All you left me | D.S
Summary: Shelby marriages are usually lovely in the beginning. Yours and Duke's was no exception. | dark!AU | Word count: 5k6 (not proofread)
A/N: Everyone say thank you Lora for squeezing your brain and writing this is two days
1934
Small Heath changed when Duke came by.
Finn Shelby, who had been friends with your older brother, got married and was never seen again. Tommy and Ada disappeared, and Arthur was often seen being carried by his wife, high, completely out of his mind.
Curly and Charlie Strong spent most of their days inside. The Garrison lost its title of Peaky blinder territory and everything felt more peaceful for a while.
But you knew it wouldn't last long ever since your first encounter with him…
“Who are you?” Duke asked, blue eyes contrasting nicely with his spent brown coat. A pistol in hand.
Charlie's yard wasn't foreign to you, your cat always escaped there when she got in heat, and Curly was ever so kind in taking care of her. Often, you didn't even have to announce or excuse yourself, you just got in, picked her up and left.
Not that time it seemed. Not since a brand new stallion was brought in.
“Put that thing down, boy. You're gonna hurt someone,” you stepped back, holding your cat closer to your chest.
“Who the fuck are you?” he cocked the gun.
With no other option, you introduced yourself, “...my cat gets here when she's in heat, Curly always let me in,”
“Curly is not here,” he threatened, “get out,”
You nodded, quickly turning on your heel.
You tried your best to keep your cat in since then. Still, when she escaped again, you refused to leave the yard without her.
That was probably how you caught Duke's attention, then things flowed naturally between you two…
Yeah, you'd rather believe that.
♥︎
1939
The wedding ring on your finger felt too heavy sometimes. Out of place. You never saw the proposal coming your way, although all your friends recommended you'd press him about it since he scared away any competition without making the relationship official.
You never did, because it always felt official to you.
Through daily life, the biggest and smaller issues, Duke was always there. If you needed a ride, a new dress, a new job or simply someone out of your way. All you had to do was ask. The partnership between you couldn't be questioned and he rarely demanded something back.
With exception, of course, for you to warm up his bed, that you did with pleasure.
Still, lately you felt like the shape of your relationship was changing…
“Where were you?” his voice was the first thing you heard when you got home. You jumped, turning around to find him by the kitchen's doorframe.
“What- how did you get in?!” you asked back. Button, your cat, jumped out of her spot on the sofa to rub herself on your legs.
His eyes followed you, not very pleased with your reaction, “...I paid your rent this month, the landlord gave me a key,”
“Hm,” you gulped, leaning down to pat Button, “well, you didn't have to do that,”
“Yes, I did,” he argued, tone way too soft for the information that came next, “you can't cancel the rent contract without paying the current month,”
Eyes snapping back to him, you stood up in a shoot, “what do you mean? Cancel the rent contract?”
He sighed, impatient, as if you were pushing him into explaining the obvious, “We're engaged, you're going to live with me,”
Yes, of course. It seemed natural now it had come out of his mouth, you thought of his place, how it looked more like a sty or a warehouse than a home and how could you make it better.
“Yeah,” you muttered and sat on the sofa.
He followed, moving slowly, a little stiff until he sat at the opposite end, fidgeting with the sofa's arm. There was a minute of silence before he complained, “you look sad,”
“Of course not, love,” you immediately denied. Hesitating before crawling into his lap, “I'm just- worried about how things will play out.”
That was true, but wasn't truly the reason for your pout. That, you wouldn't admit, because it'd certainly make him angry.
And Duke had a temper you'd rather avoid.
♥︎
The bedroom had a peach tone wallpaper now. The kitchen had been fully reformed by your request, and the pigs, soon, would be moved somewhere else.
Oh, and Duke had lied about paying rent to cancel the contract. The threat to beat up the landlord did it for him.
With the wedding being only some weeks away, things had fallen into the tracks. You found out he was an early riser and a late sleeper. It took a while for you to get used to it.
Your brand new alarm clock was him wrapping himself around you a bit too tightly. Kissing and nibbling the back of your neck until you got up to make breakfast. Although you were proud of the few pounds he gained by not skipping it anymore, you missed being able to sleep some more hours and go to work with only a cup of tea and a package of biscuits.
You also missed being able to take the bus that stopped near your old house. Being driven to work by a Peaky boy every morning was starting to become awkward.
Nevertheless, you were trying to focus on the good parts. Even if Tommy and Ada…
Or Charlie Strong and Curly, or Esme, or Kaulo…
Weren't particularly interested in the ceremony, the dress would be ready soon, you only had to go to the tailor one last time to check the last adjustments. And check the guest list again. And inform the decorator the ceremony would take place in a Romani camp
And decide who would make the union official since Johnny dogs wasn't as present in Small Heath anymore…
And-
You were sure things would be easier if Duke took the reins of the event as much as he took the reins of…
Well, everything lately.
Isaiah dropped you home that evening, not particularly fond of being used as a personal driver, it was the price he paid for being Duke’s most reliable man. You noticed the scowl on his face when you called him to pick you up earlier.
You sensed something was off too, since you had never been dismissed earlier before, but with the wedding plans crowding your head, you didn't pay much mind.
Duke was home when you arrived and you used those hours to make something nice for dinner. Then, you sat down with the guest list, noticing he had crossed some names on it, some even from your side.
Sighing, you opened a random page in the tiny notebook to write down the revised version. Between the last page and the cover sat the new correspondence, some accepting the invitation for the ceremony, some declining, some related to Duke's business and one, in particular, carrying the name of the company you worked for.
Just when you were about to finish, Duke got home. He took off his coat and gun holster, let them on the hanger and came to greet you.
“Hello,” he muttered against your lips. You carried a bit of pride on the fact you were part of the few people to access the soft side of him. He pecked you once, twice, then moved down to your throat.
Giggling, you faked a complaint, “Stop! I have to finish this, the decorator is going to kill me if I keep delaying it.”
At last, he moved to your jaw, his teeth grazing the soft skin before he moved to the kitchen. You heard him going through the cabinets and pans on the stove.
“What's for dinner?” he asked. You peeked at him from the sofa, catching him nosing into the oven.
“Close that!” you scolded, putting the notebook aside to give him full attention, “You can't let the air in!”
Once again, the wedding preparations were put aside and some details went unnoticed.
Including the demission letter in the last page.
♥︎
Three days.
Three days to the wedding and you were not only a pile of nerves, you were upset.
The tension between you and Duke was nearly palpable. You were going to resign after the ceremony, you just wanted to do it properly, to say goodbye to your coworkers, to have a little party over it, and he took this from you.
“Just went to check on you,” he explained. You didn’t believe it one bit. If he wanted to get into the company and go to your desk, no one would've stopped him. He didn't. He went straight to your boss, surely not to question him on your working conditions.
The worst part was, he didn't even seem to listen to you. He seemed upset that you were upset.
And that day, when he got home, found the kitchen empty and you still in a sleeping gown, with a book in hand, pretending he didn't exist, he went back to it, “How long is this going to last?”
“What?” you refused to look at him.
“I already told you I had nothing to do with-” he stopped, sighing in frustration, “is this how you plan to get married? With that look?”
“No,” you turned a page, “I suppose I can put on a smile and pretend you didn't get me fired,”
Duke paused, then walked to you and took the book from your hands. “Hey-”
“Oi!” you complained, trying to get it back.
“Hey- Hey!” he removed the book from your reach, getting your full attention.
“Give it back!” you demanded.
“Fucking stop that,” he sat at the edge of the bed, sounding more serious now, “we'll get married in three days and you're acting like I'm some fucking…” he couldn't compete the phrase.
“You got me fired,” you argued, “what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to look at me when I talk to you,” he said and you went quiet, then he added, “for starters,”
Your eyes dropped. Three days and you were wasting it in, what? Not looking at your soon-to-be husband? Woah, so original and mature. Even his actions had upset you, what use was it now?
“I wanted to leave on my own,” you fidgeted with the blanket, “the girls were going to throw me a little goodbye party,”
“Fuck,” he sighed beneath his breath, thought for a while, and suggested, “take them to the Garrison,”
“The Garrison?” you scoffed, “your friends personal whorehouse?”
“Pick up a date, I'll close it out for you,”
“It's not the same,” you explained, even if you knew he wouldn't get it, or care about it.
Silence felt more comfortable now, and God's honest truth, you were struggling to ignore him. Slowly, you crawled close to him, settling in his arms, resting your head on his chest.
“After the honeymoon then.” you concluded.
♥︎
Honeymoon tired you out. Partly because you weren't used to traveling in a vardo, especially during autumn, partly because Duke was over you all the time.
Not that you were complaining. It was just that, back home, his brain still seemed wired into honeymoon mode.
Sitting on the kitchen's counter, you waited for water to boil so you could make tea for breakfast. At the same time, it was hard to pay attention to the kettle with Duke buried in your neck, holding firmly to your legs.
You hissed when he sank his teeth a little too deep. His hands trailed the way under your skirt, that was when you stopped him. “No,” you whined, closed your legs and touched your foreheads together.
“No?” he asked back, his lips brushing yours.
“No.” rubbing the tip of your noses together, you guided his hands around your waist and wrapped your legs and arms around him. Humming in satisfaction when he kissed you again.
If it wasn't the kettle's annoying whistle, you could've drowned into his tender affections. Duke, too, looked at the kettle as if it had interrupted him. You climbed down the counter and walked past him.
“Ah,” you started, pouring the water into the teacups, “before I forget, the girls thought it'll be better if we have my resigning party at one of her houses,”
He blinked, frowned, previous mood quickly vanishing, “Why not at the Garrison?”
“Well, apparently,” you started to set the table, “it's not only me who sees it as a whorehouse,”
“Then why not here?”
You sighed, “Because,”
“Because what?” he insisted.
“Because they already decided,” you brushed it off, “I'm the honoree, not the organizer,”
Trying to bring back fire from the embers, you walked back to him, placing your hands on the counter behind him, cornering, pressing your lips to his. He just let you, didn't kiss back. His hands rested on your waist as he asked, “Whose house will it be?”
“Oh my God, Duke,” you whined, “I'll let you know when they decide.”
♥︎
After the tea, the cake, the gossip and being bombed with questions about the wedding and honeymoon. You went through your purse trying to find a bill to get a taxi home.
Margaret's house wasn't too far from yours, but still not walkable distance. Walking distractedly down the street, you jumped when a Peaky boy approached you from behind. “Ma'am,”
“Hm- yes?” you didn't even recognize that one.
“Mr. Shelby told me to take you home,” that was when you saw the car parked behind him. You would think Duke wouldn't be so… himself after you told him exactly where you were. You were clearly wrong.
“Of course he did.” you grumbled and headed to the car.
The house was dark when you got in, except for the bedroom. He called for you, cutting through the silence.
“Yeah, it's me,” you took off your heels and dropped your purse on the sofa.
Walking to him, you found him sitting at the edge of bed, cleaning his gun with a kitchen cloth. Button laid on his feet, asleep. “How was it?” he asked.
“It was okay,” you leaned in for a kiss, “the girls said I'm lucky,”
“And aren't you?”
“Hm-” you pouted, joking as if you were questioning yourself on it. He frowned and you broke down laughing.
“You are,” Duke affirmed.
You sat beside him, nuzzling his neck, “Yeah? Tell me about it,”
“Well,” he didn't take his eyes off the gun, “you've got a house, you've got food-”
“And you,” you rested your chin on his shoulder.
“And me,” he agreed, “you'll never have to worry about anything again,”
Scoffing, you reasoned, “I wasn't before,”
That made him pause. Duke threw the cloth over his shoulder and racked the gun's slide. “I know,”
“So?” you picked on a small freckle on his cheek.
“So what?”
“So I don't see your point, love,”
“Now you don't have to worry,” he stood up, shoulder bumping slightly on your cheek, “I take care of you.”
♥︎
I take care of you, that stayed in your mind for a while. Because ultimately, he did. That wasn't the problem, the thing was, he truly seemed to think you needed him to.
To be honest, you enjoyed it.
That was different from needing it and quite frankly, after a few months of married life, you were getting bored. Not of him, never of him, but the best part of your day was when he got home, around seven, sometimes nine in the evening. The rest of the day, you spent alone. Button and a radio were good company, but not quite enough.
That day, she was laying on your chest, heavy, purring. You patted her back, her whiskers tickled your face while you tried to listen to the war news.
Suddenly, the door opened, you sat up, holding the cat comfortably on your lap. Duke got in with a purse on his shoulder, dropping it on the table without so much looking at you.
“What is this?” you got up, immediately fussing through it. Reading the files and the labels.
“Paperwork,” he watched you carry Button on one arm, as if she was a baby and going through the papers with the other. Something that resembled a smile showed on his face, he lightly caressed your cheek, you didn't pay mind, reading the documents as if they were yours.
“About what?”
“The Garrison, the betting shop,”
Going through the pages, you realized it was the accountability. Sitting down to take a better look at it, Button quickly jumped out of your lap, Duke watched you read for a while before removing, throwing his cap on the table and heading out to the bedroom.
After some minutes, you put the pages of two files together. Different values, obvious mistakes. You took notes, as the hours passed, you sensed him walking past you again and again. The radio volume got louder than quieter, the cat rubbed herself on your legs, hopped on the table, bit your pen and at last, went to her place on the sofa.
Around eleven, Duke came to you again, playfully taking the pen from your hand.
“Joke is on you I'm already done,” you stuck your tongue out.
“Done with what?”
“Here,” you showed him the files and your notes, explaining mistake by mistake, he listened attentively, “but I'll only fix it tomorrow, and I'll need more of the shop's documents,”
His hand came to your shoulder, besides the little sparkle of admiration in his eyes, you weren't really expecting him to go along with it. “Let's go to bed, yeah?”
However, to your surprise, the file you requested was brought home the next day, and the day next. Then, some weeks later, Duke closed The Garrison and the shop so you could check the safes and cash registers after the shifts.
Eventually, accountability became part of your routine, even if you mostly did it from home, you started recognizing names, routes, suppliers, and by the time Duke got home, he often had a list of mistakes waiting for him.
That lasted for about three months, until you insisted he let you take part in a meeting. You tried your best to look serious and respectable, wearing darker tones and sitting next to him with a serious facade, and then…
“You've done an impressive job, Mrs. Shelby,” the man said, a supplier, as he had introduced himself, you knew better, he was a drug dealer. “Will you be handling your husband's finances now?”
“I-” you started, but Duke interrupted.
“She helped with minor mistakes, we have an accountant to deal with the rest.”
You tried, again, to speak up, but your voice got lost, smaller between the men and in minutes, you were reduced to a shadow beside your husband. Once useful, then quickly dismissed.
No papers were brought home that night, nor the night after. You bit your nails all day long until gathering courage to ask Duke about it.
“We've got an accountant.”
And the days became empty again.
♥︎
If someone ever told you being married to a Shelby could be boring, you'd never believe it. The truth was, you couldn't stand it, couldn't stand it anymore…
The kitchen's light wood cabinets, matching the curtains, the tiny paintings on the walls, the bedroom's wallpaper, the bed's iron headboard, the voices and the same ten songs on the radio.
Removing the lilac hairband from your head, you shook it for Button to run after. She jumped, rolled and hunted it like it was the thrill of her life.
Lucky her.
Your friends from work. Ex work. Weren't picking up your calls as much, you'd rather believe they truly weren't home like the telephonists informed over them simply ignoring you.
Small things you barely had time to do before the wedding were all done now. You deep cleaned the oven and the bathroom, organized the wardrobe and drawers, cleaned the windows, done your nails and eyebrows, cut Button's nails too. She hated it.
You also had been circling job ads in the newspaper. Unfortunately, most were for long shifts in factories. Plus, you doubted Duke would allow you to go back to work.
Duke. He should be home soon, you looked at the clock on the wall, plain, white background and big numbers painted in black,
Like in the paperwork he took away from you.
You could go downtown and buy a prettier clock. Or you could keep playing with Button until she gets tired and goes to sleep, then you could stare at the ceiling or the same page of a book until Duke gets home.
You chose the later option.
If he noticed you were laying on the floor, with your feet on the sofa and the radio loud enough to deaf a man, he didn't comment. He went to the kitchen, to the bedroom, gave the cat a pet behind her ear, turned off the radio and only then stood beside you, wearing more comfortable trousers and an undershirt.
He poked your side with his toe, “What's the matter?”
Oh, so he did care after all.
“Nothing,” you lied, looking past him, to the ceiling.
“Stand up then,” he pushed your feet out the sofa.
“What for?”
“You've been laying there for twenty minutes,” he said, with that same expression of someone explaining the obvious.
“About one hour,” you corrected, “I've been laying here for about one hour,”
“...your back is gonna hurt at night,” Duke argued, and with that, you stood up, brushing the wrinkles on your skirt.
“Alright.” you muttered under your breath, ignoring the displeased look on his face as you picked up the book you had long abandoned and headed to the bedroom to leave it in some drawer.
He was very much used in overly affectionate greetings. You knew that, you weren't doing it on purpose, you just…
Weren't in the mood for anything. Anything that wasn't new and exciting and entertaining could just fuck off.
When you returned to the living room, he was waiting, you stopped, looked back at him. His beautiful blue eyes and the ridiculous tattoos in his strong arms. For once, you didn't want to melt into him. That didn't stop him from reaching for you, you from going along, taking his hand and letting him guide you to the sofa.
Duke nestled you on his lap, your head rested on his shoulder. You breathed in the familiar scent of him, the wooden cologne and the smoke from other people's cigarettes. Warming your hands between your thighs, you felt his grip getting tighter. A sudden jump of his leg captured your full attention, “You're quiet today,”
“Hm,” you dismissed, “I'm tired,”
“Of what?” Duke insisted.
“Of-” you hesitated, then spat out without emotion enough to be taken seriously, “everything.”
As an answer, he patted your back, his rings rough enough to be felt through the thin cloth of your shirt. That was nice. Better than listen to him speak…
Reason…
Boss around…
Feeling you relax against him, Duke took the chance to kiss the top of your head. You hummed at him, not even yourself knowing if it was a complaint or satisfaction. He moved down to your face, forehead, eyelid, nose bridge and lips.
His hand found the back of your head, allowing you to rest all the weight on it. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you let him kiss you just because.
Because it was not boring.
Not news or entertaining. Just not boring.
His free hand squeezed down your side from your waist to your thighs, then came the way back up in a familiar massage. His fingers tangled on your hair and when his hand sneaked under your skirt, you closed your legs fast enough to catch it between your knees.
“Duke,” you shifted on his lap, “no,”
He set his hand free, now resting it on your knee. Frustration was clear on his face, “Why not?”
“I'm not in the mood,” you tried to move to the sofa, but he kept holding you there.
He looked away for a second, caressing your calf, and tried again, “I'll put you in a mood then,” he brushed the hair off your shoulders, almost leaning in to kiss them if it wasn't for your negative reaction.
“I'm not in the mood for that either,” you argued, pulling your legs back from his touch, “can we just- not?”
“...yeah,” he gave in, fixing your position back into him, “yeah, just come here.”
Still a little put off, you rested your head on his shoulder again, wrapping your arms around his waist. For the first time in five years, you wouldn't mind being somewhere else.
♥︎
It was the marriage to blame.
That was the conclusion you were trying to avoid. You would never blame Duke, himself, for the situation you were in. Dammit, he renovated his house for you, paid for your wedding, let you choose the most expensive dress and flowers, not many people in England were lucky enough to never need to catch a bus or a taxi and he let you work with the accountability for a while. As long as it was safe, you tried to lie to yourself, there must've been a good reason for him to make you drop it.
Even before the proposal, Duke couldn't be called an absent boyfriend. If anything, he was always too much. Too present. Too zealous.
Not mean, you believed. No, never mean. At least not to you.
That was why you planned to ask him time. Just some weeks apart from each other. Nothing permanent, you doubted you'd manage to completely leave him after spending nearly six years together.
You just needed some time to breathe, to be yourself without being Mrs. Shelby. Not because you didn't like being Mrs. Shelby, you affirmed that to yourself over and over again waiting for Duke to get home. But because of something else, something you couldn't exactly put your finger on.
Dinner was ready when you heard him at the door. You waited by the kitchen's entry, fidgeting with a cloth. He glanced at you, muttered a “Hi”, untied his boots and greeted you with a kiss.
Soon, you caught yourself trying to guess his mood. If it wasn't appropriate, you'd postpone your request, not wishing to make his day worse.
Leaning on the doorframe, you watched him go through the pan, as he always did. Every single day. Over and over again.
“How was your day?” you quietly asked.
Duke exhaled a tired breath, weakly shrugged, “Alright.”
You wish you had something to tell him back, to say Button took a nap on the bathroom's sink and you found it cute wasn't exactly news. Wasn't something you'd call a day either. And that was what made you spill it, “Duke?”
“Yeah?” he tugged his sleeves, washed his hands, stared at the cloth you were holding.
“Before we eat, can we talk?” you handed it to him.
He paused for a second, dropped the cloth on the back of the chair, “About what?”
Gulping, you looked down and licked your lips thinking of the right words, “I've been thinking about-” you stopped, not you two, not the relationship, but the way you were living, “since we married, I've been feeling a bit- out, a bit off of everything, I-”
“Everything what?” Duke cut you off, seeming to grow impatient.
“Everything,” you struggled to explain, “life, I've been spending all my days here, doing the same things again and again,”
“You take care of the house,” he said, not understanding your point.
“Yeah, it's not just that, I-” you sighed, gave up, confessed, “I think I need some time out,”
“Out of home?” he frowned, a mix of upset and surprised, “Where would you go?”
“Maybe my parents, or- or maybe Charlie's yard if you find better, it's closer and-”
Duke scoffed, mockingly, you froze like a scolded child. “Charlie's yard, yeah, like a little holiday with two other men,”
“Curly and Mr. Strong aren't men, I've known them since I was a kid, they're old enough to be my parents,” you shrunk under your cardigan.
“Are you listening to yourself?” he confronted, “You want a holiday from me? That's what you're saying-”
“Not from you!” you quickly denied, “Just-”
“Yeah,” he humorlessly smiled, “just the house, the life, the marriage,”
Silenced, you stood before him, his eyes sparkled frustration and yours were starting to get watery.
“And everything I've done for you.”
Duke left you in the kitchen, heading somewhere you didn't bother looking for. Dinner got cold on the stove and you had to force Button to cuddle with you so you managed to get some sleep that night.
You didn't see when he got in bed, nor when he left the next morning.
♥︎
It was weird to have breakfast alone. If you had struggled to get used to waking up as early as Duke, his absence was much harder to endure.
Scratching the edge of the table with your nails. Tea was getting cold in your hand. Perhaps if you had approached him in another moment, with better words than “I want to spend some weeks with two other men”, things would've gone better.
The house was quiet and your mind distant. Surprised by Button pouncing on your hand at the edge of the table. Your cup fell and broke into a million pieces. Scared by the noise, she ran off the kitchen, tea spread all over the floor.
Standing up, you stared at it. You'd scream if you had enough energy for that. It was barely nine and the day was already unbearable. You stared at the clock in the wall, picked up a cloth, sloppily collected the shards and threw everything in the trash.
Then you decided to go downtown and get a new, least blank clock for the wall.
Amongst all the messy feelings in your heart, you identified missing Duke's opinion and compliment on the dress you chose. On the other hand, the relief of not needing to be driven by a peaky blinder.
Checking the money and documents in your purse, you stood in front of the door only to find your copy of the key wasn't in the hanger.
Nor in the porcelain pot in the center table. By the telephone or the radio.
Nowhere.
You were locked home.
Duke locked you home.
Certainly on purpose.
And then you realized, your tone, your words or the moment didn't matter. He wouldn't let you go. No matter what…
Nothing,
Nothing mattered.
Duke had you at the palm of his hand. You wondered for how long.
And who could take you out of it.
♥︎
It took you two weeks to be able to find a locksmith who wasn't scared to go to Duke Shelby's house and grant you a copy of the front door's key in secret.
It took two hours for you to pack your bag and convince Button to stay quiet in your purse, and although a part of you was terrified of walking out of the house, those weeks gave you fuel to it.
In those fourteen days, Duke didn't mention your key or your request for distance. As a matter of fact, you had the impression that the longer you pouted at him, the more he felt encouraged to not give it back to you.
There was no other option and you didn't plan it as a permanent goodbye. Just see you soon. The weeks you requested turned into months by his inconsiderate behavior.
Still, not a goodbye, you told yourself as you locked the door and called a taxi.
Back into Small Heath, you walked fast amongst the dusty streets, industrial as ever, made worse by the war. Perhaps, with exception of the place you needed.
Charlie's yard looked frozen in time, if it wasn't by the rust in some of his questionably acquired goods, you'd say it truly was.
“Mr. Strong? Curly?” you called.
It was all quiet for a moment. You sensed moved further into the yard, into the house. The front door opened, revealing a tired looking Charlie Strong, “Well, I'll be damned,”
Sighing with relief, you stepped closer, “Mr. Strong, I-”
“Where's Duke?” he immediately asked. Your smile dropped.
“At- working,” you gulped. Curly showed up right after, sweet as ever. Then, much to your surprise, your savior, the light at the end of the tunnel.
Johnny Dogs.
“How are you, lass? It's Mrs. Shelby now, ain't it?” he joked.
“Yes, it is,” you joked back, a little sad by the mention, “and you weren't there to celebrate it,”
Through the pleasantries, Charlie kept analyzing you. A little dust on the hem of your, a bag with the spent strap on one shoulder and a smaller one with cat ears poking out.
“What is it?” he asked, “Did you have a dispute?”
“Yeah, sort of,” you admitted, “I thought maybe-”
“That you'd stay here?” he interrupted, not rude, perhaps even paternal, “and what makes you think he won't take you back?”
“Can you at least-” you choked, “let me in?”
He did. You didn't realize the weight of your bags were hurting your shoulder until then. Button jumped out the purse leaving a trail of fur on the sofa, much to Charlie's annoyance. Curly brought you tea and silence was almost comfortable.
“So, what is it?” Johnny took the initiative to ask, “It has become weird to see you without him, but you should know all couples fight, especially young ones,”
Sipping on your cup, you didn't answer. Under the three men's gaze, the reason for your visit became clearer.
“If it's too bad, you can talk to Ada,” Charlie offered.
“Yeah, she'd take you in,” Curly agreed.
For a second, you regretted it. You didn't want a family mobilization to-
What? Take you out of your home? From your husband?
You just want to-
“Johnny,” you placed the cup back on the table, “I need you to take me to Thomas Shelby.”
Part two coming soon!
