Crimson peak re-telling (Reader x Tomas Sharpe)

ℭℌą℘ţℯr VII

These violent delights

As the days went on, outings with Thomas became more regular. You would spend time together in your home with your father over dinner, attend boring social events which were made more tolerably by his presence, and attend theater productions.

One night, you went to see a play at the local theater. The town had a fair amount of resources, and the actors that the town produced were more than adequate for your viewing pleasures.

The nights were beginning to turn into those whose winds whipped and airs chilled you to the bone. Nearly no leaves had been left behind from the storms that had come through as of late and it was beginning to feel more and more like winter every day.

The play was enjoyable and you were both in high spirits when you left. You walked the streets despite the cold, reveling in the emptiness of the lane and the glow of the moon. Discussing the play with Thomas was more involved than you thought. You both had opposing views on the sympathies for the characters. While your loyalty lay with the misunderstood villain, Thomas championed the prominent protagonist. You thought this interesting for it seemed that from the outside looking in on this dark, mysterious, man with a difficult past, he would have seemed for all the world like the villain in the play. He had said that he wanted to believe in the power of good over evil and that he wished to try and be more like the hero himself.

You were about to ask him more about his ideas of what made a good character, when you were stopped by a man. At first you were not aware that he was holding a knife. Only when Thomas stepped in front of you, arms out to shield you, did you peak around and realize the reason.

The man was haggard, and seemed to be almost propping himself up against the brick wall beside him, leering at you.

"You lot," he sneered. "Give me your money."

Thomas held a calm hand out towards the man.

"Please," he said evenly.

"I don't have time for please," the man slurred. "Give me your money or I will cut that whore into pieces."

Now that the wind had changed you could catch a whiff of the alcohol that wafted off the man. Although leaning against the wall, as if he were not in full control of his faculties, you did not for one second underestimate that look in his eyes. He was set on his plan. You reached for your purse, planning on attempting to placate him and hoping he would leave you alone afterwards; however, before you could even clasp your hands around the fastener, Thomas had moved.

When you registered what had happened, you nearly yelled from the surprise of it all. Thomas had the man by the throat against the brick wall. You rushed forward to the side of Thomas and froze, watching him. His hand squeezed tightly around the man's neck, surely bruising it if not cutting off airflow completely. His other hand had slammed the man's hand against the wall, knocking the knife out of it. You kicked the knife away. Thomas' face contorted with anger. Usually peaceful, the anger should have looked out of place, and yet you found yourself thinking that it almost looked more natural than his resting expression. His eyes flamed with hatred and you were all but invisible to him at the moment.

"You do not threaten the woman I love," he spat at the man. "I should end you for this."

And for a moment, you thought he would. It seemed very likely that Thomas would squeeze harder. The man's already bluish face might turn even darker and the light might go out of his eyes. As passionate as he was about robbing you before, the passion to survive had replaced that in full. You felt tears of fear and pity run down your face. Before you could stop yourself, your hand was on Thomas' arm, trying to pry him off the man. The knife was gone now, there was no more risk. Thomas did not need to resort to drastic measures.

"Thomas," you pleaded. "Please, we are fine now, let's just go."

It took several moments for Thomas to shift his gaze to you. You caught the lingering remnants of the hatred in his eyes before they softened to the kind gaze you were more accustomed to.

"Please," you repeated.

You felt his arm soften beneath your fingers. He soon dropped the man completely and as soon as his grip was loose enough, the man wriggled out of it with a fleeting glance of guilt to you before sprinting down the street.

"You're shaking," Thomas turned to you completely, forgetting the man he meant to harm only moments ago. You wrapped your arms around yourself, unsure if you wanted Thomas to touch you.

He noted this retraction and let his hands fall at his sides.

"You were going to hurt that man," you half asked, half stated.

Thomas shook his head.

"I was going to kill that man," he admitted softly. You had know, sensed, that there had been a darkness in him. You had seen the light he possessed - the kindness, the sincerity - but now you had also witnessed the demons. It took a moment for the thoughts to register, but when they did you realized that it did not matter. He was protecting you - something many other men had sought the opposite of.

"Why?" was all you could think to ask. Surely disarming him had been enough. Suddenly the words came flooding back to you as if on a delay. You do not threaten the woman I love.

Thomas' lips were pulled together in a thin line and he looked at you as though he were scared. Perhaps he thought you were about to run away from him.

Sighing like a man resigned to die he said, "Because I love you."

Hearing the words in that order was different. The sincerity in his eyes left little to the imagination.

"You love me," you repeated, just to make sure. You had just gotten used to the idea that someone wanted you. Loving... Well, that was something different entirely.

"Yes," he answered. "Is that so hard to believe?" he asked.

"No," you answered truthfully. "I suppose it is not." You watched his lips turn up into a small smile and added, "Because I believe I love you too."

You did not need to think about it to know it was true. The time you had spent with Thomas had been one of the most joyful times in your life. He understood you and, more importantly, respected you, in a way that no other man, or woman for that matter, had before.

"Do you mean that?" Thomas asked, suddenly wavering in confidence.

"Of course," you giggled. "Is that so hard to believe?"

He smirked at his own words and stepped to close the distance between you. His hot breath against the cold of the night, his warm body pressed close to yours in contrast with the biting wind, only served to further the enjoyment of the embrace. He gently cupped your face in his hands and it struck you as odd that you did not feel the least bit unsafe despite the fact that these same hands had nearly choked the life out of someone just a few minutes ago. His lips found yours and you closed your eyes, pulling him to you with all you had. You kissed like that on the side of the street, uncaring of anyone who wandered by and saw you.

When he pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours, you finally caught your breath.

"My love," he said breathlessly. You shuddered at his words. "We should return you to your home. I would hate for you to catch a cold on my account."

You would have gladly caught pneumonia if it meant you could kiss this man a few moments longer.

"Home," you repeated, frowning. "Meaning you will leave."

He sighed, kissing the top of your head.

"For the time being," he said. He made to add something to that, but stopped himself. "Come on," he smiled, leading you down the street.

Even with the violence of the night, the street still seemed peaceful and almost a little magical what with the events and proclamations it had just witnessed. You held on to Thomas feeling the most safe and happy you had in a long time.