Treat yourself.

What I Created Today.

Legs & Ledges.

Today. ❤️

“And the common folk danced off of the feat [of their hero] and were very glad. To them, life was not hopeless as long as their champion was in the fight.”

~*Zora Neale Hurston

Photo: Stanley Weston, Muhammad Ali (then Cassius Clay), age 20

“Tell Me”

Not me finally writing again!?! I started watching Peaky Blinders, and suddenly, I was inspired. There’s something about a man in a suit. Okay, there’s something about Cillian Murphy playing Thomas Shelby while wearing a suit. Whew! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this one. 

His lips curled around the thin paper. The loose cigarette dangling, waiting for the heat from the flames. Tommy lit the stick quickly, feeling the weight of the day mounting on his shoulders. The pressure threatening to ruin his night. Dipping his head back, he felt the smoke fill his lungs before he released it, along with all his troubles. It was a temporary escape, but it grounded him. The inhale. The exhale. The vapors. It allowed him to tune the world - his world - out.

In France, it helped him forget the daily stench of death. Huddled next to boys pretending to be men, covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, he smoked to feel his lungs expand and contract. To taste the bitterness of the tobacco on his lips. To feel nothing and something. Despite, the trenches that served as inevitable graves and overnight asylums, lighting the loose cigarette and inhaling it was his. It was the one bloody thing that couldn’t be taken from him. 

“Mr. Shelby.” 

His jaw tensed, fighting the annoyance that crept up his neck. He never hated his surname, except when she used it. 

“I didn’t know you were still here.”

He opened his eyes, removing the pocket watch from his breast pocket to confirm the time. Seven on the dot. He’d caught her.

“I’ll come back.” Her voice wavered. She was avoiding him. He was sure of it now, and it wouldn’t have bothered him, except…

“How was the wedding?” Tommy closed his eyes again, feeling his chest expand. The smoke creating a cloud around him. “I sent a gift.” 

He didn’t have to look at her to know she was twisting her right earring. Never the left, always the right. If it was Monday, she wouldn’t be wearing any earrings because after work, she’d have to babysit her nieces. Two toddlers that liked to pull everything down including their aunt’s jewelry. She learned that the hard way, and so on Mondays, she didn’t wear any. 

“Mr. Shelby.” 

He titled his head back, the smoke escaping his lips. His nose flared as his annoyance grew at how quickly he’d become “Mr. Shelby” again. 

“I was going to tell you after you returned.” 

“I’ve returned.” He answered, laying his cigarette down on the tray. “Tell me.” 

She turned her head towards the hallway, checking to see if anyone was watching before entering his office. Despite himself, he smirked at her.  They both knew that he controlled everything that happened inside and outside London. If there was a rumor about her - them, he would know about it before it became gossip. He would protect her from it. Always. She was his. 

“I was going to tell you, Tommy.” She sighed. “You weren’t supposed to return until the end of the month.“ 

He would have forgave her right then and there just for saying his name, but he hadn’t finished making his damn point. “I take one fucking trip to America.” 

“Tommy.” 

“I get a call that my sister is planning a wedding.” 

“Tommy.” 

“I wonder who could be possibly getting married, while I’m away conducting business.” He raised his voice. 

“Thomas.” 

“Imagine my surprise,” his anger simmered into a whisper, “when I learned that the wedding was for my fucking - “ 

“You’re fucking what?” She roared back. “You’re fucking mistress, whore, girlfriend, counselor…secret.” Her body shivered as she took a step back. Surprised by her own anger, she rested her hand on her chest. “You said in that letter,” she exhaled.  

He lowered his eyes. 

She repeated his words back to him. “You could never give me more than this. That you weren’t good for anyone. Not after…” She paused, not saying her name for his sake. “Loving me would hollow you out because there is nothing in me left to love,” she recited his letter. 

“You weren’t supposed to read it.” 

Her voice softened, the anger giving way to the pain. “Then why did you leave it here for me to find?” 

They both got quiet. The truth sitting in their silence. She moved forward, grabbing a cigarette and lighter from his desk. When she met him, she hated the scent of smoke. It reminded her of her childhood and all the painful memories that came with it. A father who smoked everyday until the day he didn’t come home anymore. The absence of smoke serving as a reminder of his betrayal. Now, she couldn’t be a second without it. He’d changed her, but she changed him. He was better about his anger now, but the moment he learned about the wedding, he’d seen red. 

Tommy stood up, standing away from the desk. “He’s a drunk.” 

She scoffed. “Every man in this city is a drunk.” Her eyes scanned him as he approached her. “You were a drunk too when I met you. Now, you’re sober.” 

He lit the waiting cigarette resting on her lips. “I thought you quit.” 

“I did.” Her eyes settled into him as the smoke escaped her lips. He waited a second, giving her one last puff before he moved the cigarette from her lips to his. “He doesn’t like it when I smoke. He quit years ago and wants me to do the same.”

“A man who drinks, but doesn’t smoke.” Tommy nodded his head at the irony that he was now the reverse. A man who smokes, but doesn’t drink. “He sounds…”

She smiled. “Stop it.” Her body relaxed as she let her shoulders down and her head tilt back. “He’s good to me. He has a good job. Makes a good wage. Doesn’t gamble or cheat. Sometimes goes to church on Sundays. Always comes home at night.” 

He gazed at her neck. At the places where he’d once ravished her, losing himself in her skin, her scent, her touch. After everything he’d been through, he had found himself again in her. He’d sobered up. Even started writing poems and letters to her - in her honor. Writing but never sending. Burning them before the world could truly see this side of himself. He burnt all of them, but one. The one that caused this mess, and sent her off to marry a man who wasn’t worthy of even breathing the same air as her. 

“He hasn’t touched me yet,” she answered, knowing the question he hadn’t dared to ask yet. “He got too drunk at the wedding.” She reached for the cigarette, inhaling the smoke and releasing it. “He blacked out before anything could happen.” 

He underestimated her anger. The things that she could and would do because of it. He was a fool. He’d become like every other man in her life who had mistaken her kindness and softness as weakness. He’d taken for granted how gentle she was with him. How she opened herself up to him willingly. He wouldn’t have survived without her vulnerability. Her warmth. Chancing it, Tommy inched closer to her. 

“Why did you send a gift?” She stamped the cigarette out on the ash tray before folding her arms. 

Placing his hand on her belly, he took another chance. His fingers trailed to her waist, moving slowly - patiently. She was angry. She was hurt. It wasn’t just the letter. It was the fact that he’d given more to a piece of paper than he’d given her. She winced at his touch, but allowed him to carefully unfold her arms. “You’re not wearing it.” He raised her left hand, staring at the cheap metal. 

“It’s impolite to send an engagement ring to another man’s bride. Of course, I’m not wearing it.” 

“I wasn’t trying to be polite.” 

She studied him. “You write about me. You get me a job. You send me an engagement ring. You yell at me for getting married.” Her brows furrowed as she stared at him. As she really looked at this man. This man who had all of London cowering in fear and submission. “Then you have me answer your wife when she calls. You have a different woman for every city. You write about love like it’s a curse. Begging me to spare myself. You warn me about being an unmarried women in a city like London. You work so fucking hard to keep me a secret. To protect my reputation. To save me from being one of Thomas Shelby’s whores. To…I don’t know anymore.” She sighed. 

“I don’t know what wars you’re fighting with yourself, but I’m tired of being a casualty.” Her fingers moved his hand from her skin. “I did what you asked of me in that letter. I found another to spare my heart.” She looked beyond him before lowering her head. “I need you let me go, Mr. Shelby.” Her voice didn’t waver this time. There was a finality and certainty in her voice. She was avoiding him for his sake. “I found an office that’s looking for a secretary.” 

Tommy nodded along. His jaw tensing at the use of his surname. He waited until she finally looked at him. The tears on the brim of her eyes. He waited until she sighed. The weariness leaving her body. He waited and waited. Then he raised her left hand, slowly taking off the cheap metal adorning it as he looked into her eyes. “Tommy, what are you doing?” She asked, but she didn’t resist. He threw the metal on the ground, enjoying the shock on her face. Then, he finally did the one thing he’d been waiting to do since she’d entered his office, he kissed her. 

———————————————————————————–

That was it! Thank you so much for reading. If you’d like to be in my “anything she writes” tag list, let me know.