A Collection Of Thomas Shelby Imagines

Never Enough

Shelby!Sister

"I'll still be here waiting for you to answer my call," Tommy says to you.

Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms stubbornly across your chest, you say, "I don't need your help, Tommy."

Tommy stands abruptly from his chair behind his desk. Often, you thought his desk made him look powerful and you also thought that was also why Tommy liked it so much; it made him feel important.

"You will answer when I call you —"

"Or what?" You shout, your hands balled in fists at your side, before whispering, "It isn't supposed to be this hard."

Tommy is standing, eyebrows raised, his arm held mid-air and his finger pointing at you across the room and his mouth is left hanging. The air in the room stood still, waiting for him to make the first move. You refused to say anything but your face displayed raw emotions.

Instead of saying anything, his arm falls to his side and he straightens his posture. Your eyes were full of tears threatening to spill every second that you took a breath. Your chest was rising and falling harshly, displaying your distress in ways that you couldn't have verbally explained.

"What's on your mind?" Tommy says, looking down at his desk, avoiding eye contact with you.

You laugh, hysterically.

He was playing dumb like he didn't know why you were about to break down in his office.

"I'm your sister, Tommy. And you betrayed that trust, the — the bond that we used to have," you stutter.

Your hands clench and unclench continuously, trying to keep yourself from throwing something at him. He's contemplating what to say to you next, trying to plan every move he makes from now on, like a pathetic game of chess with your mind. He was trying to figure out what you were thinking and then how to dodge whatever you were going to accuse him of. He'd heard that kind of tone before. He could also see it in your face — nothing makes you this angry.

Adamantly, Tommy clenches his jaw and says, "How?"

That one word. The one word that would later be the demise of you. How?

You didn't know what to say; you didn't want to relive those moments of your life; they were horrible moments that you knew would make you crack every time you thought about them all over again. But how could you avoid them?

"You know what you did, Thomas. The second you did it, you knew what you had done and you would have to face as a result of your actions," you whispered, your voice breaking as you held back tears. Closing your eyes, you let a tear slip, one that shed pain, anger and upset. You took a deep breath and continued to stare at him, waiting for his response.

"I can't live with being by myself," you say, "and you ripped that away from me, Tommy."

He doesn't say anything to you.

"I can't get you off of my back. I couldn't," you let out a sob, "past tense. I suppose I'm alright now, eh?"

He speaks up, "Now, after what?"

Without thinking, you scream your response at him, "After you killed him, Tommy!"

Your face is red, blotchy as a result of the crying and eyes slowly swelling up. Your chest was tight and your throat raw, you didn't know what else to do.

"I've been putting us first. Our family, the Shelby's. Us first, that's what I've been doing. He had to go."

Your face falls, your legs are weak and you collapse onto a chair in the office.