Astor // Arthur Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 45

My eyelids flutter open, my vision hazy and blurred. A dull ache grows through my head and intensifies with each second that passes. Like someone hammering their way through my skull. I blink, forcing the room around me to come into focus — dimly lit. Sterile.

Suffocating.

The send of disinfectants and despair.

Confusion swirls within me, tangled strands of fragmented memories, each competing for my attention and growing louder until I cannot focus on any of them at all. I try to move from where I lie on my back, but my limbs are so heavy, like I'm shackled by invisible chains. Panic surges through me as my heart pounds against the confines of my chest.

Small details cut through the noise — an iron bed frame, the paint chipped and worn. A threadbare mattress beneath me with visible patches of the stuffing. A cracked mirror on the wall opposite me, the damaged surface distorting every reflection, mirroring my state of my mind yet nothing of my appearance.

With a jolt, I register the tight grip of straps confining my wrists and ankles. My chains are not invisible. They are made of leather.

The realisation sends fear through my spine as I strain desperately against the bindings. My breath quickens in my chest and panic overwhelms me — and then the screams reach my ears.

Anguished cries pierce the veil of my confusion, travelling from rooms away, no more than a dull echo by the time they reach my ears. After some time, I realise my own have joined them.

But then I clamp my mouth shut. I blink away tears from my eyes.

"Hello?" I call out. My voice trembles, uncertain, hoping for a response. "Are you alright?"

Nobody answers.

I think the silence is more terrifying than the screaming.

The door creaks open, and in walks a man in a white coat. Beneath it, I catch glimpses of a charcoal suit, starch white shirt, a thin, dark tie neatly knotted at the base of his throat. He looks academic, clinical. He holds a notebook and a pen.

"Ah, you are awake," he tells me, closing the door behind him. "Your husband will be pleased. He has been waiting to see you."

Suddenly, I calm.

Arthur.

I'll be okay. If he's here, there's no way I won't be okay. He'll have a plan. Warmth spreads through me like pouring milk into black tea.

"My name is Doctor Westwood." He flips through the chart in his hands. "We hoped to begin with less invasive treatments, but you failed to show up for any of your scheduled appointments."

I blink. "What appointments?"

He smiles, almost sadly. "I was told you might feign ignorance. Your parents filled out a few forms prior to your admittance." He shuffles through the chart. "Apparently, your hysteria and moral insanity have been evident for many years now. All leading to this nervous breakdown."

Anger burns so hot in my blood, I can release it only as a sardonic laugh. "Fuck you."

The doctor sighs. "I see we have a great deal of work to do. But my main concern, Mrs Changretta, is this fictional person you have created. A soldier from the war. Arthur Shelby."

"Fictional?" I tug even harder against my restraints, convinced I can tear through them, break the buckles, if I only try hard enough. The straps burn my wrists red hot. "This isn't funny. Let me go now, and I might spare your life."

"Mrs Changretta." His voice is gentle, though his eyes stay cold and clinical. "Arthur Shelby does not exist. When you married your husband, you dissociated completely from reality."

"You think I'm stupid? Weak-minded?"

Before I can tell him what to do with his theories, the door opens once more.

"Mr Changretta," Doctor Westwood says. "Do come in."

Where my heart was pounding before, it now freezes in my chest.

Nothing in my life has been more terrifying than lying here on the hospital bed, completely powerless, as Luca strolls ominously into the room, hat tipped down low over his face. He smirks, and my hands ball into fists, desperate to punch him.

He's right here. We've been trying to draw him out for months, and now he's here. I want to scream. If Arthur and his brothers only knew, if —

Arthur.

It all comes flooding back to me now.

What have they done with Arthur?

"I hate to see you like this," Luca says, his voice obviously gloating as he comes to stand at my side. "It breaks my heart, to know what you're going through. I never should have left for New York." He takes my restrained hand in his own. I dig my fingernails until they bite into his skin, clawing until I draw blood. He doesn't react in any way the Doctor can see. But he begins to crush my knuckles until I'm biting back a whimper. "Don't worry. I have told them not to spare any treatment. I just want you to be well again. To be my wife. I want us to be happy."

He releases my fingers. I cannot move any of them.

"Narcosis therapy," the Doctor says, more to Luca than to me. "We'll sedate her for a period of time, allowing her brain to rest and provide relief from the emotional turmoil. We'll wake her up and check her mental state. If there is no improvement, we'll repeat the therapy for greater lengths of time until there is. As the brain heals, she will forget the memories causing her anguish. We'll cleanse her of the illness, Mr Changretta."

Luca holds his chin thoughtfully, his eyes darting to me wickedly before speaking. "So this Arthur Shelby character she has created... she'll forget him, too?"

"Almost certainly."

I say nothing. I only glare at him, at them both. A tremor begins in my knees, spreading through my body, and I am furious — my own body is betraying my terror, even when my mind is refusing to break. No matter what they do.

"Good," Luca says. "Because if he were a real man, I wouldn't kill him. I'd leave him on the sidewalk. Make sure he lives knowing that he's lost."

"It's called a fucking pavement," I spit, unable to help myself.

But Luca only turns to the doctor sadly. "I really hope you can help her. If not, I'll be taking my sizeable donation to another hospital that can."

"We'll start with ten days," Doctor Westwood quickly responds, writing down notes. "I'll move her onto the ward at once. We'll keep you informed of any progress."

Luca leans down to me, ready to kiss me goodbye. He's enjoying this.

Before he gets a chance, I bite down on his lip as hard as I can.

He cries out, and I taste blood, my teeth scraping against his flesh until he digs his thumbs into my jaw sockets, and I have no choice but to release. He's dripping with blood. And finally his fury shows, breaking through his calm facade.

He glares at me, revealing the pure and utter loathing and hatred he feels for me.

I realise, whatever he tells this doctor, he doesn't want a subservient wife. He wants me to die slowly and painfully. He wants me to die with no memories of Arthur at all.

"Put her under for a fucking month," he spits, spraying blood at the doctor before jamming his hat back on his head and leaving.