Shattered (2) discontinued
hayy you, part one is here :)
Is it still hard for you, I wonder, to feel the air fill your lungs. Is it still hard to wake up every morning and drag your feet along the carpet because you've made it another day, Tommy?
Thomas Shelby has aged quite a bit as we stare into each others eyes. I mean, he looks beautiful, eyes a crystallized blue. So blue I can't even look away without feeling my lips rise.
I remember my friend Clare not understanding Thomas's good looks and the sudden infatuation I had for him. She thought Thomas was far too boney and scary looking, but I was hooked. Even in this moment, as we stand before each other after nearly a decade of not speaking, not seeing each other, I want to bite down on my lip. Hoping to taste him one last time.
I come down from the hill slowly, Pascal lets go of me, but holds the umbrella up and has a steady hand on my back. I can feel Thomas look at Pascal as I watch my footing. I can feel Thomas look at the hand Pascal puts on my back.
He's still jealous of the men in my life. I wonder what he'll say when I tell him of my profession, surrounded by men on a daily basis.
Once I'm on a common ground level with Thomas, I can't help but move my eyes to rest of his body. He's still somehow taller than me. Noting that he has all of his limbs and has also went through with purchasing finer clothing. He looks dashing in a suit. He looks expensive.
He's got a cigarette wrapped around his finger as he narrows his eyes at me, his neck shows from his button up shirt. Those eyes, I shake my head, trying to cover the smirk on my face, those eyes.
"Thomas," I begin after holding my breath, he casts a look of shock and surprise, but masks it by inhaling his smoke and holding a gaze.
Thomas somehow manages to get a riot out of me. Turning my eyes to the posh car, my cheeks heat up. I'm getting uncomfortably hot, now.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing here, Anna?" He raises an eyebrow, studying me. His voice dropped - significantly.
I lick my lips, in complete awe of this man. Grace Shelby was a lucky woman. A man of wealth, power, sex appeal. Thomas Shelby is a walking fantasy of mine.
I scoff, just before Pascal intervenes. Usually a man who speaks to me in such a demeaning, disgusting tone gets a shot to the head, but Pascal knows all about Thomas Shelby.
A gun is presented, and its pointed at Thomas. Pascal stands the small pistol, ready to be fired on my say so. But I would never kill Thomas Shelby, he's loved me when I hated myself. To Thomas, I owe my life.
He raises an eyebrow and looks at Pascal unamused. His eyes turn to fix on mine, "Might as well use the damn thing and shoot me, ey, Anna?"
"No." I state, before Pascal puts the gun away, I take a step towards him.
"Thomas, to answer your question, I just payed my respects to your wife, Grace. May she rest in peace."
My voice is a flutter away from sounding sarcastic, I clear my throat, mentally telling myself to change my attitude. I don't mean to sound as foul as I do.
"You were never a religious person." He comments, never leaving my gaze.
I raise an eyebrow, "I attended my mothers funeral, I even sang a verse of the Bible on her behalf..."
He exhales, smoke erupting into the Birmingham air. I couldn't help but see it ooze past his pink lips in an awe. Thomas is a different person. As if the old one has gone to shit, and the new one, well, the new one is polished.
"What are you," He sighs, "doing back in Birmingham?"
"I came to see you." I respond honestly, my eyes fix on the man behind him. A man I have never seen before. "You told me to come here."
He scoffs, putting a hand in his pocket to pull out a small gold watch. He throws his cigarette by my feet and Pascal nearly loses his shit. I put my hand up before him, and he freezes. He needs to calm down. And so do I, this is unlike Thomas.
Blood. He's a younger boy than Thomas and I, maybe in his 20s, and something is telling me the two are somehow related.
I cock my head, my mouth opening. "Who's this?"
Thomas turns behind him, "This is Michael, my cousin."
I watch as he cowers from behind the boss. His cousin, my eyes move to the young mans, Thomas has a cousin. I remember something when we were young, Polly Shelby, the wicked queen loosing her children. They were taken by the law, and never to be seen again. Polly, a mother, blacklisted from getting to her own kids.
I study his eyes and see that little boy again. My oh my! "You're Polly's son." I breathe.
"I am." He responds, nodding at me. "Who the hell are you?"
"Perhaps Thomas can fill you in on that." I suggest, raising an eyebrow at him. He rolls his eyes at me, answering my question.
Thomas looks annoyed with me, an emotion he never expressed. I turn to Pascal, who has his hands behind his back. He raises an eyebrow, confused as I somehow feel on the inside.
"He's changed." I tell Pascal, my voice as disappointed as I feel.
But what did I expect, Thomas to embrace me and kiss me? He's still mourning. I look at him as he speaks to Michael in a voice so soft, I can't even hear them speak. But before I can even see the guilt on his face, I know that Grace Shelby died in a way that makes Thomas feel an overwhelming amount of guilt.
"He isn't worthy of your time." Pascal replies, I nearly lunge for his neck at the way he speaks down to Thomas.
I guess no man is worthy of a woman's time. I send Pascal to the car, and he tries to stay with me, by my side, but I tell him to leave. Michael disappears to, still staring at me like I'm some kind of picture.
"Thomas," I take a step towards him, and stand under my umbrella. Thomas shifts as I near him. I study his features as all I hear is the screams coming from inside of his head.
He does not blink as our eyes lock. "This city isn't good anymore, Anna. You should go."
"No." I shake my head, "I have business in Birmingham I've been asked to tend to."
Thomas takes a step back. "What business?"
Ah, yes, the last Thomas Shelby heard of me was when I left for London with nothing but my cello, thirteen years ago. On my eighteenth birthday.
I stand before him now, and try to remember the unkept state he was in, post war. When he would shut me out and stay cooped up his room. When all I wanted as for him to get better.
"That conversation is not for now." I say through my eyelashes. My eyes hit the concrete we stand under, fog surrounds us now. I turn towards my car, feeling his eyes continue to linger. "I'll be seeing you soon, Mr. Shelby."
be gentle with me, if youve enjoyed this do tip! it was a delight to write :<)
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