I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, his voice echoed through my mind as I replayed each heart wrenching word over, and over again. I wanted to stop it, truly I did, but no matter how hard I tried to push him from my mind, he'd come back to me. I stayed downstairs in the sitting room most of the night, curled up on the couch, the only light glowing from the fireplace. The darkness of the house didn't bother me so much, only because in the dark it felt much smaller than it really was. While my mind was mostly on Thomas, my thoughts would occasionally pull August to the forefront, making me turn to look toward the stairs, anxiously, expecting him to show up at any moment to angrily drag me back to bed, or worse.
Was Thomas right about me? Is my mind making me romanticize the idea of him because it's trying to protect itself? Is he even real at all? I shook the idea from my mind. That's nonsense, surely he must be real. I felt him...held him. My nose prickled as tears began forming in my eyes. He's wrong. I do love him. I love him so much that my very soul cries out for him. In the beginning, I would agree that, yes, I was infatuated with him. His beauty, his voice, the way he could make everything alright just by holding me. I sighed and rested my head on the back of the couch, trying to feel any trace of his presence. He promised he wouldn't leave me, that he'd be with me always, even if I couldn't see him. Sadly, all I felt was the hollow emptiness of the room. I was alone...
After a while, the dim light of morning began to peek through the thick curtains. August would be stirring soon. I should get started on breakfast, maybe that will help to keep his mood in check.
Our pantry was looking scarce, our monthly delivery was expected any day. We had 4 eggs left, 3 would go to august, 2 slices of bacon, also his, and just enough flour and fat to make a pan of bread.
My stomach rumbled as the savory scents filled the room. I can't remember the last time I had a filling meal. My appetite hasn't been as robust as it used to be.
In the ice box, I found just enough cream for August's coffee, and a jar of blackberry jam with just enough left for about 3 spoonfuls.
I began to salivate as I wrapped my fingers around the jar and set it on the counter. I know I shouldn't, August likes to have it with his bread in the morning, he'll be terribly cross with me if he catches me eating the last bit. I better not. I continued with my business around the kitchen, trying my best to ignore the glass jar of blackish purple nectar that beckoned me.
'Just a taste wouldn't hurt...'
I thought to myself. I checked the bread, plated the eggs and bacon, and perked the coffee. I grabbed a spoon from the drawer and dipped it in the jar. The jam seemed to almost glimmer in the light as I put it to my lips. Ugh it was heavenly. The taste of tart sweetness made my stomach roll and tumble, begging for another bite. I couldn't resist, I took another, and then another. Before long I was raking the bottom of the jar with the spoon, getting every last drop I could. I was far from satisfied, but it amazed me how much pleasure I had gotten from just a few bites of jelly. I was so hungry. Realization began to sink in, as I dropped the spoon into the sink.
"Oh god...August is going to kill me..." I said, as a chilling anxiousness creeped up my back. I quickly shoved the jar into the trash bin, covering the evidence with whatever I could to hide it. I could hear his footsteps approach the kitchen. I hurried to the sink and washed the spoon. I heard his footsteps stop at the entryway. He stood silent for a moment, making my heart race at the thought of what he might say. Will he be upset that I wasn't in bed? Will he say something about untying myself? Will he know that I'd just ate the last of his jam? Will he find something else entirely to yell at me over? My heart fluttered wildly in my chest as I tried to calm my shuddered breathing.
"Morning, Sybil..." he said, flatly, as he took his seat at the table.
"Morning, darling." I replied, shakily, as I brought his plate to him.
I began to smell something odd, a smokey, distinctive smell that shot a sudden panic through me. The bread!
I quickly pulled the bread from the oven and flipped it onto a plate. The bottom had burnt! Oh no, oh no, oh no!
I hesitated to bring it to the table, I stood there with his back turned to him, holding off as long as I could.
"Sybil. My bread." He said, sternly.
He knew exactly what I had done. I sat the plate down on the counter and quickly flipped the bread over to the prettier side, hoping that he might not notice.
"Now, Sybil!" He said, raising his voice this time.
I brought the plate over, and sat down, opposite him. He cut a piece, and placed it on his plate, as he continued to smash his eggs with his fork. My eyes didn't leave his face, anxiously waiting for him to become upset.
As he pressed the eggs into his plate, a loud sigh erupted from his chest, making me sit straight up. He still didn't look at me, as he picked up his bread, and bit into it. Here it comes... He moved the bread in his mouth a couple times, and glanced up at me under angrily furrowed brows. He slowly brought his napkin to his mouth and spat the contents into it.
He sighed frustratedly before addressing me.
"Sybil...What is this?" He asked, extending the napkin in my direction.
"I'm sorry, I- I didn't sleep well last night."
Soggy, charred pieces flew into my eyes as he threw the napkin forcefully into my face.
"I'd say not. I wouldn't sleep well either if I was roaming around the house all night." He said, his tone a little more acidic. He stood and walked over to my side of the table.
"I know you're a bloody idiot, Sybil, but I expected, even you, to take me tying you to the bed as a hint that you weren't to get up."
He grabbed my chin and made me look up at him. He took his thumb and roughly swiped it along the corner of my mouth.
"I had to go to the bathroom..." I replied.
He acted as if he didn't hear me and licked his thumb, thoughtfully. He walked over to the icebox, and looked inside. I knew then that I'd been caught.
" Is this what you've been doing? Eating up the last of our groceries?"
"No! Of course not, It was just a couple of bites of jam-"
In two thumping strides he was by me again, and I felt the sharp sting of his hand against my cheek.
"You greedy Bitch! Coming in here at all hours of the night, eating yourself sick like a sow while I'm not looking!?! I'll show you!"
He picked up my plate, and flung it against the wall, egg and shards of porcelain scattered all over the floor.
He grabbed my face hard and forced me to look into his eyes.
"You eat when I tell you to eat! Don't try to hide it, I'll know when you sneak food! He pushed my head to the side as he walked toward the door.
"A storm is coming. I have to go chop some wood. Clean up this mess, and come out here to help me when you're finished." He hissed.
"But August, you burned my coat, how can I-"
"GET YOUR FAT ASS OUT HERE, SYBIL! GODDAMN IT, WHY CANT YOU JUST DO AS YOUR TOLD!?" He yelled, before stomping toward to foyer.
I expected to cry, but the tears didn't find me. I was just relieved that he was gone for the moment.
I remembered my face in the mirror upstairs, and how badly I looked. Does August really believe that I'm fat, or is he just looking for things to be cruel to me over?
As I gathered the broken plate in my hands, I felt a heaviness fill the room around me. A soft breeze flitted by my ear, carrying a desperate plea upon it.
"Please, leave...please my love."
"Thomas?..."
Suddenly, a sharp knock came from the front door.
Mr. Finlay?
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...
