Chapter 12: Love Hurts

Despite the macabre carnage from the night prior, she had not—in her wildest daydream—thought the scene unfolding before her possible. The murder of the beadle and the judge out of desperate vengeance she could wrap her mind around but this—a stranger with a slitted throat, his blood dripping in her lover's hands—it was beyond comprehension.

"Are you out of your mind?"

And it appeared that Sweeney was. Pure, unadulterated, rage dominated his eyes when he registered her presence. In a few strides, he had her pinned against the door; her arms and legs were trapped by his body pressed hard against her. The sharpened blade of his razor was hovering by her neck; one move from him and she would suffer the same fate as the corpse in the barber chair. Gripped with fear, her knees would have given out had she the space to collapse. She stood there motionless like a pained mannequin, fearing him and fearing for her life.

Why would he do this to her? How could he do this to her?

Her eyes sought his, wanting for reasons why he was doing this to her. Loathing. Still, it was everything she could read in his eyes.

How could he hate her so when all she did was to slave away for him...love him? It was one thing to user her body, to not return her love, but to hate her? How pitiful she had become. No, never was she a woman to pitied. Not when she was pregnant and widowed and alone, fearing for her unborn child's life. And certainly not now.

An ounce of self-worth burst from her gut—channeling her fear into utter rage; it has given her sheer strength to push him a bit and free his arms. Her head need not tell her hand what to do for it moved in its own accord. She watched as he staggered back when her hand made contact to his face; shocked registered in his eyes in the force of her slap.

"I loved you!" She screamed; her voice shrill with anguish and frustration.

But he just stood there, shell-shocked, as she continued her assault; striking his face again and throwing punches on his body the way he had just beaten her heart.

When she was about to strike again for the third time, Sweeney let go of his razor, not bothering to look where it landed. He shut his eyes in a squint as if fighting to erase images in his mind—his actions throwing her off-guard. Midair, her hand fell limply to her side while his arms blindly sought her, aiming to trap her again with his body.

And again, he succeeded because once more, she stood rooted and motionless, her own raging thoughts paralyzing her body. His arms snaked around her, and she just let him cradle her as he unceremoniously slumped his head on her shoulder.

She was completely floored—not only was her body paralyzed but her mind too, trying to make sense of his actions and her own responses or lack thereof.

If a stranger walked in on them, clueless, the scene could be described as two lovers having an intimate moment; taking comfort from each other's peace.

Except that it was not.

There was total chaos in Eleanor's mind as she drowned on her sea of thoughts trying to figure everything out. Has he finally become unhinged? What was he thinking?

"He said you were riding the butcher."

He? Who? Her? Riding the butcher? What was he on about?

It was like a pin had dropped and suddenly, her scattered thoughts centered into semi-cohesion.

She pushed Sweeney off her, wanting to conclude their confrontation once and for all. But as he looked at her, she opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, not fully succeeding to voice out anything. In the end, it was Sweeney who edged out his opening words.

"Are you?"

"I most certainly not, you bastard!" And she would have strike him again if only her strength has not been consumed by her internal monologue. "Just because you had a ride with me does not mean I'm riding everyone else! I'm not a bloody trollop, Mr. Todd!" She screamed, now beyond frustrated because she was more than hurt with his accusations and lack of trust. Had he finally transformed to the man who broke her heart?

Completely deflated and disheartened, she asked him with her voice trembling, "Is that why you tried to slit my throat? Because you think I was a whore?"

He must have finally mustered enough sanity to register the anguish caused by her tragically pierced heart. He reached out his arms again as if wanting to embrace her but his hand only hovered, touching nothing but the air in between them.

"El-," he began but it seemed that he could not find the right words. At least, however, his eyes were focused on hers. "Eleanor, you're not a whore. And I…I never intend to hurt you. I…I wouldn't do that you." His eyes were lucid, and if she was to be honest with herself, she could see sincerity in them too. Yet still—her hand went up to her neck, tracing the length where his razor would have slit her open but the skin remained smooth; as if the scene before was just a figment of her imagination. Could she pretend that it was just that—a figment of her imagination? Delude herself into thinking that there was no razor posed to end her life since there was no proof it touched her skin?

Sweeney rounded up on the corpse, his finger that would have caressed her moments ago, was pointed accusingly to the corpse. "He tricked me to believing you were canoodling with the butcher…and he wanted to do you too!"

She could detect panic, anger, even desperation in her voice. But when he turned back around, there was only one emotion prominent in his orbs—the green-eyed monster. His jealousy sparked an overwhelming sense of elation in her; whisking away all the doubts and insecurities that were plaguing her. Only moments ago, her thoughts were all scattered; slowly forming into cohesion but now they were all blown away and only one thought remained: Jealous. He did it all because he was jealous.

She was sure that Sweeney's jealousy could only start out of something…was it a bit insane to hope for love? Surely, with all that transpired between them, there was a little love lost from him—despite him being adamant that he was incapable of it? The little glimmer of hope that he could love her was enough to forget her brush with death. It was irrational, she knew. But so was love. She could forget his lapses; forgive him many times over not even for the price of his love. All she needed was for him to let her love him.

Her mind was made so very quickly after that. With no time wasted, her fingers were untying the taut laces of the corset tied outsider her burgundy dress. She was already shimmying out of her heavy skirts when she chanced a look at Sweeney—his eyes were wide curious but full of want. He moved to be closer to her when she halted his steps.

"Uh-uh, love. You have to wait until tonight. For now, go undressed that bastard," she instructed him while getting out of her gown.

In no time, Sweeney was out of his coat and about halfway in unbuttoning his shirt when she again stopped him.

"No, not you love! You certainly are a bastard but you have to undress the other one," she explained, pointing to the corpse. "I told you, you have to wait!"

Seeing Sweeney's bewildered look, she realized her plans were not very straightforward. His perverted mind might think she would like to harass the bloody corpse.

"Much as I hate to sacrifice my dress, we need to swap clothes, love. The corpse and I. That way, I could go down the shop pretending I was him. People could have seen him going up and he could be traced here. But when someone saw me as him going down, we could avoid all these!"

His hands were suddenly pulling her face to his in a searing kiss. "You are bloody brilliant, my pet." He was looking at her with something akin to admiration and her heart swell with pride.

"I know. Now, go hurry, love. I'm cold with only this slip."

As Sweeney discarded the dead man's clothes, she painstakingly put it on, cringing on the blood that clung to her slip. She was buttoning the overcoat when he stroked her hair and started plaiting them in one thick braid.

"We have to hide all these wild tresses of yours, pet or you'll be found out," he whispered in her ears as he put her braid under the man's woolen cap.

She turned to him and stood in tiptoes to peck his lips. "You better dress that man now, and hide him somewhere for now."

"I'll dump him in the trunk."

"Later tonight, you can carry him down in my clothes. That'll give the neighbors a lot to gossip about if they see. They've been talking about us, anyways."

She again touched her lips to his but pulled away before he could return her kiss. "Promise me, this would be the last before the judge." She felt him squeezed her hands in assent and hoped against hope that this was a promise he meant to keep.

Without Lia around, the work in the pie shop seemed a good deal heavier and the hours spent waiting on the customers a lot longer. How she missed her baby. However, no matter how much she fought tooth and nail not to let Lia go and how worried she was now, she was beyond relieved and thankful that Lia was not here to witness the brutal murdering and butchering under their own roof. For how could she explain to her daughter that it was all in the name of love?

Would her daughter understand how insane she had become? That when one is deeply and madly in love, the line between what was right and wrong was blurred—or in her case, have been completely disregarded. If Lia was older, maybe she would understand. For had she not disregarded her own mother's wishes and offered herself as bait to save someone she did not even know? Her mother—who had done nothing but to love her daughter unconditionally? In the end, she knew, everyone is both selfless and selfish when in love.

The dimmed flickering of the candles matched the gloom of her thoughts. In stark contrast, the bell attached to her door merrily welcomed the new arrival coming her way.

"Why the long face, my dear?" Rachel greeted her without an ounce of worry in her voice. Not being able to extort any response from her, Rachel teasingly added, "Not getting laid, are you?"

"What-," registering the smirk on her friend's face, Eleanor matched it with one of her own. "If you must know, we're at it only a few hours ago."

"Oh yes! You do have that glow if I must say, darling," Rachel agreed with a wink. "Better spill the tea then. What's weighing on your mind?"

There was no way she could make her friend understand of the murder taking place under her very own roof. So, she settled on providing the simplest of explanations. "I'm worried about Cordelia. She's all there alone, in the devil's lair."

Rachel's hand reached for her own and squeezed it in comfort. "Your daughter has your guts. She will be alright. Besides, you and I both know he would not harm her."

Eleanor tried her best to find comfort in her friend's words but despair washed over her like cold water poured from her head when she made sense of what Rachel was on about. Maybe sensing her distress, Rachel tugged her hand to clear the air.

"Why don't you and your barber come join Thomas and I for supper, eh? You could bring in your resurrected meat pies too."

"No, no-"

"Oh, I'm sure your bed can wait! Plus, a little sustenance could add more vigor to your late-night activity. Now go get your barber and I'll clean up a bit here."

"Really, Rachel, I can't!"

A quirk of brow was Rachel's first response before she challenged Eleanor. "And why the hell not?"

"Because I'm waiting for someone!" Eleanor exasperatingly explained as she threw her hands in the air. As if on cue, the doorbells jingled again and in came Sebastian Oakley excitedly strutting his way to Eleanor.

"Good Lord, Eleanor Lovett!" Rachel exclaimed, quite perplexedly scandalized. "The barber and the butcher! That's why meat pies are back on your menu!"

"Hush you, clatterfart! I'm no white chapel harlot!" Eleanor countered with great indignation—even throwing a spoon at her friend to shush her up.

The butcher halted in his steps, not knowing how to proceed as he was caught between the two feuding women. In the end, Eleanor as exasperated as she was, cajoled him into action. "Surely you know by now what a loony she is! Don't pay her no mind." She emphasized her words with a scowl at her friend before she turned expectantly to the butcher.

Albeit with a great air of disappointment, Sebastian Oakley responded to Eleanor's raised eyebrow. "Unfortunately, I am just a messenger here." His tone bore a wistfulness that he wished he was something more which Eleanor completely ignored. Instead, she ran to him excitedly with hands stretched out like a child on Christmas morn. Her excitement rubbed on the butcher who took out a scarlet shawl from his coat pocket which he giddily handed to her.

Eleanor did not miss a bit in grabbing the shawl and in a moment of great joy, she jumped up at the butcher and hugged him tightly. She had just felt him return the hug when suddenly, it seemed that he was snatched away from her.

"Don't touch her!"

In the time it took her to get her bearing, Sebastian was on the floor with Sweeney towering over him. She had thrown herself at him, effectively tackling him to the ground before he could grab a hold of his friend. She kept her tight grip on him, desperate to trap his hands in between their bodies so he will not be able to get his razor out. Goodness knows she had seen enough blood for the day to make her stomach churn.

"Don't do it Sweeney! Stop!" she pleaded, almost wailing. "Please, I'm begging you Sweeney! Stop it." She needed to placate him for she knew he could easily overpower her and continue his assault of the butcher.

Only one thing was on her mind—she could not let Sweeney kill Sebastian.

"Bloody hell!" she heard Rachel screamed and in the corner of her eye, she saw that she too was bodily restraining the butcher. "These two bloody idiots! Do I have to call the peelers?"

"No, no, no! We have it all under control."

Eleanor's hands bunched on Sweeney's collar tremblingly moved to his head, brushing his cheeks until she pulled his head up to crashed her lips with his. Her kiss was as desperate as it was tender. "Please, Sweeney, I love you...only you."

She did not realize she was crying until she tasted her salty tears in their kiss, and his roughened hands wiped them away from her cheeks. She felt his hands get freed from between their bodies, gripping her body firmly to him as he hungrily returned the kiss. He pulled a bit to growl from across her lips, "Get him out of here!"

A nod was all she could manage in response before she had collected her thoughts and completely yanked herself away from Sweeney. Addressing her friend and the butcher, she beseeched for them to leave. "Go! Now!"

"Nell, wha—are you sure?" Rachel protested, but she was already pulling a struggling Sebastian towards the door. Still straddling Sweeney on the ground, Eleanor looked at her friend. Their eyes connected—communicating in a silent language borne out of years of loyalty and sticking for each other. She knew Rachel understood when she saw her pull the butcher with even much force she could muster. For her part, she mouthed a silent "please" to Sebastian pulling all emotions to her face she knew his heart could not ignore. After that, his struggles went to the window and getting him out of the shop became a piece of cake.

As soon as the bell rang out the exit of the Rachel and the butcher, Sweeney rolled her over and this time, it was her who was trapped in his arms. He lunged at her lips but Eleanor had another thing on her mind. Now that there was no one else to worry but herself, she bit his lips so hard she was able to taste his blood. Sweeney staggered back as soon as she let go—his eyes mirroring confusion more than hurt. Eleanor also scuffled away giving them as much distance as possible before launching in her shouting tirade. She would have also thrown things at him had there been anything at clutching distance.

"What were you thinking attacking him? Are you out of your mind, you bastard?" All her desperation and pleading were displaced with deserved rage. She was beyond furious with his appalling behavior. "You could have killed him!"

Unsurprisingly, Sweeney responded in equaled anger, "And what business does he have here past closing hours? He may be a butcher but he doesn't supply your meat! I do!"

"And do you think I am ever so grateful baking your so-called meat? You disgust me."

"Very well then. From now on, you won't have any, Mrs. Lovett." His mention of her married name threw her off-guard; pouring cold water over her already distressed heart. "You go straight to your butcher-lover."

"He's just a friend! Why won't you believe me?"

"A friend? You mean to say all your gentlemen friends were free to canoodle you? You told me you were not riding him!"

"I am not! You are blinded, Sweeney Todd! You really won't believe that for me it's just you? I've waited fifteen bloody years for you and here you think I will choose the butcher over you?" She pointed a trembling finger to the discarded shawl the butcher had given her. "Look there. I am absolutely sure there's a letter from my daughter detailing her very brilliant plan on how to free your daughter! Sebastian—my butcher-lover as you call him—he was so gracious enough to volunteer as Lia's messenger at his own life's expense!"

Sweeney did not move; he remained immobile only staring at the scarlet shawl on the floor where the corner of a folded letter could be seen peeping out. As always, she was the one who made the first move approaching the discarded shawl and cradling it to her bosom like a wee babe as she studied him.

"Why are you acting up like this, love?" Her tone was softer now; drained of the will to continue fighting. To be honest, she just wanted to get back to his arms and forget the world for a while. "I told you, there was no reason to be jealous."

He looked her dead into the eye but his expression was as emotionless when he was staring at his bay window, relieving memories of his tragic past. She took a few steps toward him but halted in shock when his eyes showed unfiltered contempt.

"Jealous? Why should I be jealous? You're not my wife." Every word leaving his mouth was a stab to her heart. "Stop trying to go into my head and assume what I feel. You're just a woman who bore my child! Next thing I know you can be bearing the butcher's babe too!"

"You filthy bastard! How dare you? If I'm a whore then you're nothing but a miserable demon barber who slit throats! Leave my house and bring your bloody corpse!" Before a tear could escape her eyes, she was out of the shop and crumpled on her bedroom floor.

Clothed only in her robe, her head was dropped to her knees—reeling of thoughts and questions that only contributed more to her feeling faint. How did it all came to this?

He did tell her she was more than Cordelia's mother—much more. And she believed him because she could feel it in his kiss, his touch, hell, even just the way he looked at her. There was more than lust; more than him wanting to get her laid. There was affection in there and in her rose-tinted view of the world with him, she was hoping there was love too.

She started rocking her tiny frame, as if the motion would also rock her brain of the answers she wanted to hear. What drove him to say those words, throwing them at her like knives targeting to pierce her heart? She fell down on her bed in exhaustion. She spent goodness knew how long crying and wailing that if she go peek through the curtain now, she might be greeted by the sad London sun.

Her tears dried up not a while ago when her head finally caught up and refused to suffer like a dejected lovelorn damsel jilted in the altar. She forced herself to confront her reflection in the mirror—to remind her that she was much more than Betty Mooney and certainly twice the woman Loony Lucy was. And she bloody well looked the part too.

She was gifted with a pretty face to begin with, and by mercy of heavens, she had aged surprisingly well despite a hard life. There were very few lines in her face and as she peeled off her corset, she was reminded that her frame belied that of a woman who bore a child. She certainly could still turn many men's heads, and bring their wives' blood boiling in jealousy.

Yes, even Sweeney Todd was jealous. She knew that to be true try as he might to deny it in her face. He was just...confused. She saw it in his eyes too—every time he lashed out on her after she showed him love. He was at odds with this new life with her before he could successfully bury his old one. This was how far her head had reasoned out before he came looming over her with blood on his hands.

She shot up straight out of bed, her heart hammering on her chest. She had to claw at her arm, raking nails at her skin to prove it was not a hallucination. But there he stood still before her; blood specked even on his face. His look made her skin crawl—even momentarily robbed of speech. They stood there staring at each other, her unbelieving, until she managed a stutter.

"D-di-did you k-kill 'im?"

It took a while before comprehension dawn on him.

"No, Eleanor. I will not do that to you." The relief that washed over her was enough to make her want to jump back to his embrace. To her credit though, she remained unmoved.

"It's the corpse you told me to dispose. The meat's already in the bakehouse. But-but you don't have to use it if you don't want to," he offered to explain the blood on his person, but more to fill the deafening silence between them.

"I'm sorry."

He looked down at her, urging her to again take the lead—bring this conversation to wherever she wanted to. But her mind and her heart were at war so she let him decide the path they would take.

"I never meant any of that, Eleanor. Just as I never meant to shove a razor to your neck. I would never hurt you. Believe me. I-I was bewildered; overwhelmed with what I feel...for you. You mean more to me. I-I needed you to know that."

She was still dealing with the raging battle between reasons and emotions when he finished. She looked at him hard to find something that would tip the scale to one side. What she saw were feelings that she was sure mirrored hers many times over—loneliness, remorse...and...and...

"Sweeney," she finally managed to say. In the end, her heart won. "Stay."

He needed no further convincing when she let her robe dropped to the floor.

Hellooooo! I didn't realize it was more than a month since the last update. But time flew so fast! And we'll be wrapping the story soon. Anyways, here it is and I hope you like it. I'm still in heaven from updates of Caught Somewhere and Thorns and Roses!

Happy holidays and let's all manifest for a better 2022 ahead! xxx