"even when she was lying, there was a certain truth she always told"
A pretty girl, a deal gone wrong, an ultimatum, and a death...
Another average week for the Peaky Blinders.
[T. Shelby]
[Under Editing]
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It played out almost exactly the same way it had the first time around.
Thalia barely registered the pain, only caring about watching Tommy. He quickly shot Théo, finally killing him for good, after he'd attempted to kill Tommy in the beginnings of his proposal. Tommy glanced back at Thalia with worried eyes—eyes that became wide with shock when he scanned over her body for injury. Thalia stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time, trying desperately to memorize every curve and every line that made up his face, from the sharpness of his jaw to the cut of his cheekbones, her gaze eventually travelling across his lips, his nose, and settling on his eyes.
God, he had such beautiful eyes.
It was cold. She couldn't breathe.
He was at her side in an instant, catching her before she even realized she was falling. She had blinked and seemingly missed the moments in which she crippled to the ground, a strong arm around her waist, pressing precariously close to the wound she knew was exploding across her abdomen, but she, strangely, did not register the pain. She was numb, she supposed. She was numb, but she was drowning. Drowning in his arms and his scent and his eyes, his eyes, his eyes.
She couldn't hear the drumming anymore.
"Why would you do that?" Tommy's voice was barely a whisper.
Do what? She wondered, before the memory of pushing him out of the way and using her own body to shield him kicked back in, despite being only seconds old.
The patch of red was in the center of her chest this time around, and it began darkening the pale white of her shirt. She found herself being thankful that she would not ruin another dress, at least. She placed a hand over the new wound, aware of the searing pain, but, at the same time, utterly oblivious to it.
Perhaps, she would have no need of dresses, ruined or otherwise, anymore.
Tommy clutched her tight to his chest, easing her to the ground slowly as he knelt down on one knee. He pressed a hand over hers atop the wound, trying to keep pressure on it in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding that showed no signs of slowing.
Maybe her brother was a better marksman this time around; maybe she had not gathered luck on to her side this time around. All she knew was that this wound felt different, and the cold dread of an absolute over took her.
"Tommy," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. He shook his head, his jaw set with determination and his eyes alight with panic and anger.
