I wake to the sound of the shower running. My eyes settle on the slightly opened bathroom door, steam oozes out. A chill grips my heart, wondering if he's in the shower.
What happened last night was unimaginable. Thomas, so defenceless and out of tune with himself.
I sit up and rub my face. Waking up with him in the house confuses me, a part of me wants to strip naked and join him in the shower, but I remember everything he's done, and I imagine if I do such a thing, I'll seem like a fool.
I look down at my tiny belly, the little bump must've sprouted over night. I look down at the little bit that shows and sigh. "You're really in there, huh, baby?" My palms flatten over my belly, I smile, "He'll get better, we've just got to give 'im some time."
The shower turns off and he appears in nothing but a towel around his hips. I notice the hair that trails down under his bellybutton, my eyes trail back up to his.
"Good morning." He says, looking mighty fine. His hair is scattered around his head, it looks as though he's shaved.
I remember last night and despite the fact that my mouth is dry, I attempt to speak. "Morning."
Although I did nothing wrong, I feel embarrassed.
"Sleep well?" He asks, walking into his closet. I watch him pull off the towel and change. He puts on his boxers, then his pants. Thomas walks back into the room and walks towards me. I hold my breath as he nears me. He cups my chin and tilts my head up, "Hmm?"
I stare up at him and keep my mouth shut. I can't speak, even though I tell myself I probably should. I have so many questions to ask him, so many that my mind spins. Where has he been for the past three days? I want to tell him he hurt me, physically and emotionally. Who was he with? I want to tell him I hate him for leaving me alone, I want to tell him I hate him for involving Ada's lover in his business! I want to tell him I adore him so much, and I know that he blames himself for what happened, but getting drunk and running is not solution. I want to tell him I'm scared about being a mother if he will be a drunk father. I want to tell him I hate that he's acting his way.
I watch as his eyes drift to my shoulder, since my nightgown is sleeveless. I follow his eyes to see the deep purple mark on my body, he gasps, tearing his hand from mine.
"I did that?" He whispers so quietly, unable to wrap his head around the fact that he hurt me.
"You don't remember?" I staring at him.
He shakes his head and tilts his head to the side. With furrowed eyebrows, his eyes get lost in the marks on my skin. What happened when he hurt me was a fearful moment, but this was absolutely petrifying. Seeing him so scared that he hurt me, he can't even recall his own actions. He takes a step back, pale.
"Tommy..." I pull the duvet off of my legs.
Again, he steps back. "I-I hurt you."
Before I speak, I realize that he wasn't drunk. He was intoxicated, sure, but it wasn't alcohol, no, it was the opium. Tommy was under the influence was opium. A drug that was responsible for making you forget certain things. And he did look lost when I saw him that day...
Fragile and lost.
I bite my lip, "Tommy, please, I need you to tell me the truth. That day Ben Younger died," I swallow, "Did you take the opium?"
