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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Even the slightest offset of unfamiliar stitching in the sheets roused Verity from a foggy and dense sleep, feeling like a prominent cloud hung around her brain yet she felt she had gotten no rest. In those first few discombobulated moments, her hazel eyes adjusted to the room around her – and the reality of the previous night's events flooded in. This room had served as only a ghostly reminder in recent months of what worse, it only existed in the corner of her brain where she allowed it... yet here she was again, with the very real and grounded feeling of knowing exactly where she was.
Adjusting herself upwards towards the head board, a fiery pain shot down her ankle which caused the psychologist to hiss outwardly. With a furrowed brow, she plumped her pillow behind herself and felt considerably trapped once again. She could recall the encounter with Tommy, which felt strangely bizarre in the cool white light of a new day – such light that was hoping to peek through the dense and dramatic long curtains that hung in each room of Arrow House.
However any recollection beyond the point where she had tried to leave seemed mixed in her mind – like a selection of puzzle pieces tossed out onto the ground haphazardly.
Some muffled voices from beyond the door caused her to escape the ruminations of her mind for a second.
"Master Shelby, Miss Grant is not very well. She is resting right now, you must keep your voice down." It was Francis, taking on a rather stern yet hushed tone – clearly thinking Verity might still be resting.
"But she's back! I want to see her!" the young boy was desperately trying to keep his voice down but the excitement was hard to the child to contain. Verity knew the pure joy in Charlie's voice would be the only thing to bring a smile to her face.
"Come along Charlie, I'm sure she'll be up after your lessons are finished." Francis' voice seemed tired, even more laboured than it had beforehand. Verity did wonder what the house had been like after she was gone, she could only imagine Charlie's sadness as he had often described to her in the letters that it had been difficult without her.
The sound of the little boy's footsteps rushing back down the corridor left her with a lonely feeling once more of being bound up in bed all day, which Verity already knew would drive her crazy. Besides, she had to get in contact with Henry and let him know she was alright – and that her appointments for the next few days would probably need cancelling until she could get out of this place.
The first item to do once the psychologist had found the least painful way to leave the bed, was to throw open the curtains in the room – allowing soft morning light to pour in generously. It considerably lightened the anxious feelings that shrouded Verity in doubt, the fear that she wasn't quite sure how the next day or so was going to pan out.
She passed the nearby full length mirror, taking a look at herself in that crisp white night dress she had been changed into. A moment of panic grabbed her, and for a second she worried maybe Tommy might have gotten her changed and put her to bed – however the very neatly folded and pressed clothes at the dressers told her that clearly Francis had been the one; relief with immediate effect.
