My Sweetheart's Psyche

Comfort

A giant crashing sound startled me awake. It was so loud, I could have sworn the house shook. The windows did, at the very least. I looked around for a minute, before realizing what was going on. Thunder.

I glanced over at Mr. Weston. I wasn't sure if the darkness was due to the storm or how early it was, but either way, it was nearly impossible to see him. After a moment my eyes finally adjusted. I was glad to see that, somehow, he was still fast asleep. I guess yesterday had been draining. We pretty much went to bed as soon as we got home.

The clock in the hall answered my other question. Six. Still very early, but I doubted I'd be able to go back to sleep. Especially with this storm.

The thunder boomed again as if to agree with me. Mr. Weston shifted, but didn't wake up. I took the opportunity to sneak out of bed and change in the closet.

Although it seemed like he wouldn't be up any time soon, I was still careful to close the door quietly as I left. The hall seemed damp and cold. I shiverd a bit as I walked down it. Today might be a good day to use the fireplace.

The living room was just as dark as the bedroom had been. I had trouble finding my way around. I felt along the walls, looking for the curtains. There might not be much light outside, but it would be better than nothing.

My hand finally found the heavy fabric. I pulled it back a bit, glancing outside, only to be met with another curtain. This one, however, was made of sheets and sheets of pouring rain. It pelted down so heavily against the glass that I couldn't see a thing. What little I could see looked dark and nondescript.

I couldn't help worrying a bit as I watched it. We'd had rain before, but never this bad. I wasn't too worried about losing power. Not many things in the mansion were electric. A combination of Mr. Weston's wish to preserve the mansion's classic aesthetic and a lack of access to a reliable electrical source. Instead, I was more worried about the mansion itself holding up.

I wasn't sure exactly how old it was, but I was sure I could safely use the word "centuries" to describe it. Thomas had done a good job in making sure it was well-maintained, but nothing is ever perfect. New things are always breaking in old houses. I was worried about leaks. Or worse, windows breaking. The last thing I needed today was a flood.

I pushed the curtain the rest of the way open. As I thought, it didn't do much, but at least I could see enough to move around now. The rain acted as a white noise, I could barely hear anything over it, but I didn't actively notice any dripping sounds. Nothing looked wet or disturbed in any way either. I couldn't help letting out a sigh of relief.

That relief was short-lived. After all, I still had the rest of the mansion to worry about. Dozens upon dozens of windows to look at, the potential of drips in the attic, and God forbid if the cellar flooded. It looked as if I'd be spending my day checking the structure of the house. I just hoped Mr. Weston would be somebody easy to handle today.

I decided to start with the cellar since I was already on the ground floor. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, but it still wasn't easy to get around. Thankfully, the kitchen was one of the areas Thomas had insisted on updating with some modern conveniences. For example, lights.

As my hand brushed across the switch I flicked it on. I was nearly blinded by the sudden flood of light. After the spots finally disappeared, I glanced around the kitchen. It seemed empty for some reason. The light bulb went off in my head. Philip.

The thunder roared again, filling me with a new wave of concern. Could Philip come in today? More importantly, did I really want him to in this storm? I'd been in that position a few times myself. Facing streets like rivers and narrowly avoiding crashes because I didn't have the choice to stay home and miss that paycheck. He didn't need to go through that, and I wasn't going to let him.