Chapter 11

"A Little Solace"

A few hours had passed before Sweeney awoke, convinced beyond a doubt that he had dreamed of his unconventional night with Cynthia…however, as soon as he registered the warmth beneath his cheek, he knew at once that his dream was most certainly reality. He was still in her arms, his head nestled against her left breast, and his entire body felt at peace. He thought back to his behaviors and the tiniest of smiles crossed his pale face. She had enjoyed them, and, after the guilt had faded, he realized he had as well – very much so, in fact. He had the strongest of feelings that one encounter would not be enough for him.

Cynthia stirred and her eyes opened. She blushed as her gaze fell upon Sweeney. "Didn' think you'd still be 'ere," she confessed softly.

"Wasn' sure I was ever actually 'ere to begin with," he answered. His eyes closed involuntarily as she ran her fingers through his white shock of hair, the feeling rather soothing.

"Will you ever tell me wha' did this t' you? I know it's not me business, but…"

Sweeney's eyes opened and he moved from her embrace, taking her into his own. "Perhaps some day," he lied, the answer good enough to appease her. Her head rested on his chest now and he knew she was looking at the scars there. "The stories are one in the same," he whispered.

"Poor man," she cooed. "I don' imagine the story will 'ave a pleasant endin'."

"It's beginning to improve."

Cynthia smiled, but it soon faded. "Streets'll be bustlin' soon. You need t' slip out before anyone can see you."

Sweeney looked at the clock on the far wall. It was a few minutes after four and the merchants of London's streets would, indeed, but setting up their businesses before long. Sweeney felt suddenly uncomfortable. He couldn't simply say "thank you" and be on his way…handling the current situation was not coming easily to him. "Cynthia…last night…it…" He didn't even try to continue.

Cynthia rose from the bed, taking a blanket with her as she went. Sweeney watched her leave the room, assuming she was ashamed or angry, though she returned too quickly for him to decide on which it was. "It was nice," she said, trying to complete his thought for him. He saw that she held something in her hand. "I imagine you're not lookin' for a place for your heart, an' I understand tha', Sweeney, both our hearts left us with our loves…I see it in your eyes." She sat down next to him again. "But I also know tha' last night…it put a little somethin' back in them…an' it made me feel…less lonesome. I know I probably sound daft t' you, but…'ere." She took his hand and placed a key inside of it. "Like I said, I'm no whore, but I'll be more than welcomin' of your company should you decide you wish t' come back."

One small, metal object had just made Sweeney's head swim. He was just given an open invitation to what London may have seen as quite the scandalous affair. Good thing Sweeney would always know how to dispose of any of its possible witnesses. "You don' 'ave to give me this."

Cynthia let the blanket fall away from her as she crawled to him. She cupped his face and kissed him, her body aching. She pulled away, smiling. "Trust me, I do. Jus' remember, you 'ave no obligation t' use it."

"I can' use you," he said, wishing that he were someone else completely.

"It's not usin'. You an' me…we deserve a little somethin', don' we? Life wasn' fair t' me, an' I 'ave the feelin' it's been far more than cruel t' you. Jus' a little solace for the both of us, hm?"

It was Sweeney's lips taking initiative now; he couldn't even remember leaning in to kiss her. "Yes," he whispered. "Solace…"