Dawn
Another silence, this one longer and more painful than the first. She sits up, pulls the blanket from her face.
"I know, Mr. T." And she looks at him now. "But you can't bring him back."
The dawn was always her favorite part of the day, but it has already come and gone. He could not remember how he knew that she loves the dawn, but he did. The knowledge ought to bother him, but it did not. Neither of them said anything for a while as he thinks about what she said. It plays in his mind, over and over.
You can't bring him back.
You can't bring him back.
You can't bring him back.
You can't bring him back.
Was this regret? He wasn't sure, but there was a clenching feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't like. He wanted to say he was sorry again, but the more logical voice in his mind reminded him that he had said it already. It would be unreasonable to say it twice, wouldn't it? And yet he felt that he should. For a moment, it was like when he upset Lucy and all he wanted to do was say he was sorry over and over again. He brushed away the feeling like a fly or a speck of dust. Mrs. Todd was not Lucy. She may be his wife, but she was not Lucy. He did not apologize.
He stood and exited the room stiffly, whole body tense and his mind churning. His wife lay in his bed alone for a long while before she stood and moved to her room, climbed into her bed, and went to sleep. He stood ankle-deep in the surf as the tide slowly fell until his feet were dry and bare, the ocean had long since retreated to its safe bed.
After noon had come and gone, when the sunlight had gone orange and the shadows began to grow long, Sweeney Todd came back into himself. His mouth was dry and the ocean was beginning to lick at his toes again. The tide had come and gone already and was returning once more. His stomach rumbled, surprising both him and the seagull that had been scanning the beach for easy prey. He watched it fly away before he turned and walked back to his house.
Mrs. Todd was in the kitchen, cooking something. She looked up briefly as he came in, then went back to stirring the pot of something that bubbled warmly on the stove. It smelled delicious, and he didn't say so, but rather sniffed the air, nodded once, and went to his room. After he left, she turned back to the stove and continued stirring. The house was silent.
Dinner was also eaten in silence, no different from any other evening previous. She did the dishes. He sat out on the porch. As he watched the sun set, he listened to the clink of glass on glass and the sloshing of gin into a cup. He had sat out on the porch night after night and never really listened to it, how often there was a clink, a slosh. She drank at least four tumblers' worth before the final thud of glass on wood. She did not pick the gin bottle up again and after night had fallen and he came back inside, it sat there still, though she was not. Soft snores drifted from her open bedroom door. A lit candle sat on the bedside table and she lay across the bed, fully clothed and on top of the covers. Her shoes were still on.
With a sigh, he looked around, as though to check if anyone could see him, then glided forward and with an air of 'it needs to be done,' he removed her shoes, slipped her feet beneath the covers, and pulled the blankets over her legs. As he tugged them up to cover her torso, she jolted awake, her half-closed eyes glassy as she scanned the room and settled on him. She reached out a hand, ran it carefully over his chest, tracing the line of buttons from his throat all the way to his navel, then lower. She tugged at the base of his shirt, pulled out the tails and twisted them between her fingers, all silently. She looked up at him and her eyes were dark and hungry.
Uncertain, he leaned back a little, started to take a step away from her bed. She gripped his shirttail tighter and pulled him closer. Her silence made the action seem eerie rather than playful. Nervously, he licked his lips and curled his hand around his shirttail, just above her hand, and carefully began to pull it from her fingers. She let go suddenly and her fingers were hooked in the waistline of his trousers. She pulled him closer and he felt as though it was getting too warm in her room. It wasn't good that he was here. He ought to leave. She pulled him closer, her cool fingers against the warm skin of his waist, until she was kneeling on the bed facing him, standing unsteadily over her.
One hand stayed on his waist and the other seized his collar and pulled, slowly, down towards her. Her dark eyes swirled with things he did not understand, and when she opened her mouth, her hot breath, smelling of gin and cloves, was startling.
"I'm your friend too, Mr. Todd," she whispered. And in a moment, her lips were hot and on his cool ones. He did not know what to do. Her eyes held him there, against her mouth, as her fingers released his waist, began undoing the buttons of his shirt. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. Her fingers burned patterns into the pale skin of his chest. She was so full of heat, the flame to his iciness. Her lips pulled from his and she kissed his collarbone. It occurred to him somewhere in his mind that she wasn't drunk, only emboldened by gin. He could get away…but his head was so far away, so unattached to his body. He had never been touched this way before; Lucy had been fairly uninterested in sex, only wanted her child and then once that was finished, she was more like a kitten to be petted and cuddled than a woman to be loved. As Mrs. Lovett…..Mrs. Todd's fingers finished his last button, she stopped kissing his collarbone and slid his shirt from his shoulders. His already-unbuttoned vest fell with it as the shirt dropped to the floor.
She pulled her hands back and scooted back on her bed. Like a sleepwalker, he followed her, slowly, clumsily, drunk on her warmth on his skin. He was on her bed on all fours, his face close to hers as she blinked her enormous brown eyes at him, slid a hot hand up his side and around to his back.
"Do you want something, Mr. Todd?" she whispered hoarsely, and he nodded, slowly, dumbfounded, as though he had never considered this option before. He did not know what to do with his hands.
"Take it."
Her hands guided his to her waist, and he ran his hands slowly, gingerly, up and down her sides, reveling in the fact that this was his; that this had always been here, hiding behind mourning and revenge and all his other useless desires. She leaned forward to kiss him again and he met her mouth, gently, softly. And suddenly, there was sharp pain, the taste of blood. Startled, he pulled back, put a hand to his mouth. His lower lip was bleeding and her eyes were dark and rubies sat on her lips, twinkled on her teeth.
"Pain is a funny thing, Mr. Todd."
The demon barber rose up in him and something like rage, something like lust, overcame him. He straddled her, pinned her to her bed, and pressed his mouth to hers, bit her lower lip until it bled. Two battling forces, they stared at each other, blood on their mouths, both panting with what was lust or anger, neither one of them knew.
She loosed one hand and yanked the waistline of his trousers, knocking him off balance so his whole body lay on top of hers. She was a fire, a furnace burning burning burning her heat into him. And he wanted her. Here and now he wanted her.
Crushing her into the mattress with his body, he pressed his lips to her collarbone, traced ice across her fiery throat, all around her mouth, never kissing her lips, tempting her to give in. She pressed her head back into the pillow, giving him free access to her throat, but she would not break, would not give.
As suddenly as he began, he stopped, drawing his face so close to hers that she could feel every fine hair on his cheeks. He stared into her wild, dark eyes and her tormented soul.
"Are you happy, Mr. Todd? Every day I tried to fix you, to make you better. And now you've broken me."
He did not know what to say. His lip sluggishly dripped blood onto her alabaster cheek. So much had gone on in the span of less than fifteen minutes that he was unsure of what he wanted, what he felt.
"Goodnight, Mr. Todd."
She rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, ignoring him on the bed beside her. After a moment, he got up, and collected his shirt and vest from the floor. It wasn't until he was safely in his room that he realized he had never removed his shoes.
This one was very sexually charged and I know I stopped it abruptly, but honestly, do you really want to get rid of all the drama in one go? One night won't fix everything, ladies and gents. Tell you what, give me some lovely REVIEWS and I'll give you more Todett love. Deal?