WOUNDS THAT NEVER HEAL || tommy shelby x reader

chapter seventeen

The Shelby's stayed in London for the next few weeks, overseeing their new club, protecting yours and invading your space;

Classic.

You'd wake up and go down to start preparations for your bar, just to be met with Michael and Polly having a morning cigarette and a chat. On few occasions, Tommy or Arthur or other Peaky Blinders would be with them. You only saw John occasionally, and you'd never speak.

It was all becoming too normal.

Being around the Shelby's like this again made you feel like you had two years before; a novice; stuck in the body and mind of someone who didn't know any better. You found yourself fumbling with small tasks that you knew perfectly, or forgetting things, like your cigarettes, or what mixer went with which cocktail.

It was driving you insane, making you feel weak when you were the leader in this scenario.

Not to mention the obvious tension that was still between you and Michael, and the guilt you felt about John still being held over your head.

It was odd to say it, but the only person you felt you could actually breathe around was Tommy. He said things as they were, he'd stopped making you feel small;

He was trying.

Really, truly, trying.

It only made you feel more confused about that kiss with Michael, and the obvious feelings he had for you.

You joined Polly one morning, two weeks after Goring. You slumped into the booth, tightening the strap on your dressing gown and letting your unbrushed hair fall over your eyes. You lit a cigarette as she looked you up and down.

"Rough night?" She chided, though you knew Poll hated small talk. Her conversations always turned into something meaningful. She had the ways of a trained therapist—she was capable of talking secrets out of you without you even realising.

"It was rammed last night," You replied. It was the truth, but only half of. You hadn't slept properly since getting back from Goring with Michael. You'd hardly spoken to him properly since he'd kissed you.

"You're not sleeping," Polly said; a statement. You stared at her sourly.

"No no, you're not doing that thing on me, Poll,"

"What thing?" She replied, the hint of a smile on her lips. You flicked ash.

"Making me talk about things without realising I'm doing it," You began. "I don't know if it's the gypsy blood in you that makes it so, but I don't want that thing anywhere near me," You gave her jazz hands whenever you said thing, just to add emphasis.

Polly laughed joyously.

"You do make me laugh, Y/N," She stubbed out her cigarette. "But there is something festering within you. I can feel it,"

"Well, un-feel it," You said, but you were close to laughing alongside her.

The door to the back opened abruptly, revealing Tommy and Martin. They chatted closely, making their way to the bar. You watched as they walked together, a feeling of annoyance rising up within you.

You didn't like the way Tommy was getting closer to Martin. Martin already wasn't a fan of him, since you'd told him of your past, but the way they always had a conversation on the go over the past two weeks was starting to get to you.

You forced yourself up from the booth, sending Poll a wave goodbye, before making your way to the door back to the flat.

"Y/N, wait," Tommy spoke up. You turned to him to see that he wasn't even looking at you. His eyes were plastered on documents that sat atop the bar. You waited, watching him as he gave Martin a nod and stuffed them in the pocket of his trousers.