I found this chapter super difficult to write and if I'm honest I put it off a bit. I hope it's alright and that you like it.
They sat together in the back of Charles' car, each looking out of their own window at the night lights of central London. Elsie sat in the front passenger seat beside Charles. All four of them were silent. Phyllis felt a little bit like a disobedient child being taken home from school. Charles was driving swiftly, probably out of his anxiety to get them home quickly but the speed of the passing lights was making her feel almost queasy. She looked down and fiddled with the handle of her handbag on her lap. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that Joseph was sitting almost deadly still. Her stomach churned unpleasantly.
They reached the flat in quite a short time, their arrival took her by surprise.
"We should be getting back," Charles told them both sagely, avoiding the need for them to ask them in for coffee.
Joseph got out of the car quickly, shutting the door firmly behind himself.
Phyllis leant forwards a little as she extracted herself from her seatbelt.
"Thank you," she told Charles and Elsie, her voice low and serious, "Thank you so much."
"Call me?" Elsie asked her simply, meeting Phyllis eyes in the overhead mirror, her concern evident.
Phyllis nodded and climbed out herself.
By the time the car pulled away, Joseph had found his key. He smiled weakly at her and, she did not know why she did it, she slipped her hand over his and took the key from him, letting them both into the building.
She switched on the light too as they entered their flat, and he closed the door behind them. There was a deep silence for a long moment.
"Are you alright?" she asked him, because it was what she was wondering; it was the corrosive worry gnawing away at her.
"I think so," he replied, "Quite tired though."
She let out a quiet sigh. Somehow she had been expecting him to say that. He was already turning, making his way in the direction of their bedroom. She stood still with her hand resting on the surface of the table.
"Joseph," she said to him, the tone of her voice making him halt, "Please talk to me."
She heard him sigh too.
"I want to help you," she told him, feeling so helpless herself.
But he did turn back towards her.
"You do help me," he told her.
"I know," she replied softly, "But it's not enough. I want you to talk to me. I need you to talk to me."
He sighed, averting his eyes from her but she was quicker, she stepped forwards engaging him again before he could think about it.
"I can try as much as I like to help you like I have been doing," she told him, "And I wish it was enough, I wish I could only do what you want me too. But I thought you were recovering, Joseph, I thought we were making progress, and then you-…"
"I'm sorry if I've let you down," he told her seriously, looking at the floor.
"Of course you haven't let me down!" she took another step forward, reaching for his hands, holding tightly onto them both, "You haven't let me down at all. I just wish I'd known you weren't recovering like I thought you were. It's me who's let you down, if anything."
"No," he said softly, "No."
"Joseph, look at me, please. Please."
He looked up at her. His eyes were full of pain. For a split second she almost wished she hadn't asked him.
"I need you to talk to me," she told him firmly, "I think it's what is going to help you and it's certainly going to help me not to fuck up again and take you to into situations you can't cope with yet. And that doesn't make you weak," she added, seeing a slight shift in his face, "Anything but. I need you to tell me, sweetheart," she told him softly, "The truth is, I really don't think we can go on like this. I need you to talk to me about it."
"The thing is," he began, his voice trembling a little, "I don't feel like things will be the same between us, if I do tell you."
"No," she insisted, her hands moving to his face, cupping his cheek, stroking his skin in something close to desperation, "No, they absolutely will be. Don't you remember, we used to know everything about each other? Talking to me will bring you back to me."
"But that's just it," he told her in reply, speaking quietly, looking into her eyes as she still clutched at his cheeks, "You think of us as perfect together, as all-sharing, and maybe we were then."
"Can't we be like that again?" she asked him, "I don't want to let them take that away from us."
"I don't know if we have a choice," he said softly, "You don't know how I thought of you during that time."
She did not know what to say, and he continued.
"I thought of you," he told her, his eyes falling shut, "I thought of you the whole time, while they did dreadful things to me. And you carried me through it. You did. But in all that, your face became the face of all of the pain too, and that was only made worse by the fact that I missed you like hell too. And that's why it's hard to talk to you about what happened. Do you understand? See, look, you're crying even now-…"
Was she? Oh god, she was. She mopped furiously at her eyes, blotting her vision inadvertently as she tried to attend to her tears. He stroked them away with a firm sweep of his thumb.
"Imagine how you'd feel if I actually told you what had happened," he said softly, tucking her hair behind her ear for her, "If I told you all the details about what they'd done to me, and when I cracked, and when I called out thinking you were there, wishing that you were. I want to spare you that. I don't want the way you see me to be ruined too."
She wiped her eyes again, her brow furrowing into a frown.
"Is the way you see me ruined?" she asked him.
"It's changed," he replied a moment later, his tone measured.
It was like a blow straight to her chest. She stood and stared at him for a moment. He wasn't touching her any more, and her heart did not seem to be beating evenly. If at all.
"Are you going to leave me?" the words choked in her throat as she spoke.
No, it was he frowned, who looked utterly astonished.
"What?" he asked her, "Phil, no! No!"
He was grabbing hold of her hands again, pulling her into his arms. She buried her face in his shoulder.
"I still love you," he told her quietly, his face pressed close against hers.
"Shit," she said, "Shit. I shouldn't have said that. Why did I say that? Why the fuck did I say that?"
"Because you were scared," he replied, "Because I spoke without thinking-…"
"Only because I asked you to," she reminded him, "Shit, shit, I'm so fucking stupid."
"Liss, you're not," his hand reached up into her hair, soothing her head a little as he stroked her with the tips of his fingers, "You've tried to help me and I've been selfish not to try to help you in return. It should be you who wants to leave me."
"Never," she told him thickly, holding him tighter.
"Forgive me?" he murmured to her, his voice cracking.
"Of course," she replied, "I'll forgive you anything as long as you stay. I love you," it was her who was jabbering away now, as if it was her having the panic attack, "I love you. Don't leave me. Don't leave me."
He held her a little bit more tightly.
"I won't leave you, Lissy," he told her, "I promise I won't leave you."
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