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*/ Chapter Seven - A girl is a gun.
When Evelyn turned 12, her father had noticed the striking resemblance she had to her mother. Amelia's eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, her hair dark as the skies in the winter—Charles' eyes were a murky brown, tendrils a light shade of copper in the sun. It didn't help that Michael, too, much resembled his woman and not him. The only thing that set Michael aside from Evelyn was the fact that he shared some of Charles' traits—the nose, the lips. But Evelyn, she was all Amelia. From the tips of her toes to the top of her head, she was every bit of her mother's daughter.
Perhaps it made it easier for him to press his fingers into the delicate skin of her throat, the dark strands of her hair clutched between his beefy fingers. It enraged him how his wife had died yet left so much of herself behind—in his daughter. He was so close to her, yet so fucking far away. Evelyn had struggled in her father's grip, and her hair was so long and untamed that she had choked on a mouthful of her own strands. It was the last time she had worn it down, or at least allowed herself to be seen with it.
To this day, she had her hair pinned back and wrapped into a bun. Sometimes braided, sometimes not—either way, her hair would never touch her neck when there were more than a pair of eyes set on her. It was easier this way too. She didn't need to constantly tuck it behind her ears when she was sketching into her books, and it never got caught in her clothes.
Sometimes she missed it, the version of herself that she never got to meet. If Charles was kinder, would she have been less caught up in her own head? Would she care so much about the thoughts of others and continue putting them above her own feelings? Would she be able to tell Michael no? Would she be able to tell anyone?
This question was tested as she stood in Tommy Shelby's office at his special request, claiming that he needed an extra pair of hands. For what was unspecified. She wanted to say no, really, she did—she had much to be done; orders to be completed. Not to mention the specially tailored suit for the aforementioned man himself. But Michael was the one to ask her, and she had never said no to him before.
