Author's Note: Completely different chapter 6. Sorry for the change. Anyways, it's all in Melanie's point of view, just some characterization stuff, not a big chapter. Plus, I thought it'd be nice to give you guys something else to read, and see what you think. Push that review button!

Chapter 6

For the next few days, things felt very tense. I was never included in discussions about the 'business', but it wasn't like I didn't know exactly what was going on. But I was slowly learning to ignore the instinctive gag reflex I got whenever someone went up to Sweeney's shop, when I would imagine blood squirting viciously from their jugulars. But when the shop was closed for the night, or when we were having slow days, I'd go up to the shop, just to escape the maddening chatter of Toby and Mrs. Lovett. Nothing against them, but it starts to bore into your skull after listening to it for a while. Sweeney never objected, and it was very quiet in his shop. I tried to avoid thoughts of how many had met their ends in this room, and just kept to myself. When a customer would come, I would take my leave quickly, but hopefully not suspiciously. I was generally not allowed to help in the pie shop, because I always made a face when someone would bite into a pie. So I kept to myself then too. The silence wasn't bad, and I didn't mind being out of the crowd, but it did start to get a little lonely.

Besides, it left me too much time to my thoughts, and each and every time, they strayed to the barber I found myself unexplainably attracted to. I was disgusted by the vicious and macabre things taking place in his shop, by his hand, so it made no sense for me to be in love with him. These thoughts and ponderings bothered me every day, and I couldn't just shove it to the back of my mind.

Still, even though what he was doing was horrible, Sweeney seemed so much more alive now. How ironic. Fits of rage were rare now, though he was impatient. His one and only goal was the judge, and for the life of him he couldn't find a way to lure him back. This made me frustrated, as well as angry. It was all the judge's fault Sweeney was even like this, anyways.

I was still nervous around people or out in the open, but I was getting better. I didn't have to be dragged outside to get me to do anything, and I didn't always have to have someone with me. But I still avoided close contact with people. I was slowly becoming antisocial, I realized. I didn't like being around people, but it didn't mean I couldn't go around people anymore.

I often found I wanted to talk to someone, but lacked the words to say what I was feeling a lot of the time. And it's difficult to get anything out when one person you live with is a chatterbox and the other is silent as the grave most of the time. Slowly though, I started being able to sort things out in my head, and that made it easier to start talking. I was trying to be less shy, but it was difficult.

One day in particular, I was feeling a little bold, and I decided I was going to talk to someone. Toby and Mrs. Lovett were busy with the pies, but Sweeney was having a slow day. It took me a moment to convince myself that I should, then I went up the stairs to his shop.

"Hi," I muttered shyly as I poked my head in the door, followed by the rest of me. He just kind of nodded in response, staring out of the window again. He had a sad look on his face. Of course. He was brooding again. I wandered a little closer, but not by much.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked him, staring thoughtfully at him, waiting for a response. It seemed he couldn't answer. He frowned, opened his mouth as though to answer, but then closed it again.

Finally he muttered, "I don't know." I nodded in understanding-I knew that feeling-and simply stood next to the wall for a few moments, sorting out my thoughts to find something else to say. Luckily, my tongue-tied-ness wasn't a problem, as at that moment a customer decided to show up. I muttered a quick 'bye' to the barber and left.

Okay, maybe that hadn't gone quite like I thought. But I'd at least said something. Maybe tomorrow I could try again. Why was it so hard to talk to him? I guess…I was just a quiet person. It's the only reason I could come up with. There was no way being in love with him was affecting my ability to talk to him, of course. I knew that was a lie to myself, but it made me feel better because I still wasn't ready to truly admit it to myself.

I continued to deny it because I didn't want to be in love. I didn't even know who I was, who was I to meddle in other people's lives when I didn't even know about my own? This single question spawned a whole new range of thoughts that actually made me quite depressed. Why should I even stay there, for one, and why couldn't I remember anything at all about myself for two. I knew I was only staying because I had nowhere else to go, though I knew that I wouldn't leave even if there was some place that would take me in. I'd gotten attached to these people; they were my friends.

Friends… That word alone gave me a flashback to the last night I was…whoever I was before loosing my memory. I shooed it away before I could go into my own brooding mode. Sweeney wasn't the only one with reasons to be depressed.

Later that night, I slunk back upstairs. I was still feeling restless. I slowly opened the door, hesitantly. I wasn't sure if he was in a bad mood or not.

"Can I come in?" I asked quietly, poking my head in.

"Yeah," he growled, almost inaudibly. I walked inside, closing the door behind me. He was sitting in his barber chair, looking at something in his hand. It looked almost like a book, without pages. I wandered over curiously and peeked over his shoulder, discovering that it was two portraits in a folding frame. It showed a pretty blonde woman, and a little baby.

"Is that your family?" I asked quietly. His head turned a little to the side before returning to stare at the picture; I suppose he hadn't heard me approach.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice a little softer than before. There was a distinct note of sadness in it; I felt my heart break slightly for him. He'd been through more than he disserved.

"I'm sorry about them," I muttered, only to find that my voice sounded strangled. Like I was crying. It took me a moment to realize I was. Sweeney turned again to frown at me.

"Are you…crying?" he asked. I felt myself blush as I turned my head away. "Why?"

"Because I…feel sorry for you," I muttered; it was the truth, I couldn't help it. Predictably, he didn't appreciate it. He stood, put the picture back on his little vanity where he kept his barbering things, and paced to the window, glaring out at the London skyline.

"I don't need your pity," he growled. I felt I'd pried enough for one evening. I turned to leave.

As I closed the door, I thought I heard a quiet sob.