I can't pin point the exact discomfort that woke me that morning. The ache in my back from sleeping by the hearth all night, the soot and ash that covered my cheeks, making me feel dry and gritty; or the ever nagging cold that lingered in the air around me.
I sighed as I pulled myself upright, dazed, as I tried to make out my surroundings.
It was then I remembered.
"Thomas?"
My eyes darted around the room, searching for him.
There was no trace of him, no sign of him ever being here at all.
Was it all a dream?
Then how did I get here?
Maybe August had hit me harder than I'd realized, and that, combined with the stress of it all, caused me to hallucinate?
I stood up and dusted the ash from my skirt, and watched as the remaining embers died away in the fire place.
It felt so real...He felt so real.
I cautiously made my way down toward the bathroom, peeking into the bedroom where August and I slept together as I passed.
The bed was made, he must be awake. What time is it?
I walked into the bathroom and could've died when I saw the state of myself in the mirror. Hair in tats, dusted grey with soot, there wasn't a place on my person that wasn't disheveled in some way or another.
Ash flew up from my clothes as they hit the floor at my feet.
The heat from the bath soothed away my soreness, as my mind kept drifting back to Thomas, and the dream I had of him.
How pathetic can a person be? Romanticizing these delusions like some air headed school girl, lost in a daydream.
Ah, but what a beautiful daydream it is.
I finished cleaning up and once I was out of the tub, I glanced over at the mirror, thinking that I've missed a spot on my cheek bone.
"Damn it..." I hissed under my breath. A bruise, that bastard bruised me.
I shook my head and hit my palms on the sink in frustration. It was then that it began to sink in that I had to face him, sooner or later.
I can't hide from him, and if I'm to live in this Decrepit ice box of a house I will not live in fear.
Easier said than done.
I didn't try to cover up the bruise, I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to take accountability for what he did. Even if I never heard him speak a word about it, I wanted him to look at it.
I wanted to be brave, stone faced, but it was hard to do. As I walked down the hall toward the main stairs, I could feel my anxiety ball up into a heavy wad in the pit of my empty stomach. I didn't know what to expect, I almost considered running back up to Thomas's work shop to wait it out a little longer.
No. I already decided. I'm not going to hide. As I walked through the main sitting room, I noticed a tattered, old, wool blanket draped sloppily over the couch by the fire place.
Did he sleep in here last night?
As I got closer to the kitchen, I could smell strong, fresh brewed coffee. He's awake, and he's waiting for me. I took a deep breath, and forced my feet forward.
His back was turned to me, as he sat at the table, holding his head in his hands. He looked a mess. Still wearing yesterday's clothes, hair sticking out in all directions, as I got closer, I could see the deep purplish bags that draped beneath his eyes. He hadn't slept a wink. He glanced up at me.
"Sybil!" He gasped, jumping to his feet. I didn't say anything.
I walked over to the counter, grabbed a mug, and began to fill it with coffee.
"Darling, let me get that for you." He said, frantically grabbing the mug from my hand.
I didn't look at him.
"I can manage on my own, thanks..." I said flatly. I wanted him to know that I was upset.
"I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me! I-...oh..." he noticed it.
The mark he left on my face.
Regret filled his eyes as his hand gently glided up to my cheek.
"Don't touch me, August." I said, my tone a little colder. I pushed past him and grabbed my mug from his hand.
I sat down at the table and took a sip. August sat opposite of me on the other side, I could feel his eyes bore into me, I refused to meet his gaze.
"Where were you, I was worried." He said, softly.
"Were you?" I asked. Keeping my tone as flat, and cold as I could manage.
"Of course I was. This place is dangerous, what if something happened to you?"
"Something did happen to me August. Quite Frankly, I felt safer taking my chances with the house."
He paused, his face was tired and riddled with guilt.
"I looked everywhere for you. I couldn't sleep, I waited up for you to come talk to me."
"Then what? We go to bed together and pretend like nothing happened? Like every other toxic couple in England? Forgive me darling, but I didn't even want to look at you, let alone speak to you."
He reached his hand across the table to hold mine. I pulled it back, spitefully.
"I know you're angry with me. You have every right to be. But, I promise you, I'll do anything to make this right. You're my wife, and I love you dearly. My whole purpose in life is to make you happy. Haven't I done that so far?"
I glanced up at him, and then back at my cup, dragging my finger around the rim, anxiously.
"So I'm just supposed to forget about last night, why? Because you've done the bare minimum of what a husband is expected to do up until then?"
I was playing with fire, I must've been stupid to provoke him after knowing what he's capable of, but I couldn't help it. I was too angry. I was angry, tired, and sick of this. All of this.
"We've been here for weeks, August! Weeks! Living in unlivable conditions! You lied to me! You tricked me! You forced me to live here like a fucking rat in a run down shit hole of a house! Isolated! Freezing half to death! And miserable! To top it all off you- you're beating me now?! I should be grateful for that I guess? All this!?! I wish you would've just went off to war! You put me through hell here why!?! Because you're a fucking coward!"
I said too much, August jumped to his feet and flipped the table, sending mugs shattering against walls and scalding hot coffee flying across the kitchen.
His face was scarlet red as he stood over me, his fist balled up and pulled back, just like last night.
Suddenly, through the rage, as if he had a split second of clarity, he turned and drove his fist through the wall behind him.
"Goddamn you Sybil! GODDAMN YOU!" He yelled, storming out of the kitchen. Leaving me among the mess he made of the kitchen, and our marriage.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Lace: A Crimson Peak love story (Thomas Sharpe)
Paranormal*COMPLETED* Sybil McMichael was happy to accompany her husband, August, to the place his grandmother, Edith Sharpe, wrote about in her most famous Novel. Once there, she finds that her husbands intentions were fueled by more than mere childhood curi...
