Because You're Mine (A Tom Hiddleston Fanfic) #Wattys2016 #pfcc2k16

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The List That Keeps On Shrinking

Regretting him was wishing you never found out that love could be that strong.

*****

You can't keep sleeping here, kiddo. Is not good for you"

"I will be the judge of what's good for me and what's not" I retort while rubbing the soreness from my neck away. I immediately regret my choice of words and tone so I shoot him a glance of contrition. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that"

"Yes, you did. And it was okay at first, because you're grieving, but now it's time to stop" he says crouching down so he can look straight into my eyes. His hands hold my face carefully as if he were afraid to harm me and I have to blink a few times to push the tears away. Lately, all I seem to be able to do is treating people poorly and cry my eyes out until they're bloodshot and exhausted. "You can't keep snapping at us like this"

My father's blue eyes come down on mine lovingly but with a strong hold of scolding and I can't help but feeling abashed by them. I know he is absolutely right but I simply can't control the foul emotions I got swirling inside of me; all this anger and grief seem to be seeping deep into my bones like corruption. I need to find a way to fight them off before there's nothing left of me to save.

"I'm sorry" I gasp as I lunge forward into his arms, holding him as tight as my numbed and tired arms can afford to.

"I know you are." He holds me back with a much stronger force and as he strokes my hair gently he whispers to me: "Just let us help you" And I know what he means by us.

I still can't believe he is here, even when he flew in the day after Rose passed away. It has been over four days now since she died and although I never asked him how he found out, I knew right from the beginning who I had to thank for my father's presence. But I still haven't done it yet. In fact, if I were to say that I spoke more than five sentences to Tom in the last seventy-two hours, I'd be stretching the truth rather grossly. And those sentences I did say were not too friendly either.

I keep holding on to my dad when I see movement at the corner of my eye. I know is Joseph because I recognize his weary walk and I hear his feet dragging across the wooden floor.

"How did you sleep?" I ask breaking contact with my father. I hear him groan when he straightens himself up, cracking his kneecaps as he goes. I stand up from the couch that has been serving up as my bed for the last three nights and my knees aren't the only thing cracking in my body.

"Better than you, love. That's for sure"

I rush pass him on his way to the kitchen, asking him if he needs me to fix him some breakfast. While I start putting some water on the kettle I feel his hands resting on my shoulders and squeezing into a well-received massage. My eyes close with pleasure and I release a sigh of both relief and pain.

"I won't have you sleeping in my couch any longer, Clementine" he says from behind me. "I am fine and you need to rest properly. Just think all the bollocks Rose would be giving me if I'd let you continue torturing yourself on my behalf" he adds jokingly when he senses I'm about to complain about his statement. I don't have to look at his face to know that his little jest have not reached his face. "I will take you up on some tea, though. We need to talk"

When I see my dad taking a seat by the small kitchen table I know something is not quite right. Now that I come to think about it, it is weird that he is hanging out at the Hendriks's flat since he usually stays across the hall and only comes here when I call him.

He gently pats the chair next to him, beckoning me to join him and Joe simply nods at me when I look at him. I oblige rather reluctantly and I leave him with the heating water and the tea bags so he can finish preparing the beverages.