• TOMMY SHELBY IMAGINES •

CARDIGAN

"I can do whatever the fuck I want to do! Ey!" He snapped, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from over the bar. And of course, with him being the Tommy Shelby, no one bothers with helping me out.

I stared at him wondering who the hell this man was. I hated when he got this drunk, in such a state of intoxication that despite how much I cry and yell, he'll laugh. He's the type of man who makes me look like an idiot after calling me telling me he's drunk and needs help.

"Thomas, please!"

It's times like this I wonder why I even bothered with coming here. What possessed me to get out of bed and put on some decent clothes. What an idiot I am? A lovesick puppy who marched outside in the freezing rain only to be made of a fool in front of my ex-husband.

His voice melted me, hearing him say my name in the phone. I was drawn to him, salivating to the thought of him needing me.

Please, babe. Please help me. I need you, come pick me up. I need you. Help me.

He needed my help. He had the bottle in his hand and took a swing at the liquor, not even wiping his mouth. I notice his trousers and large overcoat on, his lazy white sweatshirt, stained with brown alcohol and God knows what else. He raises the whiskey over our heads,

"You're too far gone—give me the-" I grab his coat and get on my toes, leaning into his chest. I'm close to holding the bottle, close to sorting him out when he decides to pour the liquor over the both of our heads. I gasp, stepping back and pushing the warm liquid from my eyes. I taste the heavy liquor and immediately go into a rage. Throwing my palms into his chest, I shouted and that's what grabbed every single persons attention in the pub. "You fucker!"

He sobered up immediately. That smirk on his face faded and he looked at me wondering what he had just done. My heart sank, seeing him look at me with these lost eyes. But the liquor was running in between my tits and I looked down at my new, and soaked, Saint Laurent coat.

I wondered in that moment if I'd dream of the innocent Tommy. Was it naive to wonder? I imagined him caressing my cheeks, like he had done so long ago. Telling me he was so lost, and that only I had the power to guide him back.

The memory of us then made me blink up at the man I once called my husband.

"Thomas?" I asked, clinging onto that version of him.

But he blinked and just like that, he was gone. My Tommy was no longer there, and instead the man who built up walls so high came back.

He slumped on the barstool and reached into his pocket. Putting enough money on the table to pay for everyone's round of Irish whiskey, Tommy didn't even look to see how much money he had put down.

He mumbled something to the barmaid, waving two fingers in the air. She looked petrified, and truthfully, I wanted to die.

I pressed my lips together and wrapped my coat around myself and looked down. Feeling the shame, the attention I so didn't need. Thomas was deteriorating in front of all of Birmingham's eyes. Everything was just getting to him, and whiskey seemed like the only thing that he could mingle with and not get mad at. But he was a mad drunk, the type of drunk that made me used to pour out half the gin in his bottle and substitute it with sugar water. The type of mad drunk that made me anxious whenever he'd come home after what I knew was a long day.

Thomas, our beloved Tommy became distant and unfamiliar. How sickening that was, seeing someone I knew since I was a child become unfamiliar.

Unfamiliar is what he's become, no matter how much I've tried to help him. And as he's learned to shut down, I've learned to respect him. Even if I hated being alone. Even if I've cried for a year.

I take a breath, and grab my purse from the bar. Leaning off of it, I take a step away from Tommy before feeling a hand clamp down on my wrist. He doesn't hurt me, instead, I watch as his thumb strokes my skin. The bracelet on my wrist, a gift from Tommy so many years ago. A charm bracelet, he called it.

His fingers lifted the loose gold around my wrist, he noted the small circular gemstone around it and padded his thumb over the T. T for Thomas. I looked down as he touched me so gentle, remembering the last time he touched me so softly.

I held my breath, my eyes trailing up his arm, to his slumped shoulder, until my eyes touched his neck and jaw, his chin, his bottom lip and then his top. He smiled small, lopsided and boyish. He melted my heart, and when my eyes hit his, he opened his mouth and I saw him mouth 'don't go'.

"How would it look if I stayed?" I whispered, feeling my eyes burn.

I was tried of being the woman who stayed and stuck around the abuse. And even though Tommy's never put his hands on me, there's been times when I was scared. There were times when my father and sister pleaded for me to leave him. Begged me to leave the marriage. You look like an idiot staying with him! She had told me, in tears, picking a fight with me.

"Who the fuck cares who it looks." He suggested, shrugging a little.

And sure, who the fuck does care? It was a valid question but I had an answer. I cared. I was tired of looking like a fool for a man I've only been there for time and time again.

I softened my eyes, pouting. "Come home with me." I put my hand over his, and tried to seal the deal by staring into his baby blue eyes. He hasn't slept for ages, this I can see, and it cuts me in two.

Calmly, he pulls his hand away and looks forward, he slams his fist on the bar hard, startling me and those along the bar. "Where the fuck are my drinks?!" He screams.

"Thomas–" I try calmly.

"Fuck off!" He screams. "Leave! Go!"

And just like that, everything that I've built. Everything that I've started in my head comes to a halt and I'm left not only alone, but embarrassed.