𝑵𝑶 𝑴𝑬𝑹𝑪𝒀 | 𝐓.𝐒 |

𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 : 𝚌𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍'𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚠

She took her hand back with a raised eyebrow, she glared at him, voice slightly raising, "What are you doing here?"

"Let's talk," Thomas replied.

"No, I want you out of my house," she calmly said but he did not pay any attention to her, instead Thomas made himself comfortable at her chaotic house, he took out a half-empty bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Before sitting on the settee, he poured a drink. What the fuck is seriously wrong with this man? Fucking hell. 

Seeming like she cannot chase him out of the house, she just gave up and sat on a chair across of him. Mercy adjusted the table lamp that fell over, the bulb was still intact so she didn't need to buy a new one. Thomas slides the glass to her. "Why the fuck are you avoiding me?" Thomas clenched his jaw, his eyes still bore at the woman in front of him. 

"I'm not," she answered simply, too tired to waste her energy from spouting nonsensical things. 

Me? I'm the one who's avoiding him? Nutter. She rolled her eyes at him, grabbing the whiskey-filled glass, and sipped it. "Rubbish," Thomas muttered.

"You're the one who's been avoiding me," Mercy pointed out.

"Am I now? You ignored me the day you found out I've been paying Lizzie Stark a visit," he crossed his legs and leaned on the back of the settee, his long fingers searched for the cigarette box.

"What is it to you? You bed Lizzie Stark--Oooh, you fancy me now, Thomas? Is that it?" Mercy put her hand over her chest and dramatically gasped at him. Thomas is being ridi-fucking-culous. Instead of answering, he just gulped down the whiskey and lit his cigar. 

"And you fuck John," he accused causing her to drop her jaw. "I don't know what's going on inside your fucked up head, but John? Are you shitting me, Thomas?" her voice began to raise again, a flash of anger crossed her face. 

"Lovelock saw 'im leaving your house in the middle of the night," Thomas said with a sigh of frustration, inhaling the smoke from his cigar. 

"Well, you also left my house in the morning, did we fuck?" she countered his half-witted accusations. John learned that she was a nurse, that being so, he asked her for medicine for dyspepsia. He said that Polly's treatment made it worse.

She walked to the kitchen and skipped on the broken grandfather clock laying on the floor, she grabbed the bottle of rum hiding inside her cupboard and drank it furiously. She leaned on the sink and watched Thomas approach her.

Mercy cannot hide her resentment towards him anymore, Thomas basically fucked up her life. And now, she can't stay in Small Heath no more. No one wants to employ someone like her, so how could she fend for herself? She nibbled her lower lip, thinking of another place to run away to. 

Mercy caught his eye, her anger bubbling up once more, "Because of what you did, people treat me like I have some fucking disease. I got fucking sacked from my job and now I almost died! Just bloody brilliant!" she laughed sarcastically, the bottle of rum still on her hand, much to her surprise, Thomas snatched in from her and threw it on the ground. 

"What the..."

The brown-colored liquid splashed on her legs along with its shards, she groaned in pain and sent Thomas a narrowed look. His rough hand grabbed her by the cheeks making her grip the edge of the sink. The cigar was on his other hand, and the smoke was between them.

Her eyes meet his icy orbs, the same eyes that she felt she was drowning in. The same eyes that once looked at her with amusement now lacked remorse and were clouded with a sliver of rage. "Oi, you fucking listen to me, you ungrateful whore. I saved you from the fucking bastard and this is what I get?"