METHOD OF MADNESS ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ¹

𝓋. 𝓉𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝓈𝒾𝓍: hypocrisy (ed.)

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : bend - volumes

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v. twenty-six: ❝hypocrisy❞

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Small heath, Birmingham

Days have passed for Mar and Tommy, who have never spoken to each other since the night of Ada's parturition. They just seemed to be too fed up with their very own struggles to communicate directly.

The James woman has been cursed by night terrors of her preceding repentance, which even the voices in her head did nothing to help her with as they howled at her that what she'd done was a matter of faith; that such a man deserved to be punished for hurting her.

All the same, she is sceptical of their claims. With the shame and fear within her consuming her alive, all of their words are meaningless. Marianna felt just as if she was now rotting in hell, despite the cold bit of wind in England and the actual fact that she was still on earth among the living. 

It was 9 a.m. and she was at the summit of the hill at which she liked to draw, and the country's humid crispness had somehow poured in due to the drizzle previously that dawn had melted away to the forest floor, much like the restful sleep Mar had desired for months at least. She lay on the green ground, her eyes shut, absorbed in thought, fostering the delicate scowl of the sun that sneaked behind the haze of Britain's horizon.

It wasn't until the sky darkened that she opened her eyes and encountered the man she hadn't seen for days, obstructing the beam of sunlight from her pale brown skin. Mar didn't make efforts to greet him courteously as he disrupted her peace and comfort and he only gazed at her when she lounged herself up.

"Why aren't you at work?" his brusque voice demanded, and the lady rolled her pupils and grunted internally. Thinking to herself; Why can't this man just inform her he had to ask her something rather than commence with just some superfluous chatter?

Mar, fed up with the utterly pointless queries, chose to go right to the point and start wondering, "What is it, Thomas?"

"Tommy." he quickly corrected her, not liking the sound of the name from her lips.

In chagrin, the gypsy whittled her sight at him, a profound glunch starting to form in her heart-shaped mouth. "I'll call you any way I want. It might be a bastard or a bugger. What do you want with me this time?"

He paused for a brief moment, his polished black boots scrubbing the green fields beneath him as he looked down at them. "It's not me. I may well not swear on the bible, but I'm trying to tell you the truth. I didn't finked Freddie Thorne."