I stood in the middle of my yellow tinted grey room and sobbed. I was waiting for Sweeney, with the most horrifying, terrifying, mortifying, awful news imaginable. He would hate me for it, I hated myself for it. I was a disgusting cretin who deserved to die, I had already lied to my husband about it. After a few years of being rejected by Sweeney I decided to move on but I didn't love him, and he certainly did not love me. The man only wanted a son, and I knew as soon as he got one he would probably leave me, or kick me out rather.
The barber's footsteps echoed down the stairwell so I dried my eyes and choked back my crying. I had to be strong, for Sweeney.
"Yes, Mrs. Lovett? What do you want?" he asked in his usual monotone. I walked over to him.
"We should sit down love," I whispered. His eyebrows pushed towards each other.
"Um, why?" I thought for a moment. He would probably just stand right back up again so it would be pointless to push for it.
"Never mind, I need to tell you something very important," my voice would not get any louder though I could tell the man was straining to hear.
"Well, why don't you spit it out?" he asked sternly.
"Because you won't like it," I said.
"Mrs. Lovett, I don't like anything, you minds well tell me now so I don't need to force it out of you," he said calmly like he didn't really care.
"Sweeney, I'm pregnant," I said and closed my eyes. He didn't get it.
"So? What's wrong with that? You're married aren't you?" Sweeney replied. I nodded.
"Yes but that's the problem." He looked at me.
"What? Don't you love the father?" Why must Sweeney make this so hard for me?
"No no, I love the father very much, I don't think he likes me though," I hinted. Sweeney shook his head.
"Please Nellie, can you stop with the riddles? My head hurts, just tell me what it is you want to tell me so I can get on with my life," he groaned.
"Well, you see. The man I'm married to isn't the father," I whispered. Sweeney rolled his eyes.
"So you cheated on him, he's probably done something to deserve it. I wouldn't bother worrying." He started walking away, I inhaled deeply.
"But Sweeney you don't understand, it's not his because it's yours," Sweeney froze with his back to me.
"What?" was his only reply.
"My baby is yours, a-and I'm scared Mr. T, what if he finds out and hurts me? I don't know what to do." There was a sharp impact to the side of my face and I fell to the floor sobbing. He hit me, I realized in shock.
"How do you know it's mine?" he demanded.
"He hasn't touched me in over a year, I won't let him. Fortunately he's so set on getting a son that he believed me when I told him it was his," I replied.
"Get out," Mr. Todd whispered. I looked up at him sniffing and biting my lip.
"Huh?" was all I could manage.
"Get out!" he shouted and hoisted me up by my elbow. I gasped at the harshness of his actions. Sweeney towed me to the door and opened it without a moments hesitation.
"Don't you even consider trying to come back, if you think I wont kill a woman, you have yet to see my dark side," then I was falling backwards. It seemed to happen slowly like in a dramatic movie. I hit the ground already crying, and mud splashed around me. It was cold and I wanted to get up but the utter sorrow wouldn't let me. I now felt as if I could understand how Mr. T use to feel, maybe still feels. After awhile I finally made myself drag my dirty and sore body off of the ground. As I walked home I got many strange looks and sometimes glares even. But really why would I care? The only person who could actually hurt me for looking terrible would be my husband, he'd already done that. I wouldn't let the man know I was afraid of him, wouldn't give him the satisfaction if knowing he had won.
Upon arriving I opened the door without knocking, this severely frightened one of his many maids who when realizing who I was tried to warn me of something with her eyes but I ignored the helpful lady and continued walking. Who cared what he thought? The man popped out of nowhere and stood in the center of the hallway, blocking my escape.
"Eleanor, why are you so covered in dirt?" he asked, looking disgusted.
"I tripped on my way back," I shrugged. He shook his head.
"That dress cost me a fortune and now you've gone and ruined it. You should probably take it off, you'll be cold if you don't," he stated feelinglessly. I got his hint but refused to play along.
"I'll be just as cold if I take it off," I said, more to the floor than to my husband. The man hugged me, his hands a bit too low on my back.
"But I could warm you up much easier if you didn't have so many clothes on," then he kissed me. It wasn't a nice romantic kiss, it was a mean one. The kind of kiss no one should ever have to endure. After awhile of simply letting his mouth bully my face I spat his tongue out and stepped away from him.
"I'd much rather leave it on thank you, unless you have some different clothes," I told him curtly, hoping to hurt his feelings. Though just like everything else in my life, it didn't work. He took my hand and slowly kissed it's length. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes I sat tensed, waiting for him to turn around so I could wipe off my face, or do at least something to defy my dictator.
"I don't have any other clothes but there's a blanket on our bed," I put my hands on his shoulders.
"I am pregnant so please if you could try not to make me feel anymore uncomfortable than I already do because of the fact that there is a human being growing inside me, I would greatly appreciate it," I whisper-yelled at him. He stood staring at me for a moment.
"Why won't you give me what I want? I've given you a child. Isn't that what every woman wants?" he asked. The pathetic insect.
"I wont give you what you want because you want love, I have absolutely none for you and I can see, by your actions, you have little to offer me," with that his hand raised to hit me once more. The side of my face that Sweeney had struck still hurt, but not so much on the outside, it hurt because he was the only one I ever loved. I fell onto the ground with a stinging sensation, that was much to familiar, warm in my cheek.
The nurse came in and saw me on the floor crying, she looked up an him and frowned. Her name was Rosemary. She came over and helped me to my feet.
"Come deary, you must be careful when walking these halls, it's rather easy to trip," she said. I knew that she had known what really happened but the fear of my husband was to oppressive for her to even consider mentioning it. I sniffed.
"Yes, it's almost as if the floor is trying to hurt and degrade me," a bit of sarcasm leaked into my voice. The maid squeezed my hand in warning, so I shut up.
"I have some clothes for you deary, nice dry warm ones," she said. Her kind voice sounded foreign to me. "and we can fix your hair up too." I felt bad for her, having to do my hair. My husband liked it down and combed so he forced the maids to tend to it. They hated the job because I gave them so much trouble about it. Shrieking and gasping every time they even slightly tugged on my hair. What they didn't know though was that I wasn't crying for my hair, I was crying and shrieking for my shattered life, for my lost Sweeney. I was crying because once you've hit rock bottom, there's nothing else you can do but cry and wait. I used to cry at night but now that I was married my dreadful husband would lay wrapped around me until I was asleep. It was an awful torture, I wanted every night so desperately to pull away from him but I couldn't. I couldn't because then he would either beat me or rape me. I knew this because I had tried once before.
After I was done changing into some very modest pajamas I sat in the chair where I waited for Rosemary to come and contend with my hair. She did, and eventually and after a long session of four minute intervals of brushing between my tantrums I thanked her and went to my chamber. Where the devil lie in wait.
"Hello Eleanor, nice of you to join me," he whispered. Unfazed by his incessant begging for the one thing I couldn't make myself give him, I walked over to the bed and lay down. The man stroked my back with his finger, tracing patterns. I shivered and he took it the wrong way. Thinking I was finally responding he took this nonexistent opportunity to climb on top of me. The man kissed my neck and ear, upon realizing his lead was false he fumbled with the bottom of the nightgown I was wearing. I put my hand at the place that it met my leg, preventing him from pulling it off.
"I'm not going to take my clothes off, go hire a stripper," I hissed and curled into a ball. He growled and punched me in the stomach. I coughed with the air knocked out of my lungs.
"Do not question my moral Lovett," technically it should have been his last name but he wanted to be more specific.
"I have a baby growing right there, be careful what parts of me you abuse," I replied. He rolled his eyes and assumed the usual position. I clenched my jaw and tried to fall asleep. That night I dreamt feverishly, many nightmares passed through my head. The most memorable because of the amount times I had it.
I would be sitting in the sun with my stomach much to big. Sweeney would step into the clearing covered in blood then from the other side my husband would begin advancing towards me. He would hold his hands extended revealing long black fingernails. Then as he reached me Sweeney would watch him claw my face and arms. Stare contentedly and my torn flesh dripping with blood. As he left I would beg my love to come back and help me, but he didn't. Just before I died at the hands of my husband I would awaken screaming. My non-dream husband would kick me and go back to sleep. But not this time.
"Look, if you insist on waking me every half hour maybe you should go out to the living room and sleep on the couch," he scolded. I concealed the fact that I was happier now than I had been for a long time. I jumped up and bounded for the door. Freedom was but a room away, at night I could leave. Maybe go to a workhouse, anything other than with him. I had tried to look at the bright side once, I couldn't think of a single thing that would be worse. I had even tried the 'worst things' but even hell and death sounded appealing when compared with my situation. The door to the outside came to me quickly and when approached with it I almost didn't know if I could leave. But I soon came to my senses and realized that I must. I inhaled deeply and took the first step into the night. The cool blackness soaked into my skin and I felt safe. Though at night the streets of London aren't particularly comforting, especially for a woman.
I decided to go back to Sweeney's place and beg him to kill me. I'd rather die at the hands of the one I loved than live with the very bane of my existence. And also who knows maybe he wouldn't kill me, then I would know he at least didn't want me dead. I carefully walked the familiar road back to where my pie shop used to be, when it came into view I smiled and began to speed up a bit. Speed up, that is, until I saw who was in the shop. It was the beadle, sitting and chatting with Mr. Todd.
"That's funny," I whispered aloud, "I could've sworn Mr. T already killed him." I lifted my skirts and continued on, hesitantly. Once I was at the window I watched the two casually chatting. The beadle's teeth made me want to vomit so I stared longingly at Sweeney. I would be glad to let him kill me. Just to have his hands on me. If I was lucky I might even be able to steal a kiss with my last breath, not wanting to get my hopes up I shook that thought from my mind. Finally after what felt like a terribly long time, the beadle noticed me. His eyes squinted and I watched him mention me to Sweeney. The demon barber of fleet street flicked his attention over to me. His head seemed to move too fast and turn just a bit to far. I smiled and waved. If I were to die, minds well go with a smile. He stood and slithered to me. Mr. T was so close that I had to lean backwards in order to see his beautiful face.
"Mrs. Lovett, what are you doing here?" he hissed into my ear. I shivered, imagining Sweeney in place of my husband. It was a very nice impossible thought.
"You said if I came back you'd kill me, I'd like to accept your offer," I stated. He blinked.
"Mrs. Lovett, your pregnant. I'm not going to kill you. And besides, I'm not a murderer," he replied quietly. I frowned.
"Yes you are, in fact you killed beadle. Don't you remember? Do you deny that it's strange that he's not dead?" I whispered. I sounded like a psycho but those were the best days of my life and I knew they had happened.
"Nellie, are you quite alright? Do you have a fever?" he asked. I stepped back.
"No, Mr. Todd, I am not crazy! It really happened, you had this chair that would tip back every time you pushed the pedal and your victims would slide down and I would make them into pies," my voice faded as I realized how ridiculous that sounded.
"How has your husband been treating you of late? Do you want something to eat love?" Sweeney asked carefully.
"I'm not crazy, I can even show you. Do you still have that chair I gave you for your barber shop?" I asked him. Mr. T nodded.
"Ok, lets go upstairs then and I'll prove to you that I am not crazy," I said and ran inside. My fingers twitched at my sides. When I burst through the door everything looked the same, except, it was all flipped to the opposite side of the room. Strange. I walked over to the backwards chair and waited for Sweeney. When he stepped through the door I smiled and stomped on the lever. Nothing happened. I stood on it with both feet and jumped, still nothing moved. Irritated I stepped off the pedal and kicked the chair with every ounce of strength I had. That hurt, but I didn't scream or cry, I just carefully placed my foot on the ground and didn't move.
"Happy?" came the voice behind me. I glared at the stupid piece of furniture.
"No," I hissed. I felt his hands on my shoulders dragging me towards the stairs. I finally turned and followed him. I cried on the way to where I used to make pies. Sweeney sat me down and went over to the counter, he pulled some bread from the pantry and brought it over to me on a plate.
"Here you go. Now, I need to ask a few questions about your husband," he said. I nodded, wondering where the beadle went.
"But why are you being so nice to me, I thought you hated me for having your baby," I whispered. Sweeney exhaled.
"Because I'm worried about you. You're acting like someone who really needs to be pulled back into the light before their mind has completely been overcome by the black," he informed me. I wasn't coherent enough to understand.
"What?" I asked, hoping he would make it sound a bit more simple.
"Your going insane from grief Mrs. Lovett, I want to help you," he replied gently.
"No Mr. T, you're going insane from grief! I remember because I told you Lucy was dead, but then you found out that I lied and threw me into a furnace, a-and I died." Sweeney nodded with a slightly frightened look on his face.
"But Lucy isn't dead, and neither are you." Then the little brat came waltzing out from my old living room with her little Johanna in her arms. Johanna shouldn't be a baby, I thought to myself.
"Who is she honey?" The poor delicate beautiful woman asked quietly. I glared at the floor.
"Just an old friend dear, she was involved in an abusive relationship, and she needs some help getting back on her feet," Mr. T paused for a moment, "She's also with child." Lucy gasped.
"I never said he was abusive," I hissed quietly, irritated by all the minute mistakes in the world that I now noticed.
"Well, was he?" Sweeney asked.
"Yes," I replied. There was a long silence.
"What's the problem then?" he asked. I shrugged.
"When you talk, you keep making mistakes. You shouldn't have known he was abusive, I never told you that," I said weakly. I briefly noticed a stunned look of horror crossing his and Lucy's face.
