my wife,” he said in tight voice, grabbing my arm a bit tightly as if to stake his claim and drive home his point.

“So you love me more than her?” I asked, surprising myself.

He hesitated, as the question had caught him off guard. I glared at him, daring him to lie to my face.

“What kind of a question is that?” He asked. He had the guts to look offended.

Before I could say anything else, the door opened and Belle walked in, that ever cheery smile on her face.

“Hi, bestie!” she exclaimed in her singsong voice I’d loved before, but now found annoying. “Scott told me how stressed out you were so I got you those herbs you like.”