Shaking her head, Belle found herself walking closer to the other. Â She stops inches from him. Â Head tilts up so that her gaze can search over his features. Â There had been a time when Wade frustrated the living daylights out of her. Â He did so much to keep a curtain up. Â Which, was understandable considering a lot of things. Â But it pushed her away in the beginning.
     Tentative fingers lift in hope of cupping one of his cheeks.  â First of all, youâre not being dumb.  Secondly, we can go over this as many times as you need. â  Belle exhales slowly.  So much pain in one person.  Sometimes she wished they could go back in time so Wade could spend a few minutes with her mother.  They wouldâve gotten along rather well, she imagined.  Collette was strong, determined, and feisty.  Belle imagined those sarcasm bouts would go on for hours.
      But, that wasnât possible.  So she had to lift Wadeâs spirits all on her own.
      â Would you like me to read to you? â
he wants to blame his mood swings, his frustrations, his fears on anyone or anything besides himself. he could blame his parents, his father, cold and cruel or his mother, weak and scared. he could blame the military for taking a boy without a place or a moral code or a family and turning him into a machine. he could blame whatever happened between point a and point b that led to him waking up in a workshop, strapped to a table, pain felt in every molecule in his body. in his darkest moments, heâs even gone so far as to blame belle, strong and compassionate and more patient than he ever imagined possible.
her reaction to him blaming himself is enough to make his eyes threaten to water. he clears his throat, eyes unable to meet her own. but he lets himself press into the touch. one day heâd cover her hand with his own. one day. just being touched is a feeling he can hardly reconcile with the pain heâs known for so long.
when she came into his life - or rather, when he bursted into hers - he didnât anticipate the lessons she would give. the sickness, the mutation that scarred his face and took away his only hope of escape, took away his humanity. sense of manners were lost, his moral code destroyed, his temper untemperable. but still she sat and taught him to be human. even though he feared it was a lost cause.Â
â depends on the story. â   he says slyly, trying to break away from the slump he had been pulled into. as if he wants to erase the humanity he showed her. it feels wrong, dishonest, so he forces himself to close his eyes, breathe deeply to offer a more genuine response.   â you read so often. have you ever written a story of your own? â