Tommy Shelby finally recognises the extent of his mental damage. An Illness that is eating away at his conscious being, devouring every last morsel of sanity in his head.
An illness that finally forces him to seek counsel from a professional.
To fi...
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The morning arrived, a chill in the air outside that crept within the walls of the house - through the thin window panes and down the chimneys of the various fireplaces.
Verity was up and dressed before dawn had even called, her few amount of things she had collated together - bound to leave.
She had not slept much; the thought of breaking Henry's heart on her mind but more so the evident fact she had to once again, destroy the happiness of the little boy, Charlie Shelby.
In some ways Verity thought herself cruel, continually coming back here by whatever silly means - that Boy's heart had been on a rollercoaster ride and each time she had been there, the cart had derailed from the track somehow.
The psychologist was downstairs, her rather full handbag waiting at the side of the dogtooth armchair she now sat in, sipping a cup of tea she had made in the kitchen herself. It was before Francis' working hours, she didn't need to get the maid up to cater for her - that was the least convenient thing she could do.
Lord knows where Tommy was. That was always a thought with Verity - right from the start of their relationship (through the various renditions of it) - he had always been elusive. She could lay awake at night under the soft sheets and not even feel his presence for days in that house. He often scarpered, so free to do so - with his substantial monies and attentive maid to care for his forlorn son.
The tea in Verity's mouth was the only sweet breaker for the otherwise sour note in her mouth, derived from the sickly anxious feeling in her tummy. She so badly wanted to leave, but she could not. Not until she had faced the music one last time, although it never seemed to get any less painful - watching the tears fall from that little boy's eyes.
Rather fortunately, Verity did not have to wait too long for the encounter to fall right at her feet - as some time in the early morning, she could hear the thunder of rushed footsteps down the stairs and braced herself.
The padding of bare feet rounded the corner, and suddenly she set eyes on the Shelby son, who stood rubbing his eyes - still in his pyjamas.
"Good morning, Verity." He said politely, and she wordlessly smiled - the pain growing in her heart.
"Good morning, Charlie." Verity replied back after a few moments, deciding to bite the bullet and be done with it.
"I will be leaving shortly, I actually just wanted to see you before I left." She felt her words restrict on a tight breath, witnessing the slight scrunching of the boy's expression.
"You're... going again?" He sounded deeply hurt, and in disbelief. "But I thought... I thought you and daddy..."
Verity set down her empty tea cup, making her way over to Charlie in the doorway as she limped down onto her knees, pulling him into a tight hug.
"Charlie, that can't and won't happen." She whispered, aware of what he was trying to get at. The boy had been most happy around the time of his most recent birthday party - and not for the lavish gifts and the big celebration bash. He had been happy because there was the clearest indication that Verity and his father were something more than friends.
