Steam

Chapter 13

Thomas remained rooted to the floor of his office. He stared around and tried to process the events of the past few minutes. He breathed heavily and tears began to well up, but he held them back. What had he done? His hands dropped to his sides in dismay. He furrowed his brow and tightened his jaw to stop himself from crying. He blinked rapidly and sighed heavily.

Eventually he turned from his spot and slumped over to his desk. The heat of the argument still lingered in the air and he could feel it suffocating him. Slowly, he turned around to face the large window, that looked out over the rose gardens, that was behind the desk. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, attempting to keep them warm, and surveyed the scene. The rain outside was slamming down against the concrete and blasted against the glass. The droplets bounced when they hit the floor and the noise was somehow calming to him. The grey clouds loomed up above and spat menacingly at the ground below.

As he looked on, he remembered the first time he ever visited the Crowley residence to assist Alexander; it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. And how he had been introduced to Victoria that day; she had only been 17 yet still magnificently stunning. How he had stumbled on his words upon greeting her and how he'd blushed and she had laughed, going pink herself at his kindness. How he hadn't been able to take his eyes off her whenever he saw her, and he would get caught staring in wonder at her beauty. Standing there, he couldn't believe that it had been four years ago. He shook his head in warm disbelief.

He glanced back up at the gardens, springing back to reality. Something caught his eye, no less than thirty metres from his window. He peered out, leaning closer to the glass. Pip was storming through the rain, soaking wet yet showed no signs of stopping. He looked angry; or was that an angry kind of sadness he could detect? He was unsure, however he knew one thing for certain. He shouldn't be out there, not at this hour, he would catch a death of cold! He glanced over his shoulder at the clock. Eight forty-five at night. What was going through that boy's head?! As he watched him blunder through the rain, he saw that he did not look as if he wanted to be interfered with, and Thomas respected that.

Letting out an enervated sigh, he pulled out the chair and sank in to it. He dropped his elbows on the desk and rested his head on his hands. He gripped handfuls of his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. The tears returned, however he allowed them to fall silently this time. Not able to hold back any longer.

He had angered, upset and rejected the woman he loved more than life itself. He was a fool to think that she would continue to love him if he completely ignored her; she would only put up with him for so long. He sobbed a little; the tears plopped on to the papers underneath him gently and the ink began to blur slightly.

Why didn't he tell her he loved her? Why was he so incapable of professing his immense affection for her? Was he terrified? The answer was yes. He was so petrified of not being good enough, of losing her, that he simply couldn't express his thoughts and emotions properly and they were therefore often wrongly interpreted. To his disadvantage. He felt a fool. He had to make amends and change his ways; he just didn't know how.

He shot his head up at the burst of the door.

"I say, what was all that shouting going on in here?" Alexander looked alarmed; concerned for both parties.

Thomas couldn't meet his eyes. He stood and faced the window staying silent.

"Thomas! What, pray, was going on?"

"It was nothing. Now leave." He slurred through streams of tears.

"Are you crying Prescott? Please, tell me what on earth is the matter!?" He stepped forward cautiously, becoming increasingly worried.

"I said it was nothing! Please sir, just leave it at that!" He roared, and stormed out of his office, shoving past Alexander who stood, bewildered, only a few strides from the door.

As he passed him, Alexander could see his bloodshot eyes and tear stained face bursting with sadness and anger. He simply stood back and watched, in shock, as he charged out, to the library, he guessed.

He was so confused. He had no idea what had happened, but he had never seen Prescott act in such a way, never mind cry, thus it must be something important.

He stood, wondering, alone in the office. The house had become silent; only the rain beat down on the window pane in a deep, comforting rhythm.