Liliana Mae Rosa Shelby // A Thomas Shelby Fanfiction // UNDER EDITING

7- ROUGH LOVE

"Bella," Tommy groaned as he rolled over, feeling nothing as his hands searched the mattress. Squinting his eyes at the sunlight peering through the curtains, Tommy sat up in bed and ran his hands through his hair, wondering where his wife was. 

She had been getting better and had stopped self-harming, but she had still been so distant. She rarely spoke, mostly cried, and would only see Tommy at night when he'd crawl in bed nearing midnight. He would still hold her at night and allow her to cry into his chest, and it was times like those he would see how broken she was. She had put up this persona for so long and had gotten on with everything, she had gone back to work as a nurse and she was moving on, but the guilt that ran through her veins got too much sometimes. 

The night before, she had cried for hours on end. Tommy held her all night and gently stroked her hair, promising her sweet nothings and leaving little kisses on her head. He didn't need to say much, nor did Bella need words, all she needed to know was he was there, and feeling his skin against hers was all she needed. 

But, the two were still just as broken. They were both snorting snow and getting drunk at weekends, Isabella was barely sleeping and Tommy was getting into fights and getting arrested constantly, the two were having rougher sex and becoming erratic. They were slowly becoming people they promised themselves they never would be.

The mirror situated in front of Tommy exposed the bruises on his neck from the previous nights intimacy with his wife, and he knew hers would be just as bad. It wasn't forceful, nor was it out of hate, but the anger had built up inside of them for so long that sex was the only time they could release all of their pent up emotion. 

His trance was interrupted when his wife opened their bedroom door, her small frame swaddled in one of his shirts, her messy hair resting at her waist. Her skin was tired and her eyes were puffy, and Tommy couldn't help but look at her neck for any sign of bruising, and once he saw the purple colouration poking out of the collar of his shirt, he felt physically sick. 

"Where have you been?" 

"Mum rang," she told him, eerily walking up to the shared bed and sitting on the edge, her tanned skin against the white sheets. "Sent her condolences," she scoffed. 

"Bella," Tommy sighed, reaching his hand out to her. 

"She's not dead, Tommy. I know she's not," Isabella panicked, her dark eyes filling with tears once more. 

"Bella-," he repeated.

"Tommy just tell me she's not dead.

"BELLA," he shouted, the volume of his tone startling his wife. "Just come here, Jesus." 

Mumbling something inaudible, Bella shifted towards Tommy and sat between his legs, her head lay on his chest. Pressing a kiss to her hair, Bella began to play with Tommy's fingers. "How did you sleep?" 

"Scattered," Tommy replied, "you?" 

"Same," she mumbled. 

"You've lost weight," he noted. She was small as it was and there was hardly anything on her at the best of times, but Tommy noticed her spine was more prominent, and he hated it. 

"And you haven't?" She questioned, turning her head to look up at her husband with raised eyebrows. 

"I'm worried about you," Tommy admitted, his voice breaking. He rarely cried in front of Bella but he had his times, and he had so much guilt flowing through his veins 24/7 it came a time where he had to break.