𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄 ♚ 𝙩. 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙗𝙮

ⅱ - 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳

"I can't just tell you to do things and magically it's all better. Improving your mental health requires patience, time and the ability to open up and dig through past issues in order to find ways to let things go – move onto the future."

Hearing this, Tommy scoffed to himself in bitter disbelief. He hoped this would be a quick fix, yet it sounded to laborious to even try. His mind was like a locked chest, bound in several entwining layers of thick set chain, all padlocked and battened down. As far as he was concerned, there was no getting in.

"Then I'll be wasting my time, won't I?" he started, standing up and pushing away from the desk as if he was about to take his leave.

"Thank you for your time, Dr Grant. But I don't see this working for me." He announced, his face slightly devoid of any emotion aside from anger – and disappointment. A disappointment that Dr Verity Grant saw right through.

As Thomas Shelby's looming, darkly dressed figure sauntered quickly across the room to the door, Dr Grant made no attempt to flag him down. After all, she could not force him to engage with the psychological therapy. All she could get him to do was think about the things he was saying, the things he has done and the things he wanted to do.

"You appear frustrated about this, Mr Shelby?" She called out, just as Thomas' hand closed around the brass door knob to twist it open. His face crumpled into a frown against the sheltered seclusion of the door, before the blinder turned around to face the psychologist who sat in her chair, legs crossed over the glass of water in her hand.

He paused a moment, thinking whether you just walk out of the door or actually stay and see what exactly the idea was with this mysterious woman.

"Yes, I am frustrated." Tommy started, hand falling away from the door knob as he remained firmly planted in the floor beside with the clean, white door. "Frustrated it isn't going to be easy like I assumed it would be." He added, again, those stoic looking blue eyes gave away little information.

Verity knew she had her work cut out.

"You should know by now, Mr Shelby – that very little in life is easy." She proposed, gesturing her head to the chair opposite where he had formally sat minutes ago. "Take a seat, we'll start again. If you want, we can talk about some of the things that are bothering you."

Tommy scoffed again at her words – start again. How he wish he could have done. Lived that simple life he had the smallest taste of before the war. Worked with horses like he had so wished do as a child.

His gaze diverted to the floor, presumably in thought. The next few seconds were spent mulling over his options. Dr Grant could see his brain was considering it – fight these anxieties and face getting some help, or flight – run away and go back to his life being haunted by all these things that were breaking him down.

Dr Grant broke out into a quiet smile as she watched the feared gang leader make his way back across the room, and resume his seat opposite at her at the desk.

"Fantastic." She smiled invitingly, having another sip of her water. "Where shall we start?"

"Can you get me a whisky rather than this shite?" He gestured to the glass. It was funny, his language choice was abrasive yet his tone delivered the words with this casual crassness that rather watered it down. The psychologist had to laugh as she stood up and went back to the cabinet by the window, where she kept various bottles of alcoholic tipples.

"Irish?" Verity called over, standing up as she lifted the bottle out of the cabinet and showed it to Mr Shelby, to deem whether it met his standards.