FEAR
It's not that you don't sleep, it's that you can't. Some would call it insomnia, others simply unhumanly. Even demon like if you please. When you closer your eyes you see the past that no longer exsists, the memories that haunt you. Everything you no longer have. So you find the most sutible answer, stay awake.
You're afraid of the past.
Of course, no one can go forever without sleeping. Even if you are a demeon barber. When youdo drift off without knowing it, you never want to wake up. Afraid to lose your dear sweet Lucy, and your precious Johanna. You know it's not real, but you don't want to believe it. It's the reality that you never want to have to face. So you squeeze my hand tight, and hope to never wake up.
You're afraid of the present.
Sitting on the table in your shop is a picture of Lucy and Johanna. But where are you? "Benjamin Barker is dead." You say. But in my mind, he lives. His memory alive and well. But you'd rather not hear how he's doing.
You're afraid of what you've become.
You show no emotion whatsoever. The tone of your voice never changes nor the fire that rest in your eyes. However, I've finally come to understand that it's between no emotion and pure saddness. But you'd nevershow shaddness, just hatred and anger because a tear, or the tender look of that bottled up tension in you will show you're weak.
You're afraid of your emotions.
You won't smile. You won't say "good morning." YOu won't compliment a cook, you will not thank anybody. You refuse to leave the house other than your shop, my parlor and occasionally my bedroom. You do all of this, because you won't be that naive man again.
You're afraid of him.
The razors are your best friends. Just like I was your best friend once. Remember? No, of course you don't. I know why those razors are your best freinds. You've forgotten wheat human touch would feel like. If I didn't lay my hand on your shoulder once in a while, or give you little pecks on your cheek. You might COMPLETLEY forget. Then you may as well be one of those razors. A sharp ede, and vengeful glint in the light. Of course, then I'd be you and befriend that strange and addicting beauty. However, I'd rather not. So I'll continue to lay that hand on your shoulder despite the fact that you may hate it.
You're afraid of human contact.
I've finally figured out why you're catagorized as demon. Unlike your fellow Londoners, death is not amonst your fears. Funny, isn't it. I wouldn't be surprised if you're half dead and still dying. Unusual yes, but surprised, I think not. But it continues to puzzle me why not consider yourself half alive? Or rather...why don't I consider you half alive?
You're afraid to live. Again.
I have discovered the thing you fear the most is love. You're afraid of the mistakes you've made. You're afraid it'll happen again. you fear that it'll take you and mess with you and make you him again. But it won't I insure you.
You're afraid to say you're afraid!
So hidden behind that mask of emotionlessness (if I may add, is even a word) and above that thick layer of sadness sits the heap of fear. The fear you'll never comfront.
For you fear so much somebody could write a story about your fears!
As for me, you've placed razors against my throat. I wasn't afraid. Startled, but not afraid. I've never been afraid. You're no longer Benjamin Barker, but this I know already. It's not Mr. Barker I've fallen for. I was fond of him, but never in love. But now this man (or demon, whichever you prefer) who thinks I'm asleep is propped up onto his elbow, cressing my face with is rough hands. Humming soft lullaby's into the shrill silence.
Forbidden lust, fills his eyes.
The dark man holding me in his arms. The man who claims he can no longer love. The demon I have fallen so hard for. And expectadly the monster caught me in between the drop. And I could never be happier.
Finally, he's fallen asleep. A small smile creeps onto his face. So innocent when he sleeps. But murderers are people too. And people love. I smile. I will teach him to love again. And he'll learn to live on his own. With this I'm satisfied. I close my eyes and surrender to sleep.
The next morning, he's already up when I awake. His eyes find mine and his lips meet my forehead. Still no goodmoring. "I drempt of you last night." He says. He drempt of me. So there's no reasonto fear the past, no reason to fear the present.
I lean in and whisper into his ear. "Go ahead and love me, I'm not afraid." And he smiles. A real smil, and I know he finally understands that I don't want Benjamin Barker, but Sweeney Todd and nobody else.