❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ ii.vi

Act Two, Scene Six

→ ❝ that's not going to change! ❞

             Carol didn't get much sleep that night. Her conversation with Tommy had cleared her messy head, but in the empty place now sat another problem, and the conundrum was eating her from the inside out.

             Back in her bedroom, Carol sat at the vanity for a few minutes and watched Michael as he slept. He lay on his side, facing the window, and his arm was outstretched over the patch of mattress that Carol would have been lying on. His mouth was open slightly, and she barely managed to suppress a giggle when she saw a little drool coming from the corner of Michael's lips while he snored gently. How could she ever leave him? Tommy was right, Michael was the most innocent out of the bad bunch (Carol couldn't even be sure he was officially a Peaky Blinder, nobody had told her), and he would never intentionally hurt her or let her get hurt. This boy wanted to look after her and, even if his methods were questionable at times, his intentions were never less than good.

             Carol let her robe pool at her feet as she clambered into bed beside Michael, tenderly lifting up his outstretched arm and draping it across her stomach as she lay and faced him. Her hand hovered beside his cheek before she briefly placed her palm onto his face, feeling the heat radiate through her. She couldn't be sure, but she thought Michael's lips curved into a small, unconscious smile with her touch.

             "God damn you, Henry Johnson," Carol whispered into the darkness as she retracted her hand and rolled over to face the window. Despite her movements, Michael's grip on her body didn't shift.

             Every time Carol closed her eyes and opened them again, the light peeking through the curtains became stronger and stronger before the birds began to sing and the morning was officially upon her. A full night of constantly interrupted sleep made her more tired than when she had gone to bed the night before, and it definitely wasn't helping the growing ache that was beating in her head.

             It must have been about half past seven (in her sleep deprived state, Carol couldn't quite make out the numbers on the clock at the other end of the room) when Michael began to stir and wake up. She rested her eyes closed to try and fall back asleep, but couldn't bring herself to enter the world of dreams again.

             "Where are you going?" Carol asked, her morning voice croaky, when she felt the bed dip and lift as Michael got up.

             Michael cleared his throat as Carol turned her head cracked open one eye, "Down for breakfast, like the past two days. I didn't think you wanted to speak to me."

             Carol sat up, shifting her weight onto her elbows and sucked in a deep breath. Michael seemed pained that she wanted to avoid him so much, and it hurt her to think that he, in turn, was trying to avoid her. "Stay," she said, trying not to appear desperate or clingy, "Please."

             Obediently getting back into the bed, Michael's tense body softened as Carol hesitantly lay her head on his chest and stared at the ceiling, pulling the duvet over the pair of them to keep their body heat from escaping. "I think it's time for me to explain everything, Carol. I know you already know, well, a lot, but I think you need to hear it from me."

             "No," Carol stopped him, placing her finger on his lips. "You don't need to explain, the time for explaining is over. I've been stupid and childish and-"

             "Carol-"

             "Be quiet, Henry. I don't care what you have to say, because I'm not going to leave. I'm staying here, with you, with Pol."