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Thorn’s crooked spine curved above the porcelain sink. His iron grip threatened to shatter the rim. Shaking with nervous energy, he resisted the urge to heave into the basin.
Breathe.
He felt tainted with the sins of his blood coursing through his veins. He looked up into the mirror, his platinum hair fell across his pale brow in unruly strands, and his eyes were red rimmed with panic. The extra storage of his usual disinfectant had run out, forcing him to resort to the next best thing. His typical surgical precision was gone down the drain as well, alongside the red liquid seeping from the small cuts covering his hands.
Fuck.
Ducking his hands under the running sink for the 27th time that hour, he repeated his compulsive pattern with a shaky breath. He was losing control. The precautions he took were extreme, leaving his skin raw and bleeding. Soap. Water. Scrub. Repeat.
I have to remain clean. I have to be ready for her. She would turn away from a broken monster with blood on his hands. I won’t commit the error of leading her into danger again. I have to be good for her. Good enough to be hers.
He felt on the verge of collapse. He hadn’t slept in days, with Ophelia gone to visit their Aunts and little Victoria. He rarely sleeps anyways, but Ophelia had an uncanny way of soothing his night terrors. The truth of it was he missed her. He missed her curls and her laugh and even her ramblings about proper archival procedures.
Thoughts of Gonde taking it all away from him had left a bigger crack in his soul than he had initially realized. At first, it just started as a way to keep tidy and ready to lay the groundwork as Sir Henry to make sure no one, especially not Gonde, threatened his wife. But as the fears got bigger so did his reactions to them. If he was clean and fresh, then he was ready. Ready to keep Ophelia safe and protected. Even though Gonde was no longer a threat to them, the compulsion stayed, rearing its ugly head whenever Ophelia was not in his direct line of sight.
I have to get clean for her. I have to be ready. I have to be good. I have to protect her.
He scrubbed his fingers day and night until they were raw and cracking.
Tears formed in his eyes and threatened to spill over. The front door creaked open followed by the sounds of small footsteps.
“Thorn! I’m home early! That train was as fast as an arrow. Where are you, my tall oddball?” Ophelia called from across the hall.
He flinched away from the basin, violently winching as the soapy water flung across the bathroom tiles.
No. I cannot permit her to find me in this state.
He panicked and looked frantically around the bathroom for ways to hide his trembling fingers.
“Thorn?” Ophelia called once more.
Fumbling for the doorknob, he slipped across the wet tiles in a thunderous crash.
“Thorn!” Ophelia ran towards the sound and flung open the door, finding Thorn’s tall frame crumbled on the wet floor covered in soap and blood. She gasped at the sight and immediately reached for him.
He stared down at his hands, wide eyed and hyperventilating.
“I- I couldn’t stop.” Thorn stumbled through his words.
Ophelia crawled down onto the floor and gently wrapped her hands around his wrist.
“Oh dear, what awful soup have you gone and dropped yourself in?” she whispered, while slowly taking in the damage he had inadvertently inflicted on himself.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered.
“Thorn,” she framed his pale face with her small hands, gently running her thumb across his tear-stained cheeks. “You do not need apologize. For anything” she emphasized.
He nodded with tears still falling in thin rivers down his face.
“Don’t worry my little dragon, I’m here,” she murmured against his skin and nestled herself into his arms. “I’m here,” she repeated calmly.
She is here. She is safe. She is here. She is safe. She is here. She is safe.
Thorn tightened his embrace around her. His shoulders shook as he silently wept into the curve of her neck. The pain in his chest began to ebb with each one of her soothing ministrations.
Ophelia clasped his body against her own, as close as physically possible.
He cleared his throat, his voice incredibly hoarse. “I…I wanted to be good for you,” he mumbled into her curls.
“Oh, Thorn, you are good for me. I practically walk on air knowing you are my husband, knowing you’ll be by my side until the end of days.” She threaded her fingers through the pale hair on the nape of his neck and drew soft soothing circles. He nuzzled his nose against her curls and held her close.
“I missed you terribly,” he confessed as she continued to comfort him. “I wanted your return to be special, not like this, at least.”
Ophelia brushed the curls from her face and turned toward him with tenderness in her eyes. “Any moment that I am no longer separated from you is special.”
A lump formed in his throat. It broke his heart every time she was gentle with him. No one had ever cared for his wellbeing. No one had ever pacified his nature or even came close to calming the raging storm within his mind. No one but her. His little animist. His Ophelia.
She held him in understanding. “Let’s get those hands of yours mended.”
Ophelia stood, placed a tender kiss on his brow, and reached into the medicine cabinet for small blue jar of healing cream. She returned to him and folded herself back down into his arms. She twisted the jar open, balancing it on her knee as she unbuttoned her gloves and placed them across the tiles.
Dipping her fingers into the jar careful to avoid the rim, she gathered a healthy amount and lovingly took Thorn’s battered hand. His heart rattled in his chest at the soft, compassionate way she cradled his sharp, boney, and bleeding fingers. He didn’t know if it was possible to feel such an overwhelming sense of love.
When she finished, she brought each one of his fingers to her mouth and pressed a gentle kiss.
“I love you, Thorn,” she looked deep into his eyes to make sure he was listening. “I love you, no exceptions.”
His let out a soft breath against her skin. “I love you, too.”
“Here, let’s get you changed into some warm clothes,” she brushed his hair back. “I brought home a lovely abacus from the marketplace, I figured you’d enjoy measuring it against the others.”
Thorn looked down at the pile of curls nestled in his arms with reverence.
I'll never deserve her.