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Birmingham, 1919
While Tommy and his Blinders were plotting and planning their attack on Billy Kimber and his enterprise, Isabella was driving back and forth between university and Small Heath, along with Eric comfortably seated in the passenger seat.
Eric, who was also in his second year of his law studies, enjoyed both spending time with his friend, who he had dearly missed, and being driven to and from the school, rather than having to spend close to four hours walking daily.
Like a good little school girl, Isabella kept herself occupied and buried in all her studies. Her never-ending law, medicine and surgery, arts, and mechanical and engineering classes kept her busy.
She would spend hours on end after returning from her lectures burying herself in all her work. Never allowing her brain to wander away from her assignments. Not to the blood that now stained her hands. Not to the mother who hadn't left the police station and continuously begged them to find her missing son. Not to the list of names burning through her pocket. And definitely not to the haunting memories Small Heath brought forth.
Not to mention John calling her out for being covered in another woman's lipstick loomed over her. When was he going to try to fix her? When was he going to punish her? What was he waiting for? Why hadn't he done anything yet?
Whenever her mind wasn't distracting itself, it was torturing her with hundreds of simultaneous thoughts of her approaching punishment, of her revenge filled fantasies, of how her dear brothers left her, of the feeling of electricity cruising through her body, of the guilt she felt for not feeling anything remotely close to remorse for the life she had taken, and of the disgust she felt every time the wandering hands would return.
Isabella was completely engrossed in her schoolwork, her volunteer work at the hospital and at the judges office, and whatever spare time she had was used to build her own car and hang out with Hatter and her friends.
She wasn't allowing herself to feel anything, not guilt, nor anger, not her hunger for revenge, not sadness, nor her bloodthirst, and especially not her never ending depression.
Most importantly, she didn't allow herself to twitch with the need to get her hands on something sharp and slit her own throat. The need she constantly fought against every time the dirty Small Heath air hit her nose.
"Are you going to the race as well?" Eric asked as they drove through the streets of Birmingham after yet another day of lectures.
"Huh?"
"The one Tommy invited us to?" Eric explained.
"What?!" Isabella snapped her head toward Eric while her foot pressed on the breaks, causing Eric to almost smack his head against the windscreen. "What the fuck do you mean he invited you lot?!"
