Tommy Shelby finally recognises the extent of his mental damage. An Illness that is eating away at his conscious being, devouring every last morsel of sanity in his head.
An illness that finally forces him to seek counsel from a professional.
To fi...
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The journey back to Arrow House that night was filled with a clarity Verity had not experienced in a long time; yet in the same ilk her brain was fighting to see through the haze and come to terms with what she was losing.
It was as if two lives she had lived, were at last passing like ships in the night - two strangers pausing on a stroll to acknowledge each other's existence.
Her former life with her sister - the path she was choosing to once again live, versus the new tranquil home she had set up in Castle Combe.
It seemed one of the strangers bore the sharpest of knives, waiting on bated breath to kill off the other.
The psychologist limped up the steps of Arrow House at some ungodly late hour, most of the windows encasing darkened shadows - apart from the hall and of course, that damned office.
Verity began quietly mulling over her plans, if she took her bedtime pain medication and then her morning lot tomorrow, hopefully she would be dosed up enough to make the journey south, and begin packing her things.
Deep in thought, Verity kicked off her heels (welcomely) by the large double doors and entered the breadth of the spacious hall, the hearth crackling away peaceably.
Her dainty fingertips picked off her gloves, one by one - a slowed motion in her current musing state. Her coat was draped on the wooden hanger just some inches from the door, her thinking turning to hushed outward mumbles of affirmation as she limped slowly towards the stairs.
"Where have you been?"
That low voice stirred some embedded anger deep in her gut, and Verity turned to find Tommy's watchful blue eyes set on her from a few metres away.
The blinder leant on the wooden doorframe, hands tucked unassumingly in his trouser pockets, stare holding as the psychologist's jaw stiffened tightly.
"What business is it of yours where I go?" Verity remarked tempestuously, her back straightening as she stood tall.
Her hazel eyes flickered savagely up and down the figure of the man who ruined her life.
"Last time I checked you did not own me, Thomas Shelby."
Her sharp tone caused the smallest flicker of amusement in the corner of his mouth, visible for long enough to make Verity want to stride over and slap it clean off his face.
Before she could act, the smirk dissipated and he let out a nonchalant sigh.
"Was more worried about how far you got on a dodgy ankle more than anything else," he replied with that casual manner he sometimes embodied - usually when he wanted to downplay someone else's anger.
