He's Rumpling Her Bedding Ch3

Chapter Three-

Sweeney finally got his mind working well enough to tell his legs to move. He stumbled into the guest room where he normally slept and kept his clothing, and pulled on a shirt, unbuttoning the right arm and re-buttoning it when he had it back on. The buttons slid quickly into their places, and he pawed about the wardrobe for a vest, which he found and slipped on, also buttoning it. He took the back way out of the house and slowly walked down the alleyway, up the stairs, and into his shop. His brown gaze looked lifelessly about the room, coming to a stop at the broken mirror residing in one corner. The man moved to it, and studied his reflection in the broken glass.

Below, Mrs. Lovett sank slowly behind her counter like she had so many times before. Even though he had tried to make a quiet exit, she had heard the jangling bell, so she knew it was safe, that it was safe for her to let out the massive amount of tears she had been holding in. They streamed from her hazel eyes, and she buried her face in her hands and pulled her knees to her chest. She had felt wonderful before, but now she felt as if he had used her. As if she really didn't matter to him, it just happened that it was her that was there.

She was such a fool to think that he might've actually loved her. Any normal person would've been mad for what he had done, what he had tried to do, but she wasn't. She knew that he didn't understand himself; she knew that he was violent and harsh, but she still loved him. Even though she was once again brought to the realization that he didn't love her and probably never would, she still loved him more then anything. The woman knew she needed to pull herself together. People would be coming in soon, and she didn't want questions asked. She just wanted to forget everything that had happened in the past two days, and more then that she wished that Todd would show some of his affection for her like she did to him. She drug herself up from the floor, dusted off her dress, and wiped away the tears that were etching their way down her face.

"Mum, what's the matter?" It was Toby. She had heard her own bell ring, but hadn't paid any attention to it. His little hand wrapped around hers, trying to offer her some comfort. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, love," she sighed. "I'm just about to go down and get the pies. Will you stand at the top of the stairs and bring them into the shop, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am, if you say so," replied the boy, letting go of her hand. She smiled half-heartedly at him, and they both left the shop. She descended the stairs to the cellar, and he stopped immediately at their beginning.

Todd stood staring in the mirror. Was that really him? He ran his fingertips down his face, watching as the reflection did the same. He remembered Benjamin Barker having brown hair. But his was black. He didn't remember the color changing. Benjamin Barker had lighter hazel eyes. His eyes were almost black. He didn't remember their color changing either. He slipped off his shirt and vest again, and studied his body. Long scars inched across his chest and onto his stomach. He remembered being beaten. He remembered the rough, slaving work that had formed the hard muscles on his arms. He turned slightly, his eyes taking in the long scars that were etched forever into his back. He remembered the taste of the whip; he remembered the long nights of having to wash the blood off with salt water. He didn't remember Benjamin Barker having any of these scars, or being this well built.

He stared into the mirror once again. Who was this man looking back at him? Was it Sweeney Todd, the person whose name he had taken? His father's name had been Todd, Todd Barker, and that was the reason he had chosen the name.

The person in the mirror, he looked like a monster. He acted like a monster.

But yet, the voice in his mind reminded him, Mrs. Lovett still loved him and took care of him.

He had never responded to her before, and when he had, he'd pressed her far too hard.

Did she still love him? He thought that she probably didn't.

He thought of his Lucy. He thought of how she had loved Benjamin Barker. But was that really who he was now? He had told Mrs. Lovett months ago that that man was dead. Sweeney Todd had never loved anybody before. He had never had the chance to in prison.  

Was he Sweeney Todd, or was he Benjamin Barker?

He didn't look like Benjamin Barker, the mirror had proven that. Maybe the man was dead.

Maybe it really was time to move on, instead of wallowing in lost memories and grief.

It was too late for that, though. Mrs. Lovett had given him his chance, many times, and he had crushed it.

Mrs. Lovett. Lucy had always liked her. If it was anyone, he knew that Lucy would grudgingly approve of Mrs. Lovett.

He paced the shop for a moment, deep in thought. He grabbed the picture off of the table and stopped to stare at it. The man in the picture. The one next to Lucy. That couldn't be him. He threw the picture across the room, and it hit a pitcher of water and a bowl sitting on a table on the other side of the room. The pitcher immediately shattered, and the force knocked the bowl to the ground, where it also broke into hundreds of fragments.

Mrs. Lovett had been in her shop, having brought up the last of the pies. Both she and Toby had glanced up at the ceiling when the objects had broken.

"I'll be right back, dear." Toby looked fearfully at her, but she paid little attention. Her feet were leading her up the steps to the room above, but her heart was screaming at her to leave him be, to go back into her house, to not cause herself the pain of false hope ever again.

"Mr. T?" she greeted timidly, pushing the door of the shop open. "Is everything alright?"

The sight of the broken pitcher on the floor immediately cast away all her fear and brought about her normal attitude.

"What in all of London did you do?" she asked him, her voice unbelieving. "I'm going to have to remember not to put breakable things up here anymore, since you always go about breaking them."

She looked up at him. "Are you even paying attention to me??"

He glanced sideways, trying not to look at her. "Yes, of course."

"Then what did I say?" She raised an eyebrow at his strange manner, obviously not believing him.

"That I break everything I touch."

"No... That’s not exactly what I said, love." The strange response baffled her. "Are you alright?"

He didn't say anything, just continued not looking at her. She walked towards him, and he stepped back, like he used to do. She continued to move towards him and he continued to move back, until he hit the wall and she got close enough to touch him. She pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, and he winced at her soft touch and the memories it brought about.

"You're freezing. Put your shirt on. What were you doing up here, anyway?" The pie-maker reached down for his shirt and handed it to him. He took it and pulled it on, not bothering to button the front.

"Leave me," he said quietly, slowly sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. Her being in front of him, her asking if he was alright, her acting as though she still loved him, it just didn't make sense. It just didn't make sense.

She didn't move. He didn't either. She stared at him, and he stared to her right, not looking directly at her. After a few long minutes of awkward silence, he spoke.

"I said, leave," he repeated, his tone empty and emotionless. But not the normal hard kind of emotionless. He spoke with a different, confused, hopeless type of tone, which really isn't emotionless at all.

"Mr. T..." Her own voice was soft. She didn't understand what he was doing. He didn't understand what he was doing either. Instead of leaving, she sunk to the floor in front of him, her hands resting lightly on her lap. "Look at me."

He shook his head stubbornly, and she sighed.

"Why not?"

He didn't answer her question, meaning that he didn't have a good response, and didn't feel like saying, "I don't know."

Reluctantly, he glanced up at her. A smiling expression greeted him. He quickly looked at the ground again.

"Go away," he said, somewhat pleadingly.

"No," she replied. "I'm not leaving you up here alone."

The two sat in silence, her watching the sun slowly sink below the window, and him staring at nothing in particular. He wanted her to say something or do something. The room grew colder as the sun sat, and she leaned over to button his shirt. His eyes closed at her touch, and she noticed. She pulled away, and they opened, and he was again staring at the ground. She went to button the last few, and watched as his eyes closed for a second time at her touch. She chuckled slightly.

"You miss me, don't you, darling?"

"No, not especially," he responded, trying to sound uninterested. "I'm just... tired."

"We can go down stairs and go to bed," she suggested. He looked at her.

"Don't you have customers to serve?"

She jumped up. "OH! I forgot, love. I will be back later," she called to him over her shoulder.

He finally watched her as she left. Had the barber misunderstood her, or had she said that we, as in they both, could go downstairs and go to bed? He briefly wondered if she meant in the same bed, and then he forced his mind into a state of emptiness, where he thought about nothing, so the pain and confusion would be at bay.


A few hours later, Mrs. Lovett reappeared in the shop, looking a bit flustered. Sweeney didn't look up as he heard the door open, nor did he look at her when she sat in front of him once again.

She did manage to attract his attention when she pulled a lump of folded pound notes from her dress.

"Went to the bank and had all the shillings made into pounds," she told him, flicking through the notes. "Had good business tonight."

"Apparently."

She handed the money to him, and he thumbed through it, counting the pounds in his mind.

"Apparently you had extremely good business. Did you give the boy some?"

"I might've slipped him a shilling or two," she replied, yawning. "Or three. I think I lost count."

He noticed her yawn. "You should go to bed."

"And what do you plan on doing, love? Stay up here all night and freeze to death?" questioned the woman, leaning back on her hands.

He didn't respond, showing that he didn't know if he would stay up here, or go to his bed downstairs. She quickly caught onto his uncertainty.

"You can come and sleep with me," she suggested again, this time more clearly expressing the idea. He looked up at her and raised one eyebrow.

"I thought..."

"What? That I wouldn't love you anymore?" she laughed, moving closer to him. "Mr. T, I've always loved you, I do love you, and I will always love you. If you need me to tell you again I will." She moved onto his lap and kissed his neck.

Sweeney burned inside. Why couldn't his feelings be so absolute, so undoubtable? He wanted so much to tell her what she wanted to hear, but he couldn't get it out. Something inside him would always stop him and remind him of Lucy, and by the time he convinced himself that it could be okay to love Mrs. Lovett, it was too late.

Once again, he missed his chance, as she was up on her feet again and pulling him to his.

"C'mon then, love," she told him, guiding him to the door.

"Mrs. Lovett," began the barber, and she turned slightly to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I-- I-- I..."