Destruction of the Mind / [Thomas Shelby | Peaky Blinders]

chapter / five

"As ya' all know," Arthur began to say as soon as John came into the room, giving him a cold glare as he walked in late, "us and Henry Matthews, the old lad from London, have been workin' together for almost a year now."

"More like he's been workin' for us," John sniggered, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand.

"He got inta' contact with me via this 'ere letter," Arthur continued, ignoring his younger brother, "saying he's on his way to Small Heath to discuss his ideas on expansion. He should be arrivin' tomorrow mornin', so we ought to make sure he's protected, got that?"

Thomas took a long drag from his cigarette, looking out the window down at the old bed & breakfast where he had watched Florence rush into only minutes before. He looked back at Arthur, his face completely void of any emotion.

"What makes it 'is business to come down 'ere? He has never been the one to come to us, we always go to 'im." He questioned after blowing the smoke out of his lungs.

"I, er, dunno," Arthur replied, appearing slightly vexed, "but we know he's an a'ight guy, his opium trade is bloody huge in London, an' he gives us about 300 quid a month, Tommy - this guy, he's one of us."

Thomas reverted his gaze back out the window, before turning and walking the small distance to his office. The office had windows that gave him a direct view of the work room where the Peaky Blinders would count the money they earned from the bookies on their horses, so he closed the curtains to shield him away from his family. He fell back into his chair, pulling open the draw of his desk to pull out a bottle of whiskey and a glass.

There was a knock at his door and Arthur popped his head in.

"We're goin' to the Garrison, you comin'?" He asked, watching Thomas shake his head.

"Maybe later." He replied, but he knew wouldn't go.

Arthur left, leaving Thomas to pour himself a glass of whiskey and think about the way Florence's honey blonde hair would feel if he run his fingers through it.

Florence, on the other hand, had practically ran up to her room as soon as she got through the main door of the house she was residing in. She run a hand through her hair, pushing the fine strands out of her face as she took a seat on the large four-poster bed. She couldn't form a reason in her head as to why people had to stare at her when she walked down the street with John Shelby. She hated attention like what she experienced today, where people's eyes followed her every move.

She'd sat like that, thinking, for quite some time. She found that her thoughts moved away from the uneasiness she felt, to thoughts about Thomas Shelby. She couldn't get him out of her head, he was always lingering in the back of her mind. She started to undress and put on her silk, white nightgown.

Lying down flat in her bed, she closed her eyes and tried to get some sleep to catch up from all the nights at the bar. Her eyes shot open, however, as there was a loud knock on her door.

"Florence!"

She grabbed the nearest shawl and draped it over her shoulders, before twisting the key in the door. She hadn't needed to pull the handle down as Thomas Shelby stumbled into the room having opened the door himself. She closed it behind him and stared at him in disbelief.

"And why're you here so late? It's almost midnight, Thomas." She sighed, guiding him to her bed and helping him sit down, "You're unbelievably drunk."

His eyes were glossy as he looked up at her as she stood in front of him. She put a hand on her hip, chewing on her lower lip nervously as she just stared at him.

"Well?"

"I needed to see ya'," He stated simply.

"And you have, so if you don't mind leaving so I can get some slee-" She stopped talking and let out a squeal as he grabbed her waist, pulling her closer to him.

Thomas placed his slightly sweaty forehead against hers and closed his eyes, moving one hand up to the back of her head and letting his fingers dance through her hair. Florence couldn't help but admire the look of content on his face, moving her own hand to knock his hat off of his head. The top half of his hair was longer than the rest, and it looked fluffy, as it was free of any kind of hair ointment.

"I can't stop thinking 'bout ya'," He whispered, opening his eyelids slowly yet keeping his vacant expression.

Florence could smell the whiskey in his breath as he spoke, and put a finger to his lips to keep him from talking again. She took his hands off of her body then helped him take his blazer, waistcoat and shoes off. Thomas didn't even seem to notice, let alone care for what she was doing. She hung them on the corner of her chest of drawers, including his hat, and put his shoes by the door.

"Lie down," She told him, watching him as she retreated to the door, "I'm going to get you a glass of water."

He did as he was told, staring up at the ceiling. He tried to keep himself awake, but he ended up falling into the world of sleep just as Florence returned with a glass of water. She laughed quietly to herself, placing the glass on the cabinet next to the bed. She took the shawl off of her shoulders and dropped it to the floor, before climbing into bed.

She felt the bed shake as Thomas tossed and turned, so she turned to face him. She cupped his cheek gently and he stopped moving. She eventually fell asleep herself after sighing at Thomas' sleeping figure, thinking about how he was going to regret visiting her as soon as the sun rises.