Forget the Light
One day. She could do it. One more day. Just one. Nellie leaned heavily on the counter, feeling the world spin around her. Her stomach gnawed painfully at her insides, and even now she could feel how her corset did not hug her body, how her dress hung limply off her shoulders and her hair clung, greasy and unkempt, to her forehead. Feeling nausea rise in her despite the fact that she hadn't eaten in about a week, Mrs. Lovett forced herself to lean over a bin in the side of the room, dry heaving until her body shook and her knees gave out beneath her. What was the point? What reason did she have to live any more? Sobs wrenched her body as she curled into a ball, her face dry as always. She had spent her last tears years ago. And for the first time, she longed for Albert. She had never realized how much she needed him, how he had always been there for her. He had known she did not love him and never could, yet he picked her up off the ground and held her when she vomited gin and cried out for Mr. Barker in the night. He rubbed her back while she sobbed and did his best to help her, and now he was gone too. She was alone. She was utterly alone. And what hurt most of all was that she did not miss him for any reason other than the fact that she needed his aid. She simply wanted him to pick her life back up and then leave her be. She did not miss his rumbling laugh or the way his stomach hung over his pants, the way he sometimes shouted when she burned the pies while daydreaming about Benjamin Barker, the way his face lit up each time he saw her. She missed his care for her.
Closing her eyes, Eleanor fought the hysteria that bubbled in her chest, but she could suppress it no longer. Laughing hysterically, she rolled onto her stomach, pushing herself up on her forearms and pulling her body together as she fought for breath against the laughs that shook her body. She pressed her forehead to the dirty floor, unable to stop the giggles from pouring out of her throat. She laughed until she could not breathe, taking deep, raspy breaths that pained her lungs. And when she had finished, she simply let herself fall to the floor, not caring how the hard ground thumped against her temple or how her wrist ached at the impact. In fact, the pain reminded her she was alive. She would die if she could, but she had promised. She would wait for Mr. Barker. She had to. But it was so hard. So hard to live with the pain in her head, the way memories took her breath away and made her break even further. Pushing herself along the floor, hardly crawling, Mrs. Lovett slowly came to the booth, pulling herself up on weak arms. She almost succeeded in reaching her knees, but her hands lost purchase and her forehead smacked against the unyielding wood. Mind reeling, she slid back to the floor, feeling her forehead pounding and warm blood trickle down her face. Grinning madly, she put a hand to her head, her fingertips drawing lines in her own blood. When she pulled her hand back her fingers were coated in dark red blood. A giggle bubbled up from her throat, and she traced patterns on the dusty floor until darkness ate at her vision again.