Chapter 403: Where Astral is hiding_Part 1
Days moved into weeks after the ball in Aragonia, and the weather changed along with the atmosphere. Autumn leaves slowly fell away from the trees, turning into fragile shades of brown on the ground, the breeze blowing them across the roads and carrying the seasons forward.
Just as the weather was no longer the same as it had been a month ago, Belle was never the same again after everything that happened in Aragonia that night. It became a turning page in her life and in everything around it.
She became unusually silent and reserved, keeping to herself and barely speaking unless spoken to. She often got lost in her thoughts, and Rohan had to put in effort every single time to pull her back and make her present in whatever was happening around her.
He recalled how, on their way to Aragonia, she had been like a restless cat who couldn’t sit still on the seat. Her eyes had either been outside the window, her body turned to watch the scenery, or leaning against him while they talked with their son sitting on her lap or his, trying not to worry about what awaited them in the kingdom.
It wasn’t the same on their journey back.
Throughout their entire journey to Nightbrook, she would stare out the window, not because of the scenery had caught her eyes but because her thoughts had carried her away, and she seemed to find more comfort in looking out there than in talking.
The only time she spoke without him addressing her first was whenever their son went to her. After the mass compelling that happened, Angel had done nothing but sleep and eat to regain his energy, which didn’t give him much time to always be there to bring his mother out of her lost thoughts, as it seemed even Rohan couldn’t achieve that.
Many times, she would hold their son to sleep in her arms, his head resting on her chest as she stared away from him, and Rohan would try many times to make her talk more than a few words. But in the end, he would give up, as she wasn’t present with him, her mind had gone far away, leaving her to listen with half an ear, which in the end would make him keep quiet as well.
He remembered the morning he went to take her from the asylum, where she had already been admitted into a room but hadn’t been taken into the torture room yet. She had been sitting there, staring at the wall, her gaze blank. She hadn’t even noticed him until their son called out to her.
When her eyes finally lifted, she had looked relieved to see them. Rohan had crushed her into his arms and kissed her, and she had returned the kiss. She had then taken Angel into her arms, showering him with kisses and hugging him tight. But that was the only moment she ever showed any emotion, other than sitting expressionlessly.
Rohan knew she had been through a lot in one night, where she had unintentionally killed an innocent woman, but he had never thought it would make her become so withdrawn from her life and family.
They often stopped for food, but she would barely eat more than three or four spoonfuls. There was a time, at one of their stops, when he had talked to her about her absentmindedness; she had hugged him, whispering how sorry she was for not giving him much attention and promising to do better. But she never kept that promise. By the very next day, she was once again lost in her thoughts, ignoring everything around her, especially him.
If she smiled, it was never more than a faint curve of her lips. Her hazel eyes were always sad, and he hated, hated like hell, having to look into them and see how much light had been lost.
At first, he told himself she would soon recover from this silent trauma she was suffering alone, without wanting or even attempting to share it with him. But slowly, his worry began to outweigh his patience.
His worries reached the point where even he began to neglect other things, especially his meals and rest, because he was too consumed with her and with wanting to give her anything, anything at all, that might bring the light back into her eyes.
Many times, he wished Angel wouldn’t sleep for long so she could at least hold a smile longer on her face, but their son needed that sleep after what he had done to save his mother. The boy was brave and growing taller day by day, yet because of Belle’s condition, both his parents couldn’t celebrate any of his growth as they would have.
The night they finally arrived back in Nightbrook was the worst for Rohan.
Belle told Evenly to keep Angel with her for the night and then she had gone straight to their room and, without even changing her attire, had fallen onto the bed and curled up on it, closing her eyes as if to sleep. Rohan stared at her on the bed. She was attempting to sleep when she had avoided it for awhile, too afraid of being pulled back into the land of the dead before they could cut her connection with Isabelle.
Rohan didn’t like this at all. He missed his wife, not the walking shadow he had been living with for more than two weeks now. He had never felt uncomfortable in her presence since their marriage, nor in anyone else’s presence for that matter, but during the silent carriage ride back to Nightbrook, he had wanted nothing more than to bring back that easy air between them, her laughter, her casual touches, and her smiles.
Whenever he reached to hold or touch her sometimes, she would flinch and avoid it, which in the end made him withdraw his hand. Was she angry at him for what had happened? Was she blaming him for not being there when she was humiliated and dragged to the madhouse?
That was so unlike his wife. Something else must be troubling her, but she wasn’t ready to share it with him.
He had noticed bruises on her body that looked like she had been struck before being taken to the asylum, and a burn on her arm that she must have sustained during that incident at the palace. But Lord help him, he couldn’t even get her to tell him if she had been in pain when he treated her. She had remained silent.
If she was angry at him, he would rather have welcomed her anger and rage than the silence and half-smiles he was forced to take from her. She could hit him for all he cared, if only it would bring the life back into her. He wanted her to cry and tell him she was hurting instead of just sitting there while he cleaned her wounds. But his wife had done none of that.
And now, two weeks later, she still hadn’t recovered enough to share her feelings with him.
The mark he had left on her told him she was hurting deeply inside, becoming emotionally numb, so numb that at times, he could sense she felt absolutely nothing. And that, he knew, was the most dangerous state for anyone to be in. When a person stopped feeling altogether, they could easily turn away from everything they once loved, everything that once mattered. He didn’t ever want that to happen to her.
That night, Rohan didn’t disturb her with words. Instead, he silently leaned forward and carefully removed her shoes, then held her small feet in his hands. They felt delicate and milky fair and smooth against his bronze skin that was marred with dark veins. He traced his fingers slowly around her bare foot.
He clasped her feet gently within his palms and lifted them onto his lap as he sat down at the foot of the bed. His thumbs pressed softly into the arches as he rubbed them soothingly, and her toes curled, but she did not move from where she lay on the bed.
She tried to remain still and unresponsive, but the combination of his delightful kneading of tired muscles and the angle of her position would not allow it. She jerked back her feet as he rubbed her heel, but he caught them quickly and drew them back onto his lap.
He had had enough of her shutting him out emotionally. He would make her feel again, make her come back to life, until she finally told him what had happened to her when he wasn’t there. Because deep down, he knew something else had happened, something more than what she had let him see.