Morning (Mourning)
He would have liked to say the market was miserable, that he hated every moment of associating with people. But he didn't. He would have preferred less people, but as it was still fairly early in the morning, it wasn't yet crowded, just a little close. He had forgotten how to barter, hadn't done it since before Australia. If he hadn't gotten so good at listening over those long years, Sweeney Todd would have been swindled out of his mind. After watching a few women haggle over the best price for several items and saw the price they got for what he needed, the barber had no trouble smoothly haggling some cheese and apples, as well as buying some other things that his wife might need. Onions, potatoes, some flour, half of a dozen eggs, even a little meat. Seeing that the day had become lighter, he felt a little twinge of worry that Mrs. Todd had woken in his absence. Quietly and efficiently, he carried the groceries back to the little house by the sea. After setting down the groceries, he crept back to his room and found his wife sprawled across the bed. Her hair was everywhere and her mouth slightly open.
She was not an angel of the morning. She was not a goddess or a red red rose or a Juliet. But she was his.
As soon as the possessive pronoun entered his brain, he shook his head. Though in view of the law, she belonged to him, but she was still just…Mrs. Lovett…Mrs. Todd…Nellie…he didn't know anymore. He no longer hated her, he didn't think he even disliked her any longer. But he refused to make even mental claims upon her; she was not Lucy and no matter how much his heart had begun to heal, he clung ever-desperately to the scrap of Lucy's memory. Or rather to the idea of her yellow hair, seeing as how he could no longer recall anything else about her.
And are you beautiful and pale,
With yellow hair, like her?
He didn't recall how pale she was, only that she was all lightness, yellow hair and pale skin. He looked back to the woman sprawled ungracefully across his bed. She was beautiful in her own way, in a real way. She was touchable and human, not an angel to be admired from afar. In his gut there was a sudden urge to climb back into bed and lay beside her. He resisted, angry at himself for such emotions.
Closing the door, he walked back to the kitchen. Groceries needed putting away and breakfast would be appropriate. He was hungry. This was unsurprising; since leaving London he had found himself growing more human, less demon barber. He was hungry now, even tired. He grew bored occasionally and every once in a blue moon he felt a flash of happiness. Only for a moment, but it seemed that as the night fell for Mrs. Lovett…Mrs. Todd…that it rose for him. As he was beginning to walk in the light, it seemed to have been at her expense.
There. That guilt again, similar to the shock of bare feet on an ice-cold floor. He shuddered it off, like a horse shedding flies. Cracking eggs, Sweeney Todd mixed them with a fork in a little tin bowl. He realized that he didn't know if Mrs. Lovett liked eggs for breakfast. He tried to recall what she ate for breakfast, but she never seemed to eat much at all.
From his bedroom, he heard a soft little creak. Setting the bowl on the counter, he slid off his shoes and crept quickly back to his room. Mrs. Todd had rolled over again and her eyelids were fluttering open and shut, in the midst of waking up. He slipped back into bed beside her, studying her as she struggled to take in her surroundings. She gave a soft little moan and squeezed her eyes shut.
Old Mrs. Lovett would have complained about her head. This one just curled into a little ball and let out another little moan. Sweeney placed a cool hand on her forehead and she gave another little moan.
Poor thing.
He did not regret the thought and instead stood up and put the kettle on in the kitchen, chopped the apple into pieces and sliced off a little cheese. He put it all onto a plate and brought it back to his room, where she lay, still bunched up in a ball, amongst his bedclothes.
"I got you breakfast." He suddenly felt like a bashful young man again, embarrassed about doing something kind. There was a general grumbling coming from Mrs. Lovett, but it was muffled by the blanket over her head.
"There's tea."
The mumble repeated itself, but a pale arm snaked out and patted around until she found the tray on his lap. One hand curled around the mug and she inched up a little in bed, pulling the mug under the blanket. There was a quiet slurp and the corner of his mouth twitched up, not a smile but rather a flicker of amusement. There were another few slurps, and a little moan, this one of relief.
"There's apples and cheese as well."
She grumbled loudly and there was another slurp. A pale hand emerged and felt around until she found an apple slice. Chewing noises were soft, and then the hand reemerged and found a piece of cheese. His mind drew an absurd parallel, comparing this feeding of his wife to feeding one of the exotic creatures in the sideshows. The image of Nellie Todd in a sideshow cage, badgering passerby was amusing enough for him to smile. She continued her slow eating of his offerings, and once she had finished, the empty cup of tea was held out shakily from the blanket cocoon on his bed. Accepting it, he returned to the kitchen, placed the dishes in the sink, returned to his wife's side.
"I'm making myself breakfast…are you still hungry?"
The covers moved about and the dark curls emerged, then her pale forehead, thin brows, brown eyes. She did not pull the blankets further, only looked around blearily until she made eye contact with him.
"What?"
"Would you like some eggs?" The eye contact was hard; he really wanted to look away. He didn't like this contact.
"No." She pulled the covers back over her head.
"Are you going to stay in my bed all day?"
What had possessed him to say that? His hand whipped out to cover him mouth as her body stiffened beneath the covers, suddenly on guard. It was very unlike him, even with a hint of innuendo that he hadn't meant to insert into the conversation.
She was silent and so was he. After a long pause, he stood.
"I'll go make breakfast."
He heard her shift under the blankets, settle again. The outline of her body lay stiffly and he felt a stab of regret for his comment—what was this emotion? First guilt, now regret. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he was developing emotions.
With a heavy breath that wanted to be a sigh, he returned to the kitchen, cooked his breakfast, and ate it in silence. It didn't taste as good with the sour aftertaste of regret in his mouth, but he finished every bite, half to prove to himself that he could.
After he had finished, put away the groceries, cleaned up, and paced around the kitchen, he returned to hid bedroom, a little timid, not wanting to hurt his wife. She lay in the same position he had left her in and he sat on the bed next to her prone form.
Neither of them said a word for a long time. But then, Sweeney felt a strange urge to speak and when he opened his mouth to make an awkward attempt at asking if his wife was all right, the words seemed to just come out, without so much as a please or thank you.
"I didn't know the boy meant so much to you."
The prone body on the bed twitched and he laid an awkward hand on her back.
"He was my boy." Her voice was half whimper and half whisper.
"I didn't know."
"Me lit'le boy. Lit'le Toby."
"I didn't know, I—"
"And you killed him." This part was a whisper, solemn and sad.
"I know."
"I loved him, Mr. Todd."
He knows the words that he ought to say, but they stick in his throat, drag like molasses. They won't come, jammed in his windpipe, tangled in his vocal cords, anchored to his tongue. It's worse than pulling teeth, pulling those words that he wants to say from his unyielding throat. But he does, and they explode in a sudden, surprisingly soft whisper.
"I'm sorry."
Another silence, this one longer and more painful than the first. She sits up, pulls the blanket from her face.
"I know, Mr. T." And she looks at him now. "But you can't bring him back."
SORRY SORRY SORRY! I haven't written in forever and for that I apologize profusely. College. It really takes it out of you. Anywho, here's the latest chapter in the adventures of Mr. and Mrs. Todd. What do you think? Questions? Comments? REVIEWS ARE LIFE. Hope you enjoyed it.
