Tommy

Blood dripped to the floor and his head felt like someone was attacking him with a hammer. The room around him wouldn't stop spinning and he was finding it hard to concentrate on one object. His families voices bounced against the walls and echoed in his head.

"Tommy." A distant voice called as someone pushes his head back. "What's your name."

"He's not brain damaged Ada." Oh, so it was Ada speaking to him, was it? Who was the other voice?

"I might be." Tommy chokes out, his mouth seemed to be swimming in spit but be bone dry at the same time.

"Thank fuck." He hears his sister whisper, grateful that he could at least talk.

He doesn't reply to there questions now, he closes his eyes and accepts the pain, only wincing when someone attempts to clean the blood from his face. He hadn't expected for his day to be like this, no not at all. He had gone to meet with the Italians about one of them stepping out with his secretary Lizzie. He had been jumped from behind whilst warning them off her. Two of them had pinned him down and the third had taken his cap, the man had luckily fumbled and didn't know how to cut him properly in order to take his eyes. Instead, the bastards had beet him to a pulp. He had tried to fight them off but it was no use, there was too many of them.

"Tommy, open your eyes." A voice demands, shaking him roughly. Slowly Tommy does, he winces, the dried blood had made his eyes stick together, slowly Tommy uses his fingers to pull his eyes open. The blue in his eyes seemed to shine through the bloodshot background. "Drink this." He squints to see his brother Arthur holding out a bottle of white rum. Arthur looked white with panic, it had been a long time since had seen his brother in this state. Tommy reaches out to grab it and quickly brings it to his lips, the alcohol burns his cracked lips and his throat on the way down but instantly calms his nerves and the pain eases with every gulp.

"John, get some men to take that bastards eyes." Arthur spits at his youngest brother. John nods instantly and goes to pick up his jacket.

Tommy shakes his head and leans forward onto his knee before taking another swig "No." He mutters, his voice almost breathless.

"Tommy, look at the state of ya!"

"I want to do it." Tommy nods to himself, yes it should be him. "When the time is right." He can almost see the blade slicing into the bastards eyeball. "Help me get dressed," Tommy demands, looking up at his brother who nods immediately, Tommy looks across at the clock on the mantlepiece that reads 7:35pm he was late already and she would be waiting for him.

"Where are you going, Tom?" Arthur asks as he helps his brother shrug on his black coat.

"For a pint."

Irene

Being a communist wasn't something that Irene was against, no not at all. It was just that well, she found it all incredibly boring! She watches as Freddie talks to his 'comrades' as he called them and she just wanted to fall asleep. What her brother didn't understand was that someone had to be at the bottom of the pile. What she didn't understand was why he insisted on putting himself there.

"What do you think, Irene?" Her brother's friend, Oliver looks at her inquisitively. Irene takes a moment before she replies, taking a long drag of her cigarette as she looks him over. He wasn't a bad looking chap per se, he had dirty blonde hair and mousy brown eyes. His shoulders are broad and he had a decent smile but he had that same anger in him that Freddie did and it made her feel sick. No one should be that angry about something that isn't happening to them.

She contemplates answering for a moment but before she can her brother cuts in, explaining to his friend that his sister didn't have an opinion, that she doesn't care for such matters. Irene sighs and looks into her whiskey glass, still half full whereas the men at the table's glasses are all empty. "We're moving on." Freddie interrupts her thoughts as he stands. "You staying here?" Irene nods in response, ever since she had fought back a few weeks prior he had let her be when she wanted to stay. She supposed he didn't think it was worth it.

Irene makes her way to the bar and orders herself another drink, having downed the last one when they had left. She glances at the clock above the bar and sighs, he was late. Tommy was never this late, it was coming up to closing and he still wasn't here. "Whiskey." She hears a rough voice next to her grunt. Irene looks to her right and is shocked into silence at the sight. She had never seen him looked anything other than perfect but here he was, his right eye swollen, cuts on his eyelids and his lips. Tommy is clutching his ribs and is avoiding putting weight in his right foot, making him lean against the bar with purpose. "Sorry, I'm late." He smiles softly at her but as he does he pulls open one of the splits in his lip and he winces.

"What-" Irene is lost for words as she brings her hand to his face, cradling him gently. She looks into his eyes and has to stop her own from forming tears. "Who?"

"No one I can't handle." Tommy grunts, downing his whiskey. They stand in silence for a few moments, neither of them knowing what to say. "Shall we sit?" Tommy nods towards one of the empty tables in the corner next to the dance floor. Irene nods and follows him, she sits down opposite him. The sit in silence, both smoking and watching each other closely, Irene can't stop staring at his cuts and bruises.

"Why did you come tonight?" She blurts, unable to contain herself. It was clear that he was in no fit state to be anywhere but in a hospital. He shrugs his shoulders, not wanting to let her know that he knew she would be waiting for him. Tommy didn't want to let her down but he would never tell her that.

"Would you like to dance?" Tommy raises his eyebrows and holds out his bruised hand to her. Irene can't help the laughter from coming, he couldn't be serious.

Irene places her small hand in his rough one and brings it down to her lap, she begins to play with his fingers, running her own over them. "How about tonight, we sit."