Chapter 13: Figured Out

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Y/N's POV

My eyes fluttered open, sunlight shining through my window. Well, Thomas', technically. Since I was moving out and all that.

I sat up in my bed slowly and rubbed my eyes, yawning. When I put my arm down, I saw the scars of last night.

"Eep!" I squeaked, startled. Once I collected myself, I studied the two slices that I had made. Those wouldn't go away any time soon.

I sighed. How could I let this happen again? I was doing so well...Over three years clean.

Ignoring the guilt stinging my chest, I got up and began to get dressed for the day. I put on a f/c blouse that had flowers scattered on it and looked at myself in the mirror.

I smiled. Not bad. I noticed the cuts out of the corner of my eye and knew that Thomas would see them and ask what they were. So I slipped on some black gloves to cover the evidence of self-harm.

Right as I was about to exit my room, I heard a knock on my closed bedroom door.

I whistled a tune and answered it, figuring it would be Thomas. Since it was his house and all that jazz.

I figured right. Thomas was standing there, an expression mixed with anger and hurt on his face. He had his hands behind his back and didn't say anything.

   "What?" I said slowly.

   Thomas sighed and showed me what his hands were holding behind his back.

   It was the butcher knife from last night, encrusted with dry blood.

   My body tensed up as I stared at the knife, eyes slowly meeting Thomas' eyes. His chocolate brown orbs stared into mine with a hurt gaze. He didn't say anything for a bit. Finally, he spoke.

   "...Why?"

   I sighed and became very interested with the floor. "I don't know..," I said quietly. "It was just a habit I had gotten into a while ago. I overcame it, but...something about what you said last night...made me slip." I finally felt the courage to look into Thomas' eyes again, but quickly glanced away when I saw his stare filled to the brim with emotions.

   Thomas remained silent.

   "How did you find it?" I asked, wanting to curl up into a hole and die.

   "I went into the bathroom to get ready, and I found this butcher knife with blood on it sitting on the counter," he explained, crossing his arms and shaking his head with a sigh.

   Where's a hole when you need one?

   'How did I forget to wash it and put it back?' I thought to myself, pinching the bridge of my nose.

   "You do realize that you're staying with me until your habit disappears, right?" Thomas asked.

   I shook my head and went further inside my room to pack my bags. (Which I should've done yesterday instead of cutting myself.) "No can do, Thomas," I smiled sadly as I stuffed some clothes into a suitcase. "What you said was unforgivable; I can't be around you anymore." I finished stuffing and zipped up the suitcase.

   Thomas' tone softened, and I knew his eyes did too, but I was staring at my suitcase. Should I really go through with this?

   "I really didn't mean anything I said."

   I turned around to look at what I once called a puffy mushroom. "Your actions have consequences," I simply stated, beginning to roll my bag toward the front door and...I don't know...live with Alex and Dad? I didn't really have a plan for once I moved out. Just that I wanted to get out of there.

   Suddenly, I felt very familiar strong arms wrap around my waist in a pleading and protective hug.

   That's when I began to break. My eyes started watering, but I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand. I had to stay strong about this.

   "Please s-stay..," Thomas said shakily, stroking my hair. He was...crying. It made me want to hug him back and say I would, but no. Not everyone deserves a second chance.

   Right?

   When I didn't say anything, Thomas continued. "I can't live without you, Y/N. Please give me another chance. I promise that I won't let you down."

   I exhaled and made a decision.

   Frick being strong.

   Frick not being with Thomas.

   I let a sob escape from my lips as I hugged Thomas back. He seemed shocked at first, but his arms squeezed my shivering body, making me feel safe. "I'll take you back," I told Thomas. "But only," I pulled apart, "if you make me a sandwich. I freaking love sandwiches."

Thomas seemed very happy to make me a sandwich. He smiled wide and nodded, his curls bouncing as he did so. He then rushed to the kitchen and began making me a sandwich.

***

Thomas watched as I ate my sandwich. "So...we're good, right?" he asked after a little bit of silence.

I nodded, taking a generous bite. "Yep! And, by the way, this sandwich is really good. I can see this relationship going somewhere."

We both shared a laugh. It felt good to be myself around Thomas again.

After I finished eating, I got up and put my plate in the sink. (Were there sinks in the 1700s? They are now.) As soon as the plate clanked against the material of the sink, I felt Thomas wrap his arms around my waist and pull me close to him, kissing the top of my head lovingly.

I sighed, turning around to face the incredibly tall puffy mushroom. I looked at his eyes, and they were filled with love and kindness instead of sadness and confusion. He traced his finger along my back as I started to progressively lean in.

Thomas caught my drift and started to lean in too, and our lips were centimeters apart. Then, I decided to take charge and crash my lips against his own.

We shared a deep and loving kiss together before cuddling the rest of the day away.

I hoped that he would make me another sandwich soon.

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