You woke with a start—sweat lined your brow. You were in Ada's living room, the sun peaking through the curtains indicating early morning.
You'd stayed the night. Without meaning to.
"Martin—," You whispered to yourself, shooting up so fast you got head rush. You folded the blanket that Ada had draped over you, no doubt when you'd fallen asleep, and left her house immediately.
Your hands fumbled as you slotted your key in the lock of The Red Rose. For some reason, you couldn't stop shaking. You hadn't felt this unstable and vulnerable—this anxious—in a very long time. You slammed the door shut and had to just stop.
Breathe. Breathe.
In through your nose, out through your mouth, three times over.
Your knees were the first thing to buckle, hitting the floor of the bar with a thud. You clutched your hand over your heart—it rattled within you with no remorse, no sense of ever stopping its incessant beating.
Sometimes you wanted it to stop. Just stop.
You knew what this was—you'd felt it before many times. When you felt the sweat pooling in your pores, when all you could focus on was the way your entire body throbbed with adrenaline, not the good kind.
A panic attack. You were having a panic attack.
You shut your eyes when your vision began to swirl. All it did was make you feel sick. Images hit you like a ten-tonne truck before you could stop them—
"Grace sent the invitation."
"The past is not the past."
"I love her. But I also love you, very much."
"Get out of my head—," You croaked. You held your head in your hands as you tried desperately to stop yourself from remembering—nothing worked.
Tommy Shelby was still there, engrained, solid as concrete, as solid as the first day he strolled into the Garrison and stubbed out his cigarette.
"How do I know I can trust you?"
"Get the fuck out of my head!" You screamed. Tears poured from your eyes as your three months in Birmingham hit you like a falling piano. Every ivory key was another memory—another moment with him—
Ones where he noticed you—
Was affectionate with you—
Trusted you, laughed with you, loved you—
Deceived you—
Left you. For her.
"Y/N?" Martin's voice brought you back to your senses, but the damage was already done. You bombarded into him as he crouched to your level, utterly unashamed of your tears and your body and your emotions.
"I can't do it—I can't," You stuttered out. "I thought I could, I really did," You forced yourself to look Martin in the eye, despite yours overflowing. "Going back to Birmingham felt good—like home, even—but this," You paused to let out a sob. "He wasn't meant to be here. He wasn't meant to be here ever,"
Martin knew who you meant; he knew you meant Tommy Shelby.
"What did he do to you, Y/N?" Martin asked, his face a picture of concern, despite all his bruises.
What hadn't he done to you, was the real question to ask.
It hit you in that moment that, despite your success, your new life, your work ethic, you—
YOU ARE READING
WOUNDS THAT NEVER HEAL || tommy shelby x reader
FanfictionPAINTING IT ALL RED: PART ONE WOUNDS THAT NEVER HEAL: PART TWO "It'll do you well not to speak to me like that, young lady," Young lady. Typical. "It'll do you well not to talk down on me, Mr Kinsmen. I own this establishment, me and me alone. I own...
