Okay, here we go...chapter 8. I will try to make this longer and better written...crosses fingers
Again, kisses on both cheeks for everybody...
You May Be Just Yet Chapter 8
Tom felt the blood drain from his face as he quickly skimmed the letter he'd been given.
"Th-thank you." He nodded weakly at the thin, scruffy messenger boy, who bowed slightly and speedily scampered away.
The pale recently-promoted Captain fell against the door as it closed, wishing it would never come open again, droplets of sweat beginning to form a layer over his brow. He stared at the piece of parchment, mouth open, eyes widening in sheer shock.
Who...wha-...why...
Leaving in two months. On another assignment.
How was this-
How could they-
WHAT WAS WRONG, NOW?!
His wife was pregnant! Expecting his child! And if he had to leave, chances were he wouldn't be able to be present for the birth of his babe. How could this happen?! Why now?
"Thomas?"
He jerked his head up to see Hannah standing on the steps, one eyebrow raised. Oh, great...how to tell a verbally-violent woman with child she had to be alone for a bit...
"What's wrong, Thomas? You're sweating like a horse..."
"I-it's nothing. Absolutely nothing." He tried to shove the summons in his pocket, but she managed to snatch it, much to his horror.
Watching her eyes move down the words, he thought he was going to faint, going so pale a ghost would've declared itself unable to produce such an effect.
Her forehead furrowed. "They're joking...they can't mean this..."
He only bit his lip.
She looked down at the letter once again, this time more angry and frantic. "This can't be legal!"
Choking on what to say, he could only stutter, "I-it is..."
She was obviously not at all happy. "Well...beg leave, then! Pretend you're seriously ill! Pretend you DIED! Do something! Anything! I can't have you leaving now!"
Of course, you couldn't expect her to take this well, Tom...
He massaged his temple, stressed, unsure of how to hangle this. "Relax, now, apple tart, plea-"
"No, Thomas, I will not relax!" She hissed snippily, flailing her arms, the paper snapping about in the artificial wind. "How can you expect me to RELAX?!"
"Apple tart, please, I don't want to go, but-"
"They always take you when I need you the most! The times when I feel closest to you!" She spat in a near-sob. "They took you from me just when I had something in the way of affection for you! They took you at the most inopportune time when my parents, who are used to my antics and need fresh blood to be repelled, decide to come chanting to us about an heir that I don't exactly WANT! And now that I can barely move, they decide to take you!"
"Life isn't always fair, apple tart-"
"It has NEVER been FAIR!" She shrieked, the fact that she was holding in an all-out storm of tears becoming more and more apparent.
Hannah's screaming and his stressing over the situation weren't exactly helping his headache. "Apple tart, please don't yell at me, it isn't my faul-"
"DAMN THE NAVY!"
He opened his mouth to give a reflex response, but only a squeak came out when the words sank in. He slowly turned his head and looked past the hand that covered the left side of his face. Eyes wide, his jaw quivered, seeking a reply. "H-Hannah...h-how can you speak of the service like that?"
"DAMN THE KING AND DAMN THE NAVY AND DAMN IT ALL!" She waved her arms for emphasis, sheer hatred in her eyes.
"Hannah..." He said as calm as possible through clenched teeth. "You know very well the Navy provides for this household, which includes you..."
"DAMN IT!"
"Hannah Pullings, I'll not have you speak of the service in that way..." Her runaway mouth was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. "Mind your tongue, Mrs. of mine-"
"DAMN THE STUPID NAVY TO HELL!"
"GOD DAMN IT ALL, HANNAH!" Before he realized what he was doing, he swung his arm around and brutally back-handed her right across the face, the slap resonating through the room.
She let out a high-pitched grunt and bent to the side from the impact, nearly losing her balance because of her large belly.
His green eyes instantly went from rage-filled to broad and round beyond any normal stare. He looked at his stinging hand in utter shock, as though he'd had no control over it's illicit actions. You slapped a pregnant woman, Tom...you slapped your wife...
She rose slowly, a look of pure venom and challenge spread across her reddening face.
"H-H-Hannah...I-I...I..."
She held up her hand to stop him from talking, her glare telling everything she had to say. And it was far more unladylike than her previous language.
Turning on her heel, she walked back up the stairs, Tom watching her in complete dismay, brain screaming at him to explain himself and apologize. But alas, the words refused to reveal themselves, and the space reserved for them was taken up by a stunned silence.
He followed her with his gaze until she disappeared, and winced at the loud door slam that echoed through the house.
The weakness that'd gripped his vocal cords began to plague his knees, and they soon buckled. He slowly slid down the door, burying his face in his hands, too ashamed to look at anything but darkness.
"Heaven Above..." He gasped, tears beginning to gather beneath his eyes as he started to sweat more profusely, guilt and shock gnawing at his gut.
Out of reflex, his mind tried to justify it comfortingly, yet his conscious countered all of it, and he could do nothing but painfully listen to the two battle.
"She damned the Navy, Tom...she damned your life."
"That's no license to hit her."
"She was yelling at you! Where does any woman get the right to raise her voice to her husband?"
"That's nothing compared to slapping your wife...your PREGNANT wife, no less..."
"There's no law that says you can't smack her..."
"Under the laws of God, you treat her with respect, and you and I both know the laws of God override any made by man."
He blinked, forcing one tear to lose its grip and fall. "Ah, God, forgive me...what in hell possessed me to do that?"
...
Hannah thrust the window open, smearing some of the blood from her cut palm on the crystal clear glass, causing a splash of red to stain the white light that fell on the bed.
She'd already broken the small mirror on her vanity table, proceeding to stab one of the pointed pieces into the wall, resulting in her slit hand. It stung, but she ignored it, too angry to bother with bandaging it properly. It wasn't that deep, anyway.
Most wives would've been crying after being hit for the first time, but Hannah Pullings didn't need to pity herself. Her rage made up for that.
"Come on, now, you said some things you shouldn't have said out of anger. His reaction was the same."
"Shut up!" She snapped at her conscious.
"Just forgive him. He's forgiven you for every time you've yelled things you didn't mean."
"Just SHUT UP! He's a bastard!"
"Don't you love him, Hannah?"
"No."
"You two have fought before. You will get over this soon."
"I hate him."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do!"
"Why are you pregnant, then, I wonder?"
She beat the window sill furiously. "Why did he HIT me, then, I wonder?!"
"Hannah, you insulted who he is. You bruised his honor, saying what you did about the Navy. And words can hurt as much as the fist."
"Can I not get any sympathy, even from you?!"
"I have sympathy for you, I just think you should apologize."
"Oh, go away!" She waved her arm above her head to make the voice leave and be quiet, but she only managed to bang her forearm on the bottom of the window pane. She cursed, rubbing it against her side to calm the agonized nerve.
"He's real sorry, Hannah."
"No, he isn't!"
"Don't you even feel the slightest bit of remorse for what you said?"
Biting her lip, she only glared deeper at the street.
"That's what I thought."
...
"Hannah?" Tom lightly rapped on the door. "Please, apple tart, I want to talk to you."
Silence.
"Come on, love, don't be like this...please, let me in..." He turned the door knob to see if it was locked.
It wasn't, but it grated against something. He tried to push it open gently, but it refused to give way.
"Don't 4do this, Hannah, please..." Bracing his shoulder against the door, he shoved harder.
It opened a crack, accompanied by the screech of something grinding against the floor.
"Hannah, is that you?"
When receiving no response, he stepped back a pace and barrelled his shoulder at the door.
The scrape protested louder, but at least it was open enough for him to squeeze in and see that it was a lonely chair propped up under the knob that'd blocked his entrance.
He promptly removed it, looking about the silent room. No Hannah on the bed...no Hannah in the corner...no Hannah in the room, quite frankly.
"Hannah?" He raised an eyebrow, scanning every niche visible for any sign of her.
The broken pieces of mirror reflecting the bright sunlight, looking like scattered bits of a star on the floor and vanity table, caught his eye, and he cocked his head at it, puzzled, beginning a thorough scrutinizing of the perimeter of the room.
"Apple tart, where-" He skidded to a halt in surprise, having come face to face with himself.
Rather, it was about a third of his face, but it was unanticipated nonetheless. It took him a second to grasp that it was a larger piece of the crushed mirror lodged in the wood of the wall.
"Good Lord, Hannah," he mumbled, gently plucking it from its entrapment, gaping at it oddly. Her obvious fury only made him feel worse and more desperate to express regret. He studied it in thought, turning it in his hand.
It was then that he noticed, and commenced gawking at, the line of blood along the edge of the bit.
"Oh, no, Hannah, you didn't..." He frantically looked under the bed and in the wardrobe, having no idea why she'd hide in either place, but anxious to find her, and then ran at the open window, only becoming more frenzied at the sight of the crimson on both the window pane and sill. "Hannah?!"
He jerked his head in both directions up and down the street, becoming completely hysterical.
"HANNAH?!?!"
Again, kisses on both cheeks for everybody...
You May Be Just Yet Chapter 8
Tom felt the blood drain from his face as he quickly skimmed the letter he'd been given.
"Th-thank you." He nodded weakly at the thin, scruffy messenger boy, who bowed slightly and speedily scampered away.
The pale recently-promoted Captain fell against the door as it closed, wishing it would never come open again, droplets of sweat beginning to form a layer over his brow. He stared at the piece of parchment, mouth open, eyes widening in sheer shock.
Who...wha-...why...
Leaving in two months. On another assignment.
How was this-
How could they-
WHAT WAS WRONG, NOW?!
His wife was pregnant! Expecting his child! And if he had to leave, chances were he wouldn't be able to be present for the birth of his babe. How could this happen?! Why now?
"Thomas?"
He jerked his head up to see Hannah standing on the steps, one eyebrow raised. Oh, great...how to tell a verbally-violent woman with child she had to be alone for a bit...
"What's wrong, Thomas? You're sweating like a horse..."
"I-it's nothing. Absolutely nothing." He tried to shove the summons in his pocket, but she managed to snatch it, much to his horror.
Watching her eyes move down the words, he thought he was going to faint, going so pale a ghost would've declared itself unable to produce such an effect.
Her forehead furrowed. "They're joking...they can't mean this..."
He only bit his lip.
She looked down at the letter once again, this time more angry and frantic. "This can't be legal!"
Choking on what to say, he could only stutter, "I-it is..."
She was obviously not at all happy. "Well...beg leave, then! Pretend you're seriously ill! Pretend you DIED! Do something! Anything! I can't have you leaving now!"
Of course, you couldn't expect her to take this well, Tom...
He massaged his temple, stressed, unsure of how to hangle this. "Relax, now, apple tart, plea-"
"No, Thomas, I will not relax!" She hissed snippily, flailing her arms, the paper snapping about in the artificial wind. "How can you expect me to RELAX?!"
"Apple tart, please, I don't want to go, but-"
"They always take you when I need you the most! The times when I feel closest to you!" She spat in a near-sob. "They took you from me just when I had something in the way of affection for you! They took you at the most inopportune time when my parents, who are used to my antics and need fresh blood to be repelled, decide to come chanting to us about an heir that I don't exactly WANT! And now that I can barely move, they decide to take you!"
"Life isn't always fair, apple tart-"
"It has NEVER been FAIR!" She shrieked, the fact that she was holding in an all-out storm of tears becoming more and more apparent.
Hannah's screaming and his stressing over the situation weren't exactly helping his headache. "Apple tart, please don't yell at me, it isn't my faul-"
"DAMN THE NAVY!"
He opened his mouth to give a reflex response, but only a squeak came out when the words sank in. He slowly turned his head and looked past the hand that covered the left side of his face. Eyes wide, his jaw quivered, seeking a reply. "H-Hannah...h-how can you speak of the service like that?"
"DAMN THE KING AND DAMN THE NAVY AND DAMN IT ALL!" She waved her arms for emphasis, sheer hatred in her eyes.
"Hannah..." He said as calm as possible through clenched teeth. "You know very well the Navy provides for this household, which includes you..."
"DAMN IT!"
"Hannah Pullings, I'll not have you speak of the service in that way..." Her runaway mouth was pushing him closer and closer to the edge. "Mind your tongue, Mrs. of mine-"
"DAMN THE STUPID NAVY TO HELL!"
"GOD DAMN IT ALL, HANNAH!" Before he realized what he was doing, he swung his arm around and brutally back-handed her right across the face, the slap resonating through the room.
She let out a high-pitched grunt and bent to the side from the impact, nearly losing her balance because of her large belly.
His green eyes instantly went from rage-filled to broad and round beyond any normal stare. He looked at his stinging hand in utter shock, as though he'd had no control over it's illicit actions. You slapped a pregnant woman, Tom...you slapped your wife...
She rose slowly, a look of pure venom and challenge spread across her reddening face.
"H-H-Hannah...I-I...I..."
She held up her hand to stop him from talking, her glare telling everything she had to say. And it was far more unladylike than her previous language.
Turning on her heel, she walked back up the stairs, Tom watching her in complete dismay, brain screaming at him to explain himself and apologize. But alas, the words refused to reveal themselves, and the space reserved for them was taken up by a stunned silence.
He followed her with his gaze until she disappeared, and winced at the loud door slam that echoed through the house.
The weakness that'd gripped his vocal cords began to plague his knees, and they soon buckled. He slowly slid down the door, burying his face in his hands, too ashamed to look at anything but darkness.
"Heaven Above..." He gasped, tears beginning to gather beneath his eyes as he started to sweat more profusely, guilt and shock gnawing at his gut.
Out of reflex, his mind tried to justify it comfortingly, yet his conscious countered all of it, and he could do nothing but painfully listen to the two battle.
"She damned the Navy, Tom...she damned your life."
"That's no license to hit her."
"She was yelling at you! Where does any woman get the right to raise her voice to her husband?"
"That's nothing compared to slapping your wife...your PREGNANT wife, no less..."
"There's no law that says you can't smack her..."
"Under the laws of God, you treat her with respect, and you and I both know the laws of God override any made by man."
He blinked, forcing one tear to lose its grip and fall. "Ah, God, forgive me...what in hell possessed me to do that?"
...
Hannah thrust the window open, smearing some of the blood from her cut palm on the crystal clear glass, causing a splash of red to stain the white light that fell on the bed.
She'd already broken the small mirror on her vanity table, proceeding to stab one of the pointed pieces into the wall, resulting in her slit hand. It stung, but she ignored it, too angry to bother with bandaging it properly. It wasn't that deep, anyway.
Most wives would've been crying after being hit for the first time, but Hannah Pullings didn't need to pity herself. Her rage made up for that.
"Come on, now, you said some things you shouldn't have said out of anger. His reaction was the same."
"Shut up!" She snapped at her conscious.
"Just forgive him. He's forgiven you for every time you've yelled things you didn't mean."
"Just SHUT UP! He's a bastard!"
"Don't you love him, Hannah?"
"No."
"You two have fought before. You will get over this soon."
"I hate him."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do!"
"Why are you pregnant, then, I wonder?"
She beat the window sill furiously. "Why did he HIT me, then, I wonder?!"
"Hannah, you insulted who he is. You bruised his honor, saying what you did about the Navy. And words can hurt as much as the fist."
"Can I not get any sympathy, even from you?!"
"I have sympathy for you, I just think you should apologize."
"Oh, go away!" She waved her arm above her head to make the voice leave and be quiet, but she only managed to bang her forearm on the bottom of the window pane. She cursed, rubbing it against her side to calm the agonized nerve.
"He's real sorry, Hannah."
"No, he isn't!"
"Don't you even feel the slightest bit of remorse for what you said?"
Biting her lip, she only glared deeper at the street.
"That's what I thought."
...
"Hannah?" Tom lightly rapped on the door. "Please, apple tart, I want to talk to you."
Silence.
"Come on, love, don't be like this...please, let me in..." He turned the door knob to see if it was locked.
It wasn't, but it grated against something. He tried to push it open gently, but it refused to give way.
"Don't 4do this, Hannah, please..." Bracing his shoulder against the door, he shoved harder.
It opened a crack, accompanied by the screech of something grinding against the floor.
"Hannah, is that you?"
When receiving no response, he stepped back a pace and barrelled his shoulder at the door.
The scrape protested louder, but at least it was open enough for him to squeeze in and see that it was a lonely chair propped up under the knob that'd blocked his entrance.
He promptly removed it, looking about the silent room. No Hannah on the bed...no Hannah in the corner...no Hannah in the room, quite frankly.
"Hannah?" He raised an eyebrow, scanning every niche visible for any sign of her.
The broken pieces of mirror reflecting the bright sunlight, looking like scattered bits of a star on the floor and vanity table, caught his eye, and he cocked his head at it, puzzled, beginning a thorough scrutinizing of the perimeter of the room.
"Apple tart, where-" He skidded to a halt in surprise, having come face to face with himself.
Rather, it was about a third of his face, but it was unanticipated nonetheless. It took him a second to grasp that it was a larger piece of the crushed mirror lodged in the wood of the wall.
"Good Lord, Hannah," he mumbled, gently plucking it from its entrapment, gaping at it oddly. Her obvious fury only made him feel worse and more desperate to express regret. He studied it in thought, turning it in his hand.
It was then that he noticed, and commenced gawking at, the line of blood along the edge of the bit.
"Oh, no, Hannah, you didn't..." He frantically looked under the bed and in the wardrobe, having no idea why she'd hide in either place, but anxious to find her, and then ran at the open window, only becoming more frenzied at the sight of the crimson on both the window pane and sill. "Hannah?!"
He jerked his head in both directions up and down the street, becoming completely hysterical.
"HANNAH?!?!"