TALES OF THE HEART ❦❧ HELEN MCCRORY CHARACTER ONESHOTS

dancing through our house...

1st of all. If you haven't watched Peaky blinders S6E1 yet, maybe don't read

2nd of all, you don't have to but listen to the song, it's semi based on it.

TW; Very sad, I cried writing it pfhahaha

"Here I am waking up Still can't sleep on your side"

It's getting tougher to get out of bed every morning. She isn't here. She isn't going to come back. She's no longer with us. For weeks, I had hoped that this was not the case. Polly was still alive. When she was transported in a white body bag to Tommy, I was there. When he first opened the bag I'll never forget the heartbreak I felt when I saw her face, so pale and lifeless. I had to be dragged away by Arthur. I didn't want to leave her, and I certainly didn't want to believe it. And I wouldn't let Tommy approach me since it was all his fault; if he hadn't plotted against the IRA, I'd be lying with Polly, snuggled to her breasts, most likely still sleeping. I can't sleep

I can't sleep on her side when and if I do sleep. I can't seem to move in my sleep and I'll wake up on my side as if she's still there. I dream of her anytime I sleep. Mainly good dreams where she will tell me everything is fine, they feel so real. The nightmares feel more real, I am living them. I miss her so much that the bags beneath my eyes are evidence of it. It has been almost a year, and I don't believe I've had a good night's sleep since. Arthur visits me on a regular basis to see how I'm doing. He's in as much pain as I am. He needed his Aunt, but she's no longer with us. We cope by working together. Others used to come to check as well, but after a few months, they stopped. It's only a passing visit. I can't stand seeing Thomas anymore.

Everything in my home serves as a constant reminder of her presence. After all, it is Her house. I don't have the heart to get rid of anything because she decorated practically everything. I haven't even moved anything in her small study. I open the door now and then, and her aroma is still there. I approach her desk and pull out a drawer. A well-organized shamble. In there, she kept love letters. To me, that is. She never sent them; she promised to deliver them to me on our golden anniversary, our 50th. "I'm not going to leave you Y/N, therefore you won't be able to read them until our golden anniversary. Maybe by then, we'll be Grandma's." She used to tell me. I have yet to open them. I don't want to break her promise. Our golden anniversary, but that is still 40 years away.

Just as I haven't touched anything in her study, and I haven't touched the coffee cup with the red lipstick stain. It was her personal favourite. The stain has started to fade. Without me, all memory of her would begin. They're all moving on. I don't think I'll ever be able to move on. I don't know how I'm going to move on when she was the only thing I had. She is still the only thing I have. Well, I don't have her just memories, and home decor.

I drink her favourite whisky. It takes the edge away. I have dreams that she is with me. I put on her favourite song on the record player in the corner of the room. We're swaying to the music, laughing, smiling, kissing, and snuggling, and she's in my arms. Because she was shorter, she rested her head on my shoulder as I kissed her hair. We were constantly in a good mood. When we were alone, I witnessed Polly at her most calm and happiest. That made me extremely delighted. When I play her song, everything disappears. She's still in my arms, I'm still in hers. Life feels good.