"Mr. T?"
She said it tentatively. Her heart was fluttering. He continued to sleep peacefully. "Mr. T…I just wanted to…er…"
Did it really matter if she said what was on her mind? How was he to know whether or not she said anything objectionable? "Mr. T," she began again. "I'm not sure why I couldn't sleep. I think it might be…what's the word?...Not guilt, but…"
She leaned her elbows on the seat of the chair and placed her head in her hands. "I don't know. It's uncomfortable thinking about the dead people. I mean, their faces are there, in my mind…"
She rubbed her eyes. "I mean, I feel a little guilty…but not really guilty. Why should I feel guilty? I didn't kill them. You did."
He grunted in his sleep and she jumped. "Mr. T!" She breathed. "Don't scare me like that." She settled herself again.
"I just…this is the first time in a long time that I haven't been able to sleep. Maybe I'm just not used to all this yet." Would she ever be used to it?
"It's also a bit strange having a man around," she added. "Maybe that's another reason why I can't sleep. I mean...it's not like I think you would…do anything to me while I was asleep." Her cheeks reddened at the very idea.
"But, well…it's not just that you're a man, either. It's because it's you." After she had said it, she regretted her words. "Oh! I don't mean…I don 't think you would kill me." But she didn't doubt that sometimes he wanted to.
"It's just…well…neither of us is married, and…we do spend an awful lot of time together…people will talk, you know. And we live together, too." She considered that for a moment. Were they living together? She liked to think of their living arrangements in that way. "But what am I getting at, saying all this? I can't sleep because I'm always thinking about you downstairs. Thinking about…" did she dare? "Us."
She leaned in towards him, so that her face was inches away from his. "Mr. Todd, I've got to be honest with you." Her voice was little more than a whisper. "I've loved you for a very long time. Maybe I loved you even before I knew you existed." She wanted so badly to touch him—to feel his pearly skin, stroke his messy hair. She resisted the urge. "I couldn't even tell you why. I just…I can't help it. It's compulsive—it's a reflex by now."
Sometimes Mrs. Lovett missed the life she had led before Sweeney Todd moved in—she hadn't been happy before, but now she was miserable. The emotions she felt now were new to her. For one thing, she was nervous—about her business being exposed, that had to be said, but also about him finding out the truth. The truth she had twisted for her own benefit. That was another emotion she felt—the guilt over lying to him. Not that she had lied, really. She had told him the truth—just not the whole truth. But Mrs. Lovett still felt the flutter of guilt in her stomach every time Lucy became a topic of conversation (this was often, because it was all Sweeney Todd wanted to talk about when they did have a conversation).
"Maybe that's why I can't sleep," she whispered. "I feel guilty about Lucy's…death." Speaking about Lucy hurt her. The words fell like stones from her lips, and as they fell they crushed her heart. She felt a cry form in her throat but she swallowed it. "Not that I should. I mean…I had nothing to do with it."
More like she had everything to do with it—she had invented it.
"I'm tired now, Mr. T. I need to go to bed." She stood up, brushing tears from her eyes. There was no reason to cry. Why was she crying? She was turning around when he grabbed her wrist. "Don't go," he whispered hoarsely.