Dahlia lay in the hospital, eyes red – just as her brothers had wanted to find out if they could make them. It had been a month since she fled Tommy's house. Pol had set her up in lodgings on the edge of Small Heath, where Tommy would never pass, and set her up with a joiner and decorator for the shop and house. She only allowed for the shop to be decorated after the joiner was done, and resolved to decorate the house herself, piece by piece as she began to earn money again. She passed Pol the invoices as promised and bided her time at her plot, perfecting flowers and hand-writing cards for the re-opening day she intended to post with a petal through all the doors in Small Heath, save Tommy's. The price for keeping Tommy and the Peaky Blinders from the insanity of the Burnes: One hour on the first Friday of each month.
She didn't turn as she heard someone approaching her bed, but continued staring through the window outside. Her brothers wanted her healthy enough, and paid for good care and a good view.
"Go away." She droned.
"So was this the price?" Tommy sighed into the bedside chair. Her head turned to look at him involuntarily. He winced minutely but she saw it. She looked ahead. "How often? Once a week? It's been almost four… once a month? And in return?"
Her jaw flexed stubbornly.
"Talk to me, Dahl'."
"Someone in here in your pocket, Tommy?"
"I have a finger in every pie."
"Get out."
He leaned forward, "I will lock you up in a make-shift cell if that's what I have to do to keep them away from you."
She looked at him. "This is my choice, my life. Stay out of it."
"How long until they end up killing you Dahl'?"
She looked ahead and flexed her jaw again.
"Or how long until you kill yourself?"
"I'll let you know when I do, how's that sound?" she asked in a hiss. He settled his hand on her arm.
"Dahl', I still care about you."
She looked down at his hand and plucked it with her other one, and dropped it away from her. "I don't."
"Then why would you be doing this?"
"I mean I don't care about me. That's what makes me weak and I can't be weak; my life isn't for the weak."
"Your life doesn't have to be like this."
She looked into his eyes, "If it's not me, it's someone else, who will probably die, and they'll get away with it."
"They get you once a month, what makes you think they're not killing in between?"
"You're good." She nodded. "You've got an answer for everything. Now take your answers with you, out that door."
"I can't watch this happen."
"Then stop looking. Do what everyone else does and don't look."
"I can't help looking when people I love get hurt."
"Love isn't for monsters like me, so take it with you out."
Tommy watched her for a minute longer, trying to see the cracks in her armour. She looked out the window, and with no sign of a rebuttal of her sentiments, he left her be.
Her head turned as his coat tails disappeared from the door. She pressed her hands to her bruised face and pressed, seeking release in the pain. Hysteria bubbled up and she grit her teeth, crying through them. She brought her fists down on her own legs and pounded them until the pain forced her to stop. She stilled and breathed heavily until exhaustion pulled her into a few more hours sleep. That's all she could manage at a time. A few hours. Even after she was sent home from hospital, she didn't sleep through a night for almost two weeks.