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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One ever cooling cup of coffee sat to the left hand side of the small, white cloth covered table – the only one occupied in the dwindling hours of the night, the grand rich red interior of the hotel lobby unable to showcase it's true splendour to the few eyes that remained in the place to see it. Verity being one of them.
She sat on the small bistro-style table, by the large window that looked out onto the city she used to call home, soaked in the pale milky light of the moon and the few dull amber spots lit by honey-glow street lamps. The usual bustle of the place had faded at night, this high street she often frequented in the past was always packed with businessmen, common folk and the rich alike during the daytime. However, at night, it was baron wasteland – drenched in deepened blue hues and onyx black under the lightless sky.
In fact, the only reason Verity had returned here – was to use it as a safe place to quickly depart from. She had only ever known London, and to know now that even her home city wasn't technically a safe place for her made her heart and gut wrench. All she had known for the past year nearly was a world that had been moulded for her, shaped to the liking of others and then stripped back to reveal the cruel reality. She was a woman with her diamonds and her pearls – but she had nothing of substance to take from any of this heartache. No family, no home – nothing.
Sniffling back a fresh onslaught of tears, Verity turned her attention back to the piece of paper that sat under her nose. She was currently writing a rather scrawly, tear splashed note to the last person she felt she could call a friend in this turbulent world – Scarlett. Verity's hand motioned quickly as she noted down the mess of words in her brain, mainly hoping to jot down the key points that she was leaving and she would contact Scarlett again once she reached a safe place... whenever that would be.
Her shaking hand reached out for the cup of rich coffee and took a few tepid sips, feeling sick to her stomach with all that had happened, so by this point she was forcing herself to eat and drink – the adult in her scalding the child for being so foolish as to think she would never be bitten by the rabid dog that came in the form of Thomas Shelby.
The porcelain of the cup clinked as it settled back into the pristine white saucer, the only sound in amongst a dwindling hotel lobby – the only other regular yet ambient noise being that of the man behind the bar in the corner setting the clean glasses back onto the shelf with a little chinking sound every now and again.
She was so focused on getting the last of her words out, she didn't tune in to the sound of a fresh set of footsteps – smart business shoes clicking off the polished wooden floor of the hotel lobby. They soon stopped in their tracks, and pivoted the person in them to look directly at the dishevelled figure of the former psychologist slumped over her letter.
"Well I don't bloody believe it," the voice came then, a sound that twisted Verity's gut in sheer annoyance. Not this....not now.
Irritated and not in the mood to entertain his chiding, Verity's glared up – well aware of her tear stained face, reddened nose and spiky wet lashes.
