A Fiery Dalliance

XL

"I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." Marilyn Monroe

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XL.

Perrie slept very lightly that night, and she had not gone up to bed. She had, instead, curled up upon the settee in the drawing room anxiously awaiting the sound of the front door opening and two sets of footsteps upon the marble foyer. She dreaded to hear one.

Cecily had retired to bed, claiming that her aging bones did not agree with an armchair for the purpose of slumber. But Grace had remained with Perrie in an armchair, and Ed sat back against the drawing room door on the floor, barely moving an inch, and certainly not sleeping.

Perrie kept hold of the watch very tightly in her hand as the night went on. She was still determined to beat Joe to death with it. But she so desperately wanted Joe to be alive so that she could beat him to death with his watch.

What was he playing at keeping a lock of her hair all this time? Had he really been in love with her all this time? Because ... because a lot of the time it had felt as though he violently hated her. And Perrie had known the feeling was mutual.

But as she had realised, hate was fuelled by passion, and therefore the lines between love and hate could become quite blurry. But when did they become blurred for Joe? He had cut her hair off years ago, and it had definitely been a malicious prank.

Perrie threw her head back on one of the settee cushions in frustration. She had so many questions, and no answers to them, and all because Joe was determined to be an idiot. She knew that her assessment was unfair, and when she was not so worried out of her mind, she would take back the thought, but at this point in time, Perrie was still quite set on beating Joe to death.

Powerlessness did not agree with Perrie. Not being useful was tormenting her, and she felt loathe to lie there and wait while not knowing if Joe was alright or not. She felt as though she was watching him drown. Simply watching. Waiting felt like watching, and all she wanted to do was dive into Ashwood's pond to save him, but he was too far away, too far gone. It wasn't Perrie drowning him this time.

It was his dastardly, wicked father, sitting upon his shoulders and holding his head down under the surface. Perrie screamed, but nobody could hear her. Joe couldn't hear her. All Joe could hear was the condemnation bestowed upon him by his father. He could not hear Perrie. He could not hear that he was loved.

And she did love him. She loved him enough to delay beating him to death until after she told him. She only prayed she got the chance to.

Perrie was suddenly awoken from the light sleep that had overcome her sometime in the early hours of the morning. The sound of the front door opening and closing become immediately apparent, and Perrie sat bolt upright listening for the sounds of footsteps.

Her loud gasp had startled her mother awake, and Ed was already scrambling to his feet from the floor of the drawing room.

And then she heard it. Two sets of footsteps.

Perrie practically flew off of the settee and ran to the door, narrowly losing the race to Ed as he nearly pulled the door off of its hinges. Perrie ran into the back of Ed and she almost fell over backwards in her attempts to get out into the foyer. But when she managed it, stumbling as she was, she was greeted by the sight of her father, and by a dishevelled, bruised, and broken Joe.

His clothes were filthy, and his face was red, swollen in parts, and he was destined for some dark bruising. He appeared tired, but not defeated, and his brown eyes immediately found Perrie.