Never Forgive, Always Forget | A Sweeney Todd Story [Sweeney Todd x OC]

7. Haunted

It was time.

The winter night had unfurled its cloak of pitch black, casting a silent stillness over the sleeping city. A shimmering layer of frost blurred the windows, and a flurry of snow had begun to fall, painting the streets in powdery white. It was nearly impossible to see in the thick darkness of the barber shop, but sight was not necessary for the task at hand.

Sweeney sat in his chair, a half-drunk bottle of gin in one hand and his razor in the other. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the floor in front of him, and he was waiting, though he wasn't sure what he was waiting for. There was nothing else to stop him; and he'd made all the necessary preparations.

He'd been waiting so long for this.

He'd worked so hard for this.

Then why did he feel so empty? So cold? So... unwilling to see it through? He'd felt this way since they returned from the cemetery, as though the death he'd so coveted had become reduced to a dreaded deadline; almost as though he didn't want to go through with it.

It doesn't matter what you want.

You have to go through with it.

Rose's eyes, pale blue and sparkling with tears, flashed into his mind, but he immediately pushed the image away. He did not want to admit it, but she was at least partially to blame for the sudden change in him. The idea of her finding his body had become... upsetting to say the least, and while he knew there was no other option, he hated that he would be intentionally forcing her through such an ordeal.

She would never forgive him, but he didn't deserve her forgiveness, and she did deserve the truth.

It's time.

Do it.

Lucy has been buried.

The Judge and the Beadle are no more.

The chair has been dismantled.

The letters have been written.

There's nothing more to do.

Do it.

Do it.

Do it now.

Sweeney inhaled sharply.

Goodbye Lucy.

His trembling hand brought the razor upward.

Goodbye Johanna.

The tip of the blade pressed against his throat.

Goodbye Rose.

"I don't know where I'd be right now if it weren't for you."

The moment the cool metal touched his skin, he pulled it away.

I can't.

Grunting in frustration, he dropped his hand back to his leg and brought the bottle to his lips. The burning liquid scathed his throat, and he winced as he gulped down as much as he could manage. Not drunk enough, he decided. The gin's warmth had already begun to dull his mind, but his senses were still his own, and he would need more to rid himself of Rose's words from earlier in the evening.

You must do this.

His grip tightened around the handle as he prepared to try again, but her face invaded his thoughts once more, and his courage instantly evaporated. He cursed under his breath, dropping the gin bottle to the floor and running his hand through his hair.