Nothing New / Peaky Blinders

𝘅𝗶: breather

She froze under his touch, gulping. Olivia couldn't help it, the way even her brother's touch reminded her of that dreaded, dead, man in the alleyway. Olivia couldn't help the way she reacted when she saw him everywhere, yet still couldn't figure out who it was.

Her toes curled inside her socks. (Tommy's socks.) And she looked up at Tommy with fear in her eyes.

He looked back at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You—"

You weren't in Watery Lane, Olivia. Your feet were planted firmly on that cobbled path, that man's calloused hands, so similar to your brother's, wrapped around your throat, tossing you onto the floor, gripping the bottle neck and making you bleed. Sending a message.

He was here. Stood squeezing your shoulders, coming back to finish the job you interrupted, finish the job he started of killing Olivia Shelby.

Her body seemed to be moving for her, an ache forming already in her head, as if the man came back as a pain in her head to remind her of what she'd done. She stood up, not that she'd told herself to do that. "I gotta make my bed." Olivia stumbled over the words that fell out of her mouth, "Polly'll 'ave me head..."

She trailed off.

And her legs were storming up the stairs before she knew it, before she could've told them to.

John watched her go, "Do I—"

Tommy threw the bits of toast back onto her plate, "No. Leave her."

John watched his brother leave this time, and felt an ache in his own chest knowing he couldn't help his sister.

❋

Her breathing is deep, as she paced the floor of her bedroom, the ringing in her ears blocking out the creak of her floorboards beneath her feet, and her hands are pushed against her eyes as if that would stop the visions of the alleyway from appearing.

She pushes her hands onto her eyes till they hurt. And yet, nothing hurts as much as that night. Nothing hurts as much as the burning sensation around her wrist she feels constantly, nothing hurts as much as her head which plagues her with memories, nothing hurts her as much at the realization she can't go back, she's stuck with this pain.

And nothing, nothing, truly hurts Olivia as much as the thought of being reminded of the man's touch every-time someone squeezes her shoulder, or tries to hold onto her hand. Nothing could hurt as much as knowing you were doomed to feel the ghost of someone else dancing along your skin when all you sought was a comforting squeeze, or a comforting hold.

Her hands felt wet. Olivia hoped she'd made herself bleed, but she knew it was tears and deep down, she didn't know how she'd react to blood on her hands.

That would no doubt send her into a frenzy.

Olivia stood still, momentarily: hoping that if she stood still, everything else would too. If she stopped moving, if she stopped thinking and if just for a spilt second she held her breath, the ghost would leave her alone, her mind would stop racing and nothing would harm her.

She bit her teeth into her lip and peeled one eye open.

There was no creaking of her floorboard, there was no panic. It was silent.