A/N: Heyy new story for you all! Forming a little plot in my head, stayy tunedd :D
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SWEENEY TODD!
Although it had always been dreary in dark London for Sweeney, things just felt worse. The air felt heavier, and damp. The once usually cheerful and non-stop chattering, Mrs. Lovett, was now silent. He was lucky if she grunted or even nodded his way. He couldn't really blame her though.
About two months ago, the first day of November, Mrs. Lovett's world came crashing down on her. He could remember it all extremely vividly.
He leaned back against the cold window, frost forming around his breath. He looked down to the carriages driving down the road, and a flash of Toby falling below the horses stomping hooves clouded his memory. He had seen Toby trip over a bloody piece of wood, and watched him scream in fear. He shivered at the image of the trampled body of the boy.
No, he was never fond of the boy. Really, he still wasn't. But even Sweeney didn't want to see him die, especially not in that way. He felt like he could have done something, but in his mind he knew he really couldn't have.
He ran down the steps, and peered into the shops windows to see if Mrs. Lovett realized what happened. She peeped her head outta the door, and her eyes widened.
Flashback:
"Wot 'appened Mista Todd?" She asked curiously. He meerly cleared his throat, unsure of what to reply. She ran over when she saw people gasping, and he followed her trail.
"Bloody hell!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. Like the fool she was she ran into the road, and Sweeney rolled his eyes, running after the bloody idiot.
Just as a racing horse ran through the road, Sweeney's hand gripped Nellie's arm tightly, yanking her back to him. She screamed and thumped on his chest to get away but he held her tightly. He saw a few men signal the oncoming travellers to stop in their tracks. Once the carriages had all stopped, he let go to of Mrs. Lovett to see what the damage was.
With out trying to make it seem any better than it was, he grimaced at the horrible display. He almost wanted to gag at the sight. But being the man he was, held back and thought of how nasty it must look when he slit his customers throats.
End of Flashback:
The next memories became blurry for Sweeney. He remembered Nellie throwing herself onto him yelling hysterically not caring what the other people thought. He remembered a carriage coming to take his body away.
That next day Nellie had demanded his body back, and made Sweeney take her to the sea. The day she had overpowered him, and the day he let his emotions get to him. She had cried, she had screamed, and overall she was just a mess whenever the topic was brought up.
He remembered watching the poor woman dig a hole up on top of a hill, overlooking the sea. She dug and dug, not eating or taking a rest. She was breathing heavily, and the tears never seemed to break from her eyes. They welled up, but stayed in place.
He didn't want to bother her, so he just stood watching her. He felt a strange warmth of pity fall into the bottom of his stomach that day, and he didn't know how to help her.
Today was Sunday, so neither of them had work. He stood by the window, and let out a much needed breath of air. He was getting hungry, so he walked down the wooden steps of his barber shop. He walked briskly to her shop's front door, and opened the door slowly.
He winced, when he heard the cheerful bells jingle as he entered. It was silent. Not even any lights on, and the sky was becoming darker with nighttime.
"Mrs. Lovett?" He called, but was replied with nothing. He sighed to himself, and looked around the cabinets. Nothing. Well, nothing he could prepare himself anyways. He was terrible at that sort of thing. He walked through the sitting room, and scanned the area.
She wasn't anywhere to be found. He grumbled to himself, when he noticed he bedroom door slightly opened.
He walked silently, his shoes barely making a sound. When he finally reached the old wooden door, he peered inside. He saw her corseted body sprawled out, with her back facing him. He rolled his eyes, and entered the room.
Didn't she realize, that he'd lost two of the most important people in his life? Didn't she understand he experienced this pain too? He wasn't complaining and moaning about it though. But he shook his head, when he realized he'd acted the same way when he first arrived here. During that depressing time, his heart became cold. And it hardened with anger and hatred.
However, with Mrs. Lovett, her heart was slowly filling with sorrow, and he saw it emotionally and physically.
She was thinning. Her once filled out corset, and thick curves, were slimmer. Her collar bone protruded farther than it ever had. Her wrists and arms looked like fragile twigs attached to a weakened body.
Over all, she was a bloody mess. But what was he supposed to do about it?
"Mrs. Lovett?" He groaned.
Nothing. The room echoed with his breathing, and he heard his own heartbeat.
"Mrs. Lovett!" He demanded, and this time he heard a whisper.
It was too quiet to be audible, and he was becoming impatient.
"What was that?" He asked, irritation in his voice. He tapped his foot rudely, waiting for her answer.
He heard nothing, and saw her body shake a little. He realized she was probably crying, and he heard gasps.
He walked over, and tapped her shoulder, but she only cried harder.
Awkwardly, as if she was on fire, rested his palm on her back, trying to get her to speak.
But her body jolted suddenly, anger in her petite voice,
"Two bloody months!" She suddenly shouted. Louder than she'd been since the day she screamed over the dead child's body. He jumped with surprise, and cracked his neck to straighten himself.
Before Sweeney could speak up though, she babbled on loudly again.
"He would have been thirteen today.. Thirteen." She said, pain evident in her voice. He felt a little sad thinking of the lad too, but he kept silent, holding his hand on her shoulder. She rubbed her eyes and spoke again,
"It's not bloody fair. It makes no sense. He was only a child Mista' T." She mumbled, tears staining her face. She pulled herself up, and sat on her bottom.
She stared straight ahead, and she was slanting her cheek onto Sweeney's hand. He bolted at the touch at first, but grudgingly he felt a warmth of happiness settle in his mind. It felt good to keep her warm, soft cheek on his skin.
'What now Mista' T?" She whispered breathlessly. He sat down beside her, and within seconds her head was resting in the crook of his neck.
At first, his reaction was to yell and become cold with her.
He wanted to growl, and to push her away.
He wanted to speak up and tell her to stop crying and bloody grow up.
But, he did none of those things.
He let her rest there. He let the warmth of her small frame engulf his cold one. He let himself let go even if it was for only a few seconds.
He almost sighed happily, but straightened himself. Why was he becoming so able to show his emotions all of a sudden? It just wasn't him..
"I suppose I 'Coulda kept him inside that day.." She sobbed softly, "He didn't really need to get fresh 'air.." She mumbled, partially blaming herself, yet again.
"Don't blame yourself." Sweeney suddenly spoke, his voice gruff and stern. She peeked up at him, and he saw her weary face. She was paler, and the dark circles below her eyes stood prominent. The white of her eyes, had turned red, and she looked depressed. You could just see it.
She stood up, and rubbed her eyes, with her lacy gloves grazing her forehead. He watched her, realizing how closely they actually were standing together. He felt her little sobby breaths run across his collarbone, because he'd untied his caravat ealier that day.
"Nev'r answered my question Mista' T." She smiled weakly, and he blinked back to the present. Question?
"What?" He asked, confused and dazed from thinking and daydreaming.
"I said, what now? What's to become of us?" She sighed, knowing he was going to make a harsh comment about nothing happened to "us". Just him, and her. No "us."
"Dunno." He replied, his eyes hazy, glancing down to the floor. His eyebrows were quirked up in a strange angle in his thought, and Mrs. Lovett giggled softly.
He blinked down to the short woman, with an even quirkier, confused face, and she snorted quietly.
"What's that all about? Have I something on my face?" He asked, almost angrily. She sighed, tiredness coming back to her sad, weary bones.
"No Mista' T. Just a silly look was 'all." He nodded in understanding, but they stood quietly for a moment more.
"Strange, 'innit?" She whispered, " 'Ow, you could find your way here, and you were so sad Mista' T. So sad. It was painful to see how depressed and off'ish you were. You still are a bit, but I see a difference. I don't care what you say." She smiled distantly, smoothing his jacket. He was listening for once, intent on hearing her point. Her chin was pointed up to him, and her eyes were slanted towards the wall beside them,
"And now, I've lost someone important in my life, just as you did. But you lost two. And I'm so, so, so sorry you delt with that.." She sighed, genuinely sad, "And now your there for me to talk to. Like right now.. But I'm still cold. In my mind, and my heart. My body hurts, and everything else does." She spoke, Sweeney staring intently at the small, fragile woman before him.
"And I dunno, If I'm gonna make it anymore. There's nothing to live for. Not really." She sighed, but Sweeney felt a bit hurt. Wasn't she supposed to be happy that he was here? Unknowingly, he put a finger on the middle of her jawline. She blinked up at him, tears down her soft, china like cheeks.
Her breathing became labored, and she stood staring at him, trying to search out what he was doing.
He looked at her, all over. Her eyes, to her cute eyebrows. To her lips, that annoyingly always talked. Well, not that much lately..
"And here we are, Mista' T." She whispered, almost seductively to his ears, and he felt warm suddenly. A happy warmth.
"Standing alone, with depressing tales to tell of our pasts, and nothing to really show off as our achievements." She continued, as he watched the way her tongue hit her teeth as she spoke,
"We're just murderers, Mista' Todd." He blinked at her suddenly, her eyes deeply set in a dark haze he knew too well.
"Damn good ones." He muttered off handishly'. She chuckled a quiet, throaty laugh, and he saw that his finger was now trailing down her neck.
"So you tell me, Sweeney Todd." She whispered even lower, her head stretching up to an inch away from his lips, her words sending shivers down her spine,
"Tell me here, and tell me now," She sighed, as he felt his own eyes shut quietly, lust growing in the pit of his stomach, knowing she too felt this way,
"Wot' now?" She said, her bottom lip just barely, and tickling his bottom lip.
Before she'd even gotten an answer, his mouth came crashing down onto hers, and she whimpered as a familiar heat rushed through her veins.
He grasped her hair as he tilted her neck back, attacking her with harsh kisses and moans.
They continued on, heated bodies becoming one heated mess.
But they stopped, abruptly too.
Sweeney pushed her away, and she felt dejected. He looked disturbed at what he'd just done. He leaned against her dresser, his legs bent at an angle, his breath labored.
She had been pushed hard enough, that she just decided to collapse into a giant heap on the floor. Her skirts flounced out around her, and she just stared at him.
"Dammit!" He growled, turning to kick the wall. She flinched, and began to sob at the sight she saw. She knew those feelings. Anger, anxiety, and confusion. She had it too. And she had it just as bad.
She realized she was crying again, Or, she had been and didn't even realize it.
Her chest was heaving through her corsets, and they locked eyes. She licked her lips, and saw his eyes flick towards her mouth.
She felt scared, because the look in his eyes was frightening. It was not loving, nor inviting. It was his evil glint he got, when he was unbelieveably angry.
"I'm tired of feeling this way!" She yelled. He jumped slightly, but listened to the woman.
"I'm tired, of being scared." She said shakily, referencing to him. "I'm tired of being angry. I'm sick and tired of being sad. I hate feeling lonely, and unwanted. I feel sick to my stomach, and my head aches constantly. I hate everything!" she sobbed loudly.
"But you know what Sweeney?" She whispered, angrily through tears, looking at her hands. He stared blankly at her,
"What I'm really tired of? I'm tired of feeling. Feeling anything at all. Feeling pain, rejection, hate, and sadness. Everything." She spoke, her words feeling like fire from her lips. He understood exactly what she meant. Every last word she uttered, he knew every feeling she experienced.
"Get up." He ordered suddenly. She snapped her thin neck his way, curiously.
"Wha..?"
"I said , get, up." She feared his voice, and stood quickly, her bones achy and tired.
"I've an idea." He said, still standing by her dresser. She nodded for him to go on, and waited.
"I'm going to teach you, the divine art, of not feeling." He grinned maliciously. "As I, am of course the master of it." Her eyes widened, and was intrigued by his words. Was it really possible? Did she really want to not feel again? No. She didn't, not anymore. She was tired of feeling.
"Allright Mista' T. But what do you want in return?" She spoke quietly, and he grinned, but this time, a new emotion present. Almost.. Caring.
"I want you to get better for me. Your too sick for my liking." She froze at his words, and realized how truly honest he was being. How much he really trusted her.
"Alright. What's first?" She grinned evily.
"Come with me.." He smirked, holding out his hand.
A/N: Hey guys! Here's my new story I've created in my silly mind! I hope you like this first chapter! Sorry I haven't updated my other stories... Horrible writers block.. Like, for real. It's super bad this time! Thanks for reading, stay alert for this story! And REVIEW! Tell me your impression please!