Chapter Eleven
It's Ok To Be Afraid

Everybody hurts some day
It's OK to be afraid
Everybody hurts, everybody screams
Everybody feels this way and that's ok
~Everybody Hurts, Avril Lavigne


I was pissed.

Hell, I was frickin' fuming!

How dare that...man make me feel so crappy when I didn't even know him? He had no right to make me feel this way!

"Bastard," I muttered underneath my breath. If Anna or Theo were with me, they would've gasped and then applauded me for actually cussing. I hardly ever swore, unless I was actually very angry, and then all hell broke loose.

Jeez.

I felt like crap.

In my mind, I had two options. The first was that I could lock myself in my room for a bit and play loud music, probably System of a Down. The second option was exactly the same, but with a bottle of wine.

I groaned; the second option seemed so tempting...

No. I couldn't get drunk, not with a strange and angry man in my shop.

Or could I?

I scowled to myself, wiping the tears off my cheeks stubbornly. If I wanted to drunk, to hell with the consequences! It was my home, I could do what I wanted.

My mind firmly made up, I got up and stormed upstairs, heading for my kitchen. Unfortunately, I didn't have any wine. All I had left in my fridge were a couple of cans of beer.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed one and stormed to the living room, deciding to watch TV instead of listening to angry music. My mobile was on the coffee table, where I had left it last night by accident, and I saw that I had several missed calls from Theo.

Opening my beer and taking a long swig from it, I typed out Theo's number and rung him.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?" Was the first thing he said to me.

"Hi, Theo, how are you? Oh, I'm fine, thank you." I snapped back sarcastically.

"Yeah, whatever. Listen, have you rung the suppliers yet?"

"The suppliers?"

"Yes Niamh. Remember how we had a talk about the nice men that will deliver food and drink to your shop so that you can open up?"

"Theo, shut the fuck up with your god damn sarcasm because I am not in the mood."

"Wow, you must be in a bad mood if you're swearing."

"Theo."

"Right, right, whatever. Anyway, I gave you the number last week when we were painting. You put it on your desk?"

I groaned, suddenly remembering.

"I haven't rung them yet."

"Why not?"

"I've been busy! I do have a life outside work, you know."

"What, dancing around a stage in pretty costumes?"

"You're just jealous."

"Of course I am. So hurry the fuck up and ring those suppliers before I kick you." Theo ordered before hanging up. I rolled my eyes, realising how much I loved and hated my gay best friend so much.

I then groaned.

The number was in the office.

He was in the office.

Brushing a few strands of hair out of my face, I got up from the sofa, putting my mobile into my pocket. Still holding my beer, I reluctantly trudged back to the office.

Of course, he was still there.

I paid him no attention as I walked in, crossing the room to sit at the desk, and he did the same. The tension was thick, but I brushed it off as I rung the suppliers.

I swung the chair back and forth, occasionally spinning around in a circle while I talked to a nice man called Bob, who happily recomended the best kind of products to order and gave me the best prices. He was a very friendly man, but even that couldn't distract me from the fact that Sweeney was staring at me.

"That would be brilliant, thanks, Bob."

"Nah, that's alright. Always a pleasure to help those that are new to the business."

I laughed. "And I'm going to need all the help that I can get if I can make this work! Bye."

"Bye."

I smiled and hung up, picking up my notebook and laughing at my scribbled notes. I never did have the neatest of handwriting.

But my laughter died down as I spun the chair around and saw that Sweeney was still looking at me. Leaning back in my chair, I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes?"

He didn't answer, and instead continued looking at me with an unreadable expression. I rolled my eyes, turning my back on him and having a sip of beer.

"Why are you here?"

I leaned back in my chair as I spun around slowly like I was in a Bond film. I almost wished that I had a white cat on my lap.

"Pardon?"

I might have been pissed, but my Mother always brought me up to be polite.

Sweeney simply looked at me, obviously refusing to repeat the question. I raised an eyebrow.

"I'm here because this is my home," I told him. "My home."

"You chose this to be your home?" He sneered in a very annoying and arrogant manner. Instead of showing my anger, I sneered back.

"Yes, I did."

The two of us looked at each other with contemptuous expressions, neither of us impressed with the other. But I could feel my sneer disappearing slightly; his dark eyes were hypnotisingly beautiful...

Refusing to allow myself to loose this silent battle, I sneered again and then turned my back on him.

"You can apologise anytime you like, by the way."

"Apologise?"

I spun the chair around once more (how many times I was going to go back and forth, I did not know) and stood up.

"Yes, apologise. It means you say you're sorry."

"I know what apologising is," Sweeney snapped. "I just don't see what there is to apologise about."

"Uh, hello? Have you seen my wrists?" To help him, I held up my arms, showing my still red-wrists. "You're lucky that I'm not pressing charges, attacking me on my own property!"

Sweeney's brow furrowed, his eyebrows pulling together as he frowned down at me.

"What?"

He didn't answer, but continued looking at me with a confused expression. Realisation dawned on me, and I had to sit back down on my chair.

"You're really not from this time, are you?" I asked quietly.

Sweeney paused for a moment before shaking his head, a sharp and jerky movement. My mouth fell open.

"Oh my God," I whispered. "Oh my God!"

I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head desperately.

"What have I done?" I groaned to myself.

"What - "

"I have done something incredibly stupid," I told him, jumping up from my seat and pacing back and forth, wringing my hands. "This has to be the most stupid thing that I have ever done my entire life, and that includes improvising in the middle of a school musical after I forgot the lines which, by the way, went incredibly wrong!"

Sweeney simply stood and watched as I paced back and forth, babbling and swearing under my breath.

In the end, I collapsed onto my chair.

"What was the year?" I asked quietly.

"What - "

"What was the year that you were in the bake house?" I demanded, glaring up at him.

"1846."

"1846?" I repeated. Finally loosing control, I let out a wild noise that was a cross between a sob and a screech before throwing my head back against the chair and shutting my eyes.

Seriously, what did I do to deserve this?

"I need a drink," I muttered, reaching for my beer can and taking a long drink from it. Opening my eyes, I saw the slightly jealous look in Sweeney's eyes. "Would you like one?"

"What is it?" He questioned.

"Beer," I grinned. "And it's the good stuff."

Sweeney gave it a suspicious look, his nose screwed up slightly, before reluctantly nodding.

"C'mon, we'll have to get it from my kitchen."

I half expected Sweeney to refuse to follow me, but, to my surprise, he simply followed me in silence. It wasn't an awkward silence, though.

It was odd.

Once we got to my kitchen upstairs, Sweeney lingered in the doorway, looking around in mild curiousity, as I opened my fridge and simply grabbed the rest of the beer cans.

"Here," I thrust a few into his arms before brushing past him. Seeing him stood in the doorway still, I rolled my eyes. "Don't just stand there."

Like a child that had been scolded, Sweeney took a few steps away from the doorway before turning around and slowly following me, his eyes wandering everything. Poor guy looked really confused and disorientated.

"You can sit down." I told him once we reached the living room, putting the beer cans in my arms on the coffee table, taking the ones in his arms to do the same. His hands brushed against my arms, and I gasped at how freezing they were.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, we simply stood there, looking into each other's eyes, definately invading each other's personal space. If I leaned up a bit and he leaned down a bit, we'd be kissing.

As if he suddenly realised it, Sweeney took a quick step backwards.

"Sorry." He muttered gruffly, turning his back on me and sitting on the sofa. I stood for a moment, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

"Yeah, so am I." I whispered, turning around to put the cans down. Grabbing another one for me and one for him, I threw myself on the sofa opposite him, crossing my legs Indian-style.

"Here."

I held out his can, and he took it, both us being careful not to make contact with each other.

Again, silence took over us while we drunk our beer. I didn't know what to say, and I presumed that he had the same problem.

"Who was that woman?"

Sweeney looked up at me, his expression one of startle. It looked so odd that I had to supress the giggles that rose to my throat.

"What?"

I licked my lips and took a sip of beer before daring to repeat my question.

"Who was that woman? That one you were holding?"

Sweeney frowned, but not unkindly. Instead, he looked...

He looked sad.

His eyes on the floor, he finally responded in a low, gruff voice.

"My wife," He told me. "Lucy."

Lucy...

So that was why I heard her name.

Lucy...

"What happened to her?" I asked softly, leaning forwards slightly. Sweeney's head snapped up, his dark eyes meeting my curious ones.

"I killed her," He said in a broken voice. "I killed my wife."


Yes, another fast update! Seriously, I sit down for five minutes and I spend half an hour working on a new chapter. I can't help it. I love writing this story.

And, yes, another conversation! Luckily, this one was a bit more civilised!

Thank you Shelia Chiaroscura, Saphire Bethany Stacy Skyle, Spanish Sunrise, filmgrl13 (lovely to hear from you again!) and JDeppIsMyLovely for reviewing!