Thomas couldn't sleep. Somewhere deep in his brain, an image of Janey was buried, and he wanted it out. Even if she had been only six years old. He so desperately wanted to put an image to that beautiful voice. Janey was sleeping peacefully on his chest, cuddled up to him. No more nightmares so far, which he was very happy about.
He hated seeing her miserable. She wasn't always as strong as she pretended to be – sometimes things got to her more than she liked to admit. But that was alright – he would always be there for her when she needed it. No matter what she looked like, she was beautiful to him. He simply wanted to know. So, it didn't really matter.
But the fact that he had seen her... That there was a possibility of putting a face to her voice. He had imagined her so often... dreamed about being able to see her. And it turned out she had been in his head all along... a little girl looking up to him... reaching out to him. Well, there had been nothing he could have done for her at that age. He hadn't been able to stop any of it – his father's abuse... his mother's cruelty... his sister's murderous ways. What could he have possibly done for a little girl, whose father beat her and her mother...
And then – suddenly – he remembered... There had been a little girl, with flaming red hair and big brown eyes. While everyone else had turned away their eyes in disgust when he and his sister had passed, she had not. She had smiled at him – a smile that carried hope, a connection... And now she was here, in his arms.
Slowly, the image became clearer. There had been a woman too, her mother. She had red hair like the girl, but it was tucked away mostly, much like he imagined Janey wore her hair now when she went out. Her mother had been trying to make the girl turn round like everybody else, but Janey wouldn't. She had radiated like the sun in an otherwise dim landscape. It was like she was from another world... A sprite. Janey – it had to be.
The grown-up Janey was murmuring. Not a bad dream, as far as he could tell... just unrestful. Still. He needed to know... Gently, he shook her until she woke up.
She yawned loudly. "Yes, dear?... Had a bad dream? Are you alright, Thomas? … Thomas?"
What had he done... This could have waited till morning. He had been selfish, just thinking about his own needs... he could have kicked himself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."
A hand stroked his cheek. "You're lying...Tell me what is wrong."
She knew him too well. "It's stupid, really," he admitted.
"But it is still keeping you awake. Tell me what is wrong, Thomas." She kissed his cheek. He was so lucky to have her.
"Nothing is wrong. Just... Was your mother a redhead, like you?"
"Yes she was."
"Do you look anything like her?"
"Spitting image, apparently...Or so I have been told.. Except she wasn't as tall." There was something bitter in her voice.
He understood. "You are nothing like her on the inside. She was broken – you are not. You are so strong."
"Not always... Why do you ask?" She rested her head on his chest.
"I have been thinking about that day my mother was buried. I think I remember you." He smiled. The picture of her was becoming clearer by the minute. "You were the only one looking at me. Everyone looked away like my and my sister were... monsters. I guess they were right. But... as much as I hated my mother for the horrors she had put us through, I was immensely sad that day. We had become orphans and, though my sister was relishing the fact, I felt so alone. She didn't understand, and she even got angry at me. I needed a friendly face, if only just one. But everyone turned away, as if by looking at us they would take on our sins. And then, there you were. Radiant, with your flaming red curls, bright eyes, heart-warming smile.. you weren't listening to the poisonous words of others... You are beautiful, Janey Peregrine. You have the most beautiful and kindest smile I have ever seen. My own gorgeous sprite."
"I haven't used it much, though. There haven't been many reasons to smile over the years. Not till I met you... My handsome Prince Charming."
"I am not a prince."
"Well, if you keep insisting on calling me 'Sprite', we'd better find a pet name for you, my prince."
"Why? Does it hurt you when I call you a sprite?"
"Oh no... I know you don't mean it in a negative way. Not in the way people used to call me witch... I feel flattered, magical even, when you call me a sprite. Just like you should feel when I call you 'Prince'. The six-year-old me lost her heart to that prince. And she was right. If only I had known then what I knew now, I would have run after you, hugged you, and never let you go."
And little good it would have done. He had been shipped off to boarding school the next day, and Lucille to "finishing school." It had finished her, alright – the last of her humanity had been removed there. He imagined what it would have been like if the little girl had put her arms around him. A warm feeling spread his chest... followed by an icy cold shiver, as he thought of what his sister would have done if she had seen that. He had been hers, and hers alone, after all, and she would not have stood for competition, no matter the size.
"Thomas?" she asked, unsure.
He realised he had been lost in contemplation. "I'm alright." There was a shiver, though.
"Maybe we should be thinking of happier things than funerals. Like the fact that we are here, together. My six-year-old self couldn't be happier than knowing she got her prince after all." She kissed his neck and started pulling up his night shirt, crawling on top of him.
"I doubt your six-year-old self had that in mind, though," he smiled as her kisses grew bolder and bolder.
"True... But this girl wants you very, very much. Make love to me, Thomas." She pressed herself against him, grinding herself against his crotch – and he couldn't help standing to attention. There would never be a day he wouldn't want this woman.
So, he relented. He let his hands wander under her nightdress, following her contours. She moaned and, grabbing his face, she kissed him. She was so different... so much more loving than he had ever experienced. Just like that six-year-old girl, she had a big heart and didn't care what the world thought about her. He wanted to keep her safe… to love her… to make love to her, forever. Just like this.
She guided him into her. There was no rush, just gentle lovemaking, kisses and caresses. As he turned her to her back, he remembered the dream where he saw her, red hair spilling over the pillow. Red curls, brown eyes. It had been her, he realised. Somehow the image of the girl at the funeral had grown up. As if he had known it was her. Or maybe it just was because that girl was one of the few people that had ever shown him kindness, without asking anything in return. And he loved her. He had loved her from the first time he had seen her.
Kaelmona : In the movie I very much got the feeling Thomas stayed in his own world to survive. That is why he never stood up to Lucille.. But this one has grown
Zoe: Thank you so much!
Biddle29: It's only getting better!