ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : heaven is a place - amber run
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻
❝ Madness.❞
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A FEW MONTHS HAVE GONE BY... THOMAS CHOOSES MAR.
WHAT DOES MAR END UP DECIDING?
HER JOB AND HER ART.
IT WAS WINTER, and Mar was down at Shelby's house on the watery lane, assisting Aunt Pol with certain business operations early that morning. The Shelby Brothers Limited is quickly receiving increased attention, and the fruitfulness of her new job role has offered her more flexibility in managing her time. (Which is exactly what she chose to believe instead of acknowledging the fact that Tom was just being gentle to her.)
It wasn't just an ordinary morning, though; it was one of those special days that only she was aware of. Winter was the season she found out she was with a child, a few months after Thomas departed for the trenches, and despite her pain, she to this day deems the season just as special—sweet with a glimpse of spice.
"It's that period of the year, innit?" Polly asked, entering the room with a stack of papers.
And her heart sank. Mar had been offered no caution, and she had no idea what the comment meant.
"A-aye? Isn't it lovely?"
"Mari, you're such a silky and fiddly thing; no one understands how to take care of you." Polly appears to say, with an awful suppleness in her tone.
"I don't need taking care of Aunt Pol; I'm young and I can take care of myself." she says flatly.
"Oh dear, you've lost far too much at such a tender age; believe me, you need someone even though you detest accepting it." Pol affirms affectionately, taking a small step toward her.
"And so here I am, amidst all that." She revokes the statements and from the lady or makes an attempt to, but this time she does not let her.
"Did you regret it?" Pol goes on to ask in low tones. "All of it?"
Her soul lunged for a treacherous moment in the discussion. She was tempted to answer yes. She was regretful for being affiliated with him, for needing him as her joy, and for him being the father of her dearly departed baby girl. But even before she could nod, she realised it wasn't just him. The desolation of Watery Lane.
It was she and her wretched thoughts who were to be held responsible.
She's been cursed for years, and throughout that period, she's cried out for him. She'd begged the evening to send letters and paint her miseries so that she could get a smidgeon of him.
"A-aunt Pol, I don't—" She stammered, unsure of what else to say.
Even so, it was unwarranted. Polly edged closer to her, saying, "Don't ever mourn what you have performed with heartfelt kindness; nothing at all is misplaced; that's also birthed of the heart." she extended her hand to soothe her shoulder.
"Always recall, love: you have become so comparable to me, and we golden witches, as they call us, are also free to choose what helps make our souls flourish."
✵
LATER THAT AFTERNOON.
INSIDE THE SMALL HEATH CHURCH.
The entirety of the day cracks like an egg yolk, spreading yellow light all across the town's dreary pavements. Marianna James manages to escape from their home before the light is entirely devoured by depravity, having lost all feeling of peace since her discourse with the Shelby matriarch. Incorporating the fact that she was to cross paths with Thomas at the church didn't help her situation either.
Her skirt absorbs the dirty, wet ground she was strolling on as she gusts her way through the sooty lane stuffed with children's laughter. She plunges into the texture of them, clutching her new favourite sketch pencil in one of her pockets.
Mar takes a few steps back to gaze at the divine structure not far ahead. There he is. The monster was there. She should be frightened, anxious, or agitated. And yet Polly's utterances reverberate in her thoughts, backed up by the unseen.
We are free to choose what helps our souls flourish.
The occasion then drags itself up, unoccupied with rage but heavy with grieving, and when they walk into the church, all she sees is the mud smudged on her shoes. Thomas motions for her to take a seat beside him. Marianna did as she was told, mutely.
If she'd plop her feelings into words, they would've sounded like a newborn's bleat: she didn't want to be left alone. She wishes for somebody to be focused on her. She's feeling isolated. She's frightened. She wants to be loved, grazed, and held. All of this was to be done by him.
"Have you got the mail addressed to the office?" she inquired, going about her business. She came to talk business, and only business. And yet, the thought of kissing his lips was just as appealing as yanking her tresses out of her head.
Thomas makes an amused tut. "Received them, yes. Read them, yes. Understand them, no."
"There's one letter I know you understand quite well, alright." She vociferously proceeds, turning back slightly.
Grace has been sending Thomas letters on a frequent basis ever since the occurrence of Black Star Day. Letters remained unaddressed. Marianna thought it was funny to make certain that Thomas obtained and read it. It was a method of tormenting him that both ended up tormenting her.
"I don't respond to them, Mar. I barely read them." The man said, almost wearily, his palms clasped together.
She laughed out loud sardonically, taking pleasure in his torment. "You've got her wrapped around your calloused palm; you're such a dreamboat, eh?"
He pinches his heart and strains his ear to hear another word from her, but all he hears is their breathing and their hearts pummeling—nearly audibly in the sealed chamber.
He finally responded fleetingly, as far away as the breeze. "Was this a good sign? Must have been a great sign, or was it a pretty lame excuse?"
She squints at the flames on the altar positioned in front of them. "What is?"
He shrugs, then hesitates, "That you didn't leave me, abhorred me, cursed me."
She dismisses the assertions with a wave of her hand. "If you only knew Thomas, if you only knew what I told the moon about you."
"I knew I earned all of these," Thomas trailed off, Mar's silence mocking him. "Each snide quip, each frozen stare, slowly kills me, and I'll gladly die for you."
"That's life for us, Tom." She says as she stands.
"I know I have chosen this life, but I can't abide waking up with the knowledge that you're so near and yet so far."
Mar's cheekbones took on a dappled radiance. Thomas looked her in the eyes for a split second before looking away, ashamed and heartened by what he had seen.
Mar was too focused on the senses radiating from her heart and into her limbs. It was as though her skin had already been eroded away, revealing a shot of light and rough emotions.
"I ruined us, and I assume full responsibility." Thomas added as he stood up a foot in front of her.
Sighing, she tells herself it was to satisfy her deprivation and nothing more, as appetite is the body's natural method of supplying just what it recognises. "Did you regret it?" She inquired, seeking his eyes without regard to his wrongdoings.
"Every part of my soul," he entreats. Looking back at her, he whispered like a promise. "Here it goes, Mar. I love you."
"If you love me, you do not love me in some kind of manner that I understand." The phrases fell like dead weight tonnage, all heft, and no heat.
Thomas provided something from his suit's breast pocket. A piece of paper, no. A photograph.
"I apologise for everything. I promise to love you in a way you can fully comprehend. If you'll accept me back."
It was the family photo Marianna lost on one of her night shifts in the garrison before. The scrape was nowhere to be found as Thomas handed it back to her. He fixed it.
She reached out to touch it, holding the nostalgia in her palm.
Something caught Tommy's attention as she was doing this.
"Fuck," he said, taking Mar's palms in his as he caressed the bruised hands. "Your hands."
She shakes her head, fondling the only portrait she has of her mom and dad, herself, and her brother, looking as happy as ever.
To claim she was touched by the act of kindness would be an exercise in futility. Thomas' display of affection meant a great deal to her, that she's beginning to consider forgiving him. Perhaps opening her door to the devil once more wasn't such a bad punishment, she thought.
None of it is certain. All of it shifts, everything passes, it all revolves, everything scurries and fades away. If there's one thing that is unlikely to change, it's Thomas and Marianna's sense of belonging to each other.
"I'll show you how we're flawed enough to be redeemed." She said as she moves closer toward Thomas, unexpectedly near, and extends her hand, putting it on his chest above his heart. It took some time for him to eventually realise what Mar was doing: affirming his certainty.
This will be the point at which they'll kiss. At which point they stand nose-to-nose, skin tickling, lips almost but not quite pressing. They entombed an axe, and it's now burgeoning with flowers; the future is blank, and the past is a tunnel that cannot be crossed again.
"I worship you as much as I have the strength to worship anything, and I wish to obey you and serve you for the rest of my life." Each word had pierced his smart mind like artillery shells. Thomas believes he first fell in love with her years ago, when she swung her leg over his horse and settled in behind him.
She responded with something he couldn't hear because her smile, full and without reservation, had knocked him back a step.
"Will you dance with me, Tommy?"
The candles surrounding them are twitching as they confront one another. Thomas' sweat smells like tobacco, whisky, and mint. Marianna felt like a bird wobbling the evening out of its feathers as they held hands and swayed. Then she little by little kisses him, her palm behind his jaw, his fingers in her hair, as she protects him while he continues to hold her in his arms.
Thomas' mouth rests on her. He poured everything he felt and everything he was into the kiss. Sure, he is a creature of words. But even so, there are moments when only action will suffice. And besides, life may have seemed lengthy at times, but he knew this would pass quickly, and he could not bear to miss any minute.
Marianna rubbed the short hair at the nape of his neck, allowing an inadvertent shudder from the back of Tommy's throat, like that of a stroked cat.
"Here it goes," she said slowly and carefully, nearly coyly, in their native tongue. "Tommy, I love you."
It should suffice. Beautifully loving one another should be sufficient. Marianna had always been Thomas' painkiller in the same way that Thomas had been Marianna's affliction. And together, they are always meant to be accursed.
Their names would soon be renowned, together with the word love. And, in love, there is always some madness. Yet there is always some reason for madness.
Fortunately, Thomas Shelby and Marianna James had conquered such methods of madness.
𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙩𝙬𝙤.
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2035 words.
[UNEDITED]
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author's note:
And season one has now come to an end! I hope everyone enjoyed how I poured my soul into every phrase in this work, as well as that, fingers crossed, you'll be thrilled with the continuation.
"Method of Bedlam" is the title of book two in the 'memories of' series. Go, Check it out on my profile and add it to your libraries, and don't be reluctant to follow me as well.