RESURRECTION, t. shelby.

chapter three.

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲:     baby blue.

                    𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴           with the thick bile of drunken workmen. a wave of nostalgia seems to pass over diana, especially now as she sits adjacent to the man magnetic enough to stay so clear in her memory after all these years. the strong scent of whiskey lingers beneath her nose, and as the exhaust of tobacco clings to the air, it begins to resemble the milky swirl of watercolour on canvas.

but tommy sharpens her senses. his gaze remains cold as ice and demands her attention over the loud maelstrom of intoxicated clamour erupting from the pub. diana and tommy sit opposite each other in an enclosed private room next to the bar, caught in a blunt silence for a mere moment as they study each other; analysing the other opponent's intentions, like pieces on a chessboard.

     "i'll admit, this isn't the way i would have liked us to meet again, tommy." his eyes don't leave hers; perhaps it's because if he did, he'd miss a lie contorting her expression. he knows for a fact that she's more than capable of lying to anyone; especially to him.

     "i know you, diana. you're a good liar — and i also know that you had no intention of ever seeing me again." his words are cut short as he presses a cigarette between his lips. "so cut the bullshit and tell me what it is you want from me."

diana purses her lips as she gently ashes her cigarette into a crystal ashtray in front of her. an untouched scotch sits poised in her right hand. she had dreamt of seeing tommy again more times than she'd care to admit. but every dream involves a tight embrace; her lips against his; the feeling of his hands pressing against the crevices of her back.

     "irish whiskey." she muses, continuing to dance around the purpose of their meeting. "even now you still stick to your roots. despite the fact that you're coming up as quite the prominent businessman in the sphere of horse racing, as i've been told. you seem to embrace your simple upbringing, instead of appearing more... refined. my husband kimber was never like that. i think that was the only thing billy and i had in common. we both tried to shed away our upbringings in poverty. we're ashamed of it, i suppose."

tommy hesitates for a moment. his muscles stiffen as he reaches for his cigarette tin. his gaze finally leaves hers and his eyebrows furrow into a twisted wrinkle of bewilderment or disappointment; diana couldn't quite tell.

"you married kimber." he mutters, gritting his teeth against the filter of his cigarette as he leans back; the wooden chair groans against his weight. "it seems fitting; you've always wanted a life of luxury."

     "i never loved him, but i loved his cars, horses and houses. it was a nice life as long as we were apart." diana stops herself at this point, stifling her sentence with a draw of her glass. the whiskey inside was warm and soothing, unlike the memories that spiked her words and sent chills down her spine. "he was cruel to me, and i needed a way out."

another silence follows as neither of them move, quietly caught in a wave of shared discomfort; neither diana or tommy are looking for solace in each other. but he's concerned: he needs to know what happened.

     "did he hurt you?" tommy's words seem softer this time. diana responds only through a single brief nod. she doesn't dare elaborate; partly out of the pain and fear that chokes her throat at the idea of reliving it and partly out of shame for trying to lament to tommy about her misfortunes. she knows he'd gone through unimaginable horrors during the war, and diana has no right to burden tommy with her past; not after what she's done to him.