Set in Sand [rewritten] - Chapter 25
While visiting your friend, you accidentally manage to go back in time and find yourself stranded on a mountain with a group of outlaws. As you make your name known in the history books for your friend to find you, you try to navigate through the sudden change in your life, all the new dangers and your blooming feelings for a certain outlaw.
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Word count: 5.8k
Tags: spoilers for rdr2, graphic depiction of violence, fem!reader, modern!reader, low honor Arthur to high honor, slow burn, time travel, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, angst, sexual harassment, smoking, drinking, period-typical sexism, canon-typical violence, Arthur has no TB
Taglist: @remirants-remiisies @photo1030 @genderless-ghosty-boi @stupidgaynerd @soupiemeowmeow @st-ar-ron @neapolitan--girl @luujjvi @0-unicorn-0 @gallantys @blueskies664 @danir2006
Swallowed by the Grand Korrigan, you fight to keep your head over water. Waves waft over it, spilling into your nose and mouth. It burns behind your face as it gradually floods more and more of your body. Every time you cough up water, more gushes in and forces its way down your throat. Your skirts are completely soaked and dragging your down as if you have blocks of concrete strapped to you.
Frantically you kick with your legs to stay up and your heart drops down into the deepest pit of your stomach. As your strength leaves you, you take one final breath before finding yourself completely submerged. It’s pitch black underwater as you’re being both pulled and pushed lower and lower until you can’t discern up from down anymore.
Panic swells in your chest together with the need to breathe in. Pressure builds up in your lungs and you release the little bit of air that you were still holding in them. Bubbles rise above you, pointing you towards where the surface lies, but it does nothing to actually change your situation. The water is cold. So ice-cold.
With each passing second, it becomes more difficult to will your limbs to move. To force your legs to pedal and your arms to flail. Like a rock climber, you try to grab handfuls of the water to push yourself upwards, but you only sink into the opposite direction. With stiff fingers you pull at the laces in a poor attempt to loosen them, but they don’t budge at all.
They’ve soaked up too much water and have become as tight as a metal coil. Your steel your nerves and clear your mind, but you’re too consumed by fear. The temperature of the water paralyses you entirely and your muscles grow sluggish. Clumsily you will your hands to move, but to no avail. You’re left with nothing but wiggle around in hopes that it’s going to take you up.
Suddenly something touches you and you flinch away, scared it might be ropes or seaweed that you will get tangled up in. Then you seem to make out movement right in front of you and something akin to a voice or more so a muffled grunt. Narrowing your eyes, you try to make out what it is that’s grabbing at you, but it’s too dark to even see an inch in front of you.
It takes a long moment for you to recognize what exactly it is you feel on your skin: a pair of hands. Over the moon that one of the men has turned around to help, you want to cry out in relief, but you lack the air. As the severity of your situation dawns on you, your pulse picks up again. The pressure on your chest rapidly grows, building up beneath your skin.
It reaches a point where you get the overwhelming sense that your eyes are going to pop out at any moment and that your entire face will explode. There is no way mere flesh and skin will be enough to hold it in. Against your better judgement, you part your lips and greedily inhale, only to be met with pure agony.
Water fills your throat and lungs, burning you from the inside and your body convulses. Overcome with the need to force it all out, you cough, but only end up getting more of the coldness into you. You’re swallowing a thousand needles at once, digging into you from all sides. They’re forcing their way out of your body, ripping through organs and tissue.
Suddenly you feel weightless. Not like a chunk of stone that’s gradually sinking to the bottom. A light appears somewhere far away, getting closer and closer. Every cell in your body wants to squirm and fight it. To run and flee, but your drive is gone. Something solid hits your body then, pressing uncomfortably into your back and you desperately try to feel around you.
Your muscles are cramping and quivering like a leaf in the wind. A voice is yelling something, but your ears are still too filled with water to understand anything at all. More pressure meets your chest, but oddly enough from the outside now. It pushes down in a steady rhythm, squeezing the molten lava up your throat.
Your nose is being pinched shut and your chin frantically pulled down to open your mouth. It feels like a foreign object is trying to leap out of your mouth. Blinded by pain, you roll to the side and throw up the Grand Korrigan with all its factory waste. It tastes bitter and musky and something scratches the inside of your mouth as if you’ve swallowed sand as well.
You can’t stop retching. It’s a never-ending torture that refuses to cease even after you empty out all the contents in your stomach. Snot is running down your nose and tears are streaking your cheeks. The mascara and eyeshadow have run straight into your eyes and you reach up with a trembling hand to wipe it all off.
It stings and burns and over all hurts like a bitch.
“Talk to me.”, someone above you says. Arthur.
Unable to follow his request, you simply wave the other hand around and hungrily gasp for air. Pain ripples through your throat with every inhale, but you power through the pain. People are surrounding you, but you barely pay them any mind. Instead, you stay on all fours, wondering how you haven’t collapsed onto the cobblestones yet.
They’re all exchanging hasty words before scrambling all over the place or maybe they aren’t. It’s impossible to follow what’s going on around you. A broad frame appears in the corner of your eyes and Arthur kneels down until he’s on eye level with you. His palm is rubbing soothing circles into your back.
“C’mon. We need to get ya warmed up.”, he murmurs with urgency swimming in his voice.
Shivering, you nod and grasp for his hand. He helps you up, but even then, you heavily rely on his support. Leaning into his side, you let him guide you into the maze that are the streets and alleys of Saint Denis until you enter an unfamiliar building. It seems like you walked several miles, but it could have easily been just a block or two.
While Arthur talks to the man standing behind the counter, explaining that you tripped and fell into the river on your way home, you for the first time look down on yourself. You’re standing in nothing but your chemise, corset and one single skirt. The beige fabric clings to your drenched body, much like it did when it had rained during Jack’s party.
If you weren’t so exhausted you might have been bothered by the fact that the clerk has a full view of your body. Before you know it, Arthur leads you to the back and pushes open the door. Inside awaits a burning fire and a filled bath tub. The sight of water almost leaves you trembling with fear, but alas. Reason prevails.
“I’ll be waitin’ just outside.”, he tells you and you only manage a weak nod.
He shuts the door behind you and you take a few unsure steps towards the tub. Steam rises from the bubbles and you wonder how they managed to prepare it so quickly. Perhaps it’s just sitting here all day, every day and just waiting to be booked for an hour or two. You reach behind you to undo the knot on your corset.
Your fingers are too stiff to grasp the string and so you twist your shoulders into an uncomfortable position. Pain shoots down your arms and you let out a choking gasp.
“Is everything all right in there?”, Arthur calls out from the hallway.
Instead of answering, you give it another shot. Bracing yourself with one hand on the edge of the tub, you reach with the other behind you. Your knees buckle and you collide with the floorboards. During the fall, you take a candle with you that was perched on top of a stool and the hot wax spills over your naked feed.
Yelping, you quickly wipe it away with the back of your hands, burning yourself further. Luckily the flame got snuffed out by the fall. Your knees throb.
“I’m comin’ in.”, Arthur warns and reluctantly opens the door.
Upon seeing you crouched down on the floor, he nearly rips the thing off its hinges before throwing it shut and rushing to your side. Your fingers are wedged in between the corset and chemise, yanking at it in a desperate attempt to rip it off. With your remaining clothes soaked to the core, it clings to you like a second skin.
The corset feels tighter than ever and you’re unable to tell whether it’s the lasting effect of almost drowning or that wretched thing itself that’s cutting off your air flow. Arthur, having obviously caught onto your distress, is mumbling words of comfort, but they all fly straight over your head.
“Help.”, you then croak in a hoarse voice as if you’ve been doing nothing but smoke several packages of cigarettes a day since the day of your birth.
“I’m here.”, he whispers and you slump into him.
“Take it off.”, you plead, catching him off-guard.
His face drops into a frown as he regards the wet clothes. Is he seriously debating whether he should preserve your life or your dignity?
“Have you never seen a naked woman before?”, you bark and your tone would have been mocking if it wasn’t for it cracking at every word.
God, you sound pathetic. Pressing his lips into a tight line, he remains silent and instead, gets to work. His fingers fly over your laces as if his only goal is to get this over with as soon as possible. When he helps you peel off the rest, you pull yourself up at the edge of the tub. Still unsure on your feet, you nearly topple over if it wasn’t for his lightning reflexes.
Arthur stands right behind you, his chest almost touching your back and his hands are holding your waist firmly. You can feel the tip of his thumb just an inch away from the underside of your breast and he must have noticed it as well, because he removes it from that spot as if he got burned. Glancing over your shoulder at him, you notice that his eyes are flickering all around the room.
He’s trying very hard to look anywhere except at you.
“Can you, uh, make it in?”, he then speaks up after clearing his throat.
It baffles you to see him in such a state. Arthur Morgan, one of the most wanted men in the states is flustered over your naked body? If you’d take a wild guess, then you’d assume he’s slept with plenty of women before and has therefore seen plenty of bodies as well. The again, this isn’t exactly an intimate situation and whether he’s even attracted to you is a matter between him and God.
Besides, you’re over here still freezing your ass off and if someone would hold up a mirror to you, you’d most likely get scared by your own reflection. That isn’t exactly screaming sex appeal.
“I can try.”, you answer and try to lift a leg while maintaining your balance.
Seeing that it won’t end well, Arthur shakes his head.
“Gimme a second.”, he protests, followed by shuffling.
You can’t see what he’s doing, but suddenly he has switched positions and has one arm wrapped around your torso.
“Hold onto me.”, he says close to your ear.
Without having even come close to the hot bath water, you’re already beginning to heat up. His breath caresses the side of your face and leaves goosebumps behind. Following his request, you snake a stiff arm around his neck. Then he dips down, taking ahold of your legs with his free arm and hoisting you up in one fluid motion.
Carefully he hovers you above the tub and slowly brings your feet down. The moment your toes touch the water, you let out a sharp hiss. It burns like hell against your frozen skin and he immediately lifts you up again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just hot.”, you explain, your voice still incredibly hoarse.
It hurts to speak, which isn’t exactly ideal considering you’d love nothing more than to throw around curses at the world. You want to curse out Desmond Blythe for calling you a whore, the racist staff member for pulling out a second gun and Josiah for not organizing a fucking escape boat. Most importantly, you want to curse out Francis for still not having shown up.
“I’ll try ‘n put you down again, okay?”, Arthur speaks up, ripping you out of your thoughts.
“Okay.”
Again, he lowers you slowly. Another pained noise leaves your lips, but you hastily shake your head when he tries to get you out of range again. Understanding, he nods and keeps you like this to give you a chance to get used to the sudden change of temperature.
“Let’s do some more now.”, he warns before continuing. “You’re doin’ just fine.”
He talks you through the entire process, muttering a ‘You’re good’ and a ‘That’s it’ every now and then, which results in your mind wandering to the most inappropriate of places. At this point, you’re trembling less from the cold Grand Korrigan and more so from his low drawl. Once you’re laying comfortably in the tub, he let’s go of you entirely.
As he rounds the thing to walk back to the door, your hand shoots forward to grab his. His entire body stiffens. You can’t explain your actions, having no idea what possessed you to hold onto him this boldly. In all honesty, you hate the thought of sitting alone in this foreign room and waiting for the heat to drive away the pain.
“Please don’t go.”, you say and your voice is barely a whisper at this point.
Squeezing your hand, he drags a stool to the edge of the tub and sits down on it.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
“Thank you.”
Neither of you is letting go of the other as the fire crackles softly in the background. Water laps at your collarbone, its warmth seeping into the very marrow of your bones. A layer of bubbles stretches over the surface, covering your bare body, not that it would have been necessary. Arthur seems nigh frightened to catch a glimpse of you.
Now with the fog in your mind all cleared up and your heart not thudding in a desperate attempt to outrun death, you can think clearer. You imagine yourself floating in the river, flailing and choking on factory oil and catching all sort of diseases. You’d be surprised if your lungs are still healthy after sucking in gallons of the grime and slime.
“Thanks for saving me.”, you break the silence.
Words could never dare come close to the immense gratitude swelling in your chest. Getting shot at and beaten has left its marks on your soul, but drowning is truly a gruesome way to go. The pressure that threatened to tear your flesh apart is edged into your being forever. You’re convinced that the sound of splashing water is going to haunt you for a very long time from now on.
“Don’t. We’re even now.”, he speaks, brushing over your knuckles with his thumb.
“Are you seriously keeping score?”, you ask in sheer disbelief and search for his gaze, which still remains locked away from you.
You stare at his chin, noting the speck of scar tissue on it. His beard usually does a good job of covering it, but you’ve noticed it before after a fresh trim. He doesn’t reply and a grim shadow is cast over his face from what you can make out in this angle. Leaning back, you watch the water slosh uncomfortably close to your face and you adjust your position.
“Well, who’s in the lead?”, you meekly ask, uncertain where the need to cheer him up comes from.
Arthur huffs out a laugh.
“Wouldn’t you want to know? If I tell you, you might throw yourself in front of a gun again.”
“I don’t do it to spite you, you know.”, you counter and spot one of his brows rising.
“You sure ‘bout that? Seems like you do nothin’ that isn’t out of spite.”, he explains and you ponder over his words.
Granted, spite has become part of your nature by now. You’re a liar if you claim that you don’t enjoy watching him squirm whenever you push his buttons. If he’d tell you to jump, you’d probably crouch down. But your actions as a whole stem from something else entirely. They’re driven by a homesickness so merciless that it’s stifling.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Arthur.”, you confess, clueless to where this is suddenly coming from.
You guess that the weight of the Grand Korrigan has deepened the cracks in your resolve to power through this mess alone. What seemed to have been a simple plan has turned into a complicated whirlwind of questioning your own morals and mortality. The lines of how far you’re willing to go have long been crossed.
Now you’re standing on your hill on which you’re not just ready to die on, but to kill as well.
“I’ve been trying to make a name for myself, but not like you think. It’s not like Dutch and his need to be this hero in one of his storybooks, you know?”, you continue and he listens. “I’m just trying to make a trail for Francis to follow. I thought that if I become somewhat famous, he’d find me.”
“I see.”, he murmurs, but otherwise doesn’t question the logic in your plan.
Surely it must sound absolutely insane to him. To him, there must have been million other ways to contact your friend, but that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You could have written a book or invented something great. With your knowledge of the 21st century, you could have done literally anything, yet you chose the most damning path of all.
“But I’m at a loss. Oh, Arthur, I can’t believe what I’ve done to myself.” Silent tears streak your cheeks. “Am I bad person?”
You must be after all this blood-shed and the worst part is, you wouldn’t change a thing. You’d stab and shoot all those men all over again if it meant you’d safe Arthur and Sadie. For a lot of the gang members, you’d even murder ten more.
“If you’re a bad person then I should seriously start fearin’ for my soul.”, Arthur replies with a humorless chuckle.
“But I am, aren’t I?”, you press, desperate for a proper answer.
Expecting decent judgement from a criminal like him is surely a result of your own contorted morals. Compared to his sins yours pale. Of course, you’re a good person next to him. Looking up, you realize that he’s been staring at you this entire time and now he’s meeting your gaze unflinching.
The fire casts long, flickering shadows over his face and his eyes sparkle from the orange light. He’s absolutely devastating right now, the way he pins you in place and suddenly you become painfully aware of your naked body and the fact that a few bubbles are the only thing separating it from his curiosity.
“You’re the finest woman I know.”, he says, voice hard from conviction.
His name leaves your lips as a shaky breath as you process the severity of his words. Not even in your wildest dreams could have imagined him say anything like that to you, let alone feel that way.
“Don’t you lie to me right now.”, you hiss, clutching his hand closer to yourself and pulling him along with it, leaving his palm rest right where your chest begins.
Arthur lets you drag him along without resistance and without breaking eye contact. You don’t think any of you have even blinked yet out of fear to disrupt the moment.
“I’m not.”
Believing him, you let out a long sigh and reach up with your wet hand to hold his cheek. His skin feels surprisingly smooth against your fingers that have become wrinkled from being soaked for so long. Some soap bubbles follow along, running down his jaw and throat and disappearing into the collar of his shirt.
His eyes flutter shut for a very brief moment as he leans into your palm and basking in the touch. Satisfaction fills you at the sight and the knowledge that he craves your body at least a little bit as much as you crave his.
“Then what is wrong with me? Why aren’t you letting this happen?”, you question, fixing him with an expression made out of steel.
You’re scared that he might pull out the usual excuses.
Oh, it’s not you, it’s me.
I got my heart broken a bazillion years ago and now I can’t love anymore.
“I just ain’t your man and I can’t ever be your man.”
When you bring his face even closer to yours, he doesn’t fight it but simply lets it happen. His words are devoid of all meaning and candour as he allows you to handle him to your liking. It only takes the slightest of tilts to close the gap between your lips. Your breaths mingle into one until you’re inhaling the air from his lungs and sending it right back into him with a part of your own soul.
“Do you not want me?”, you whisper and feel a shudder run through him.
“It’s not whether I do or don’t-“
“Do you not want me?”, you press with more purpose this time.
“Yes!”, he shouts into the loaded quiet of the room. “I want you so bad ‘n it kills me. I’m dying just thinkin’ about you.”
“Then what’s holding you back?”
As you voice the question, your lips brush ever so slightly over his and his head jerks forward in an attempt to capture them. You’re already out of his reach by then and only tasting the after-shock of his desire to claim and devour. It pleases you to pull the strings and watching him unravel without inhibitions.
After your confidence has taken such a blow from his rejection at Jack’s party, you’re reveling in watching him fall apart into pieces by your own doing.
“I’m tryin’ to be good. I’m tryin’ to do right be you. It ain’t fair to keep you here when you deserve so much better.”
“Oh, Arthur.”
Whatever it is in that sentence, it snaps him right back into reality. You feel him pull back like a mighty wave and it takes all your willpower not to beg him to come back. You don’t know whether it had been your tone or his name alone, but he’s building his walls back up. One glance at the clock and you know that it’s time to leave.
“We gotta go.” He scrutinizes you. “I wouldn’t push you like this if it weren’t necessary, but people will be searchin’ the city for us.”
“I know.”, you say through gritted teeth.
Humiliation burns beneath your skin, replacing the desire that has been all consuming and overpowering just a few seconds before. Suddenly, you feel like an absolute moron for toying with the man for so long instead of simply seizing the chance to take the step towards him. You could have met his lips halfway, yet you were busy acting foolish.
Like a glutton at a banquet, you had filled your hunger with his pining, relishing in the fact that a man like him could fold under your command. When Arthur helps you out of the bathtub, there is nothing tender or intimate about it. Of course, he’s handling you with the utmost care, but his touch his shallow.
It lacks the depth and heat from before, now only meant to get the job done as soon as possible. Thankfully your clothes have had enough time to dry by the fire and when you slip back into them, they don’t cling to your skin. The man behind the counter bids you farewell and voices his hope of possibly seeing you again.
“My horse is just down this road.”, Arthur tells you, the words leaving him clipped as if he didn’t lay his heart out to you only a few minutes ago.
Your naked feet slap over the cobblestone as you hurry after him, heart racing at the prospect of getting caught by the guards on the ferry. Judging by how much time has passed, they should have docked the boat by now and are on their way to the local police office.
Cold sweat breaks out on your forehead, leaving you feeling sticky and filthy despite your skin still smelling of sweet soap. Suddenly, you feel silly for dawdling by entertaining your feelings that don’t matter anyways in the grander schemes of things. After all, what could you have possibly gained from Arthur’s confession?
As if you aren’t making it difficult enough by befriending the other gang members. Now you’ve gone and opened a can of worms that should have been left alone. There is no future for the outlaw and you. This little romance of yours will inevitably end by your leave to the future, or in your case, the presence.
You’ll forget about him over time when you stumble upon the next person to fall for or he’s going to leave you in shambles. It was naïve of you to believe that you could get out of this unscathed. Once Francis finds you, you’ll be forced to break both your hearts. Arthur is smart of avoiding this and you, for withholding his affections and locking you out.
Oh, but who are you kidding? How long are you going to feed that hope of yours? He has sent out two letters by now and Francis hasn’t replied to either of them. He has all the means to allow him to arrive five seconds from now. Hell, he could have shown up yesterday or the day before, but he didn’t.
He hasn’t appeared once and you’re still stuck with the sins weighing down your soul. As you run past closed stored and dark windows, you realize that you won’t ever leave and it triggers the strangest thing inside you: relief.
A hysterical laugh bubbles inside your throat, forcing its way out and you clasp a hand over your mouth. Arthur stops dead in his tracks to turn around and look at you. You meet his eyes with an enthusiastic gleam in your own.
“What’s wrong?”, he asks in bewilderment.
“Nothing.”, you declare through chuckles. “Absolutely nothing.”
“Then what are we waitin’ for?”
“Wait!”, you blurt out and dart forward to get ahold of his hand.
He turns to you once more and glances urgently over his shoulder. Probably to either check if anyone over there has recognized you or perhaps because his horse is right around the corner. A million thoughts race through your mind and all of them are holding his face in it.
There’s no way that you will be able to return to society and with Francis having either left you or being unable to track you down for some reason, you won’t have to worry about it. Not letting go of the hand that is tightly holding yours, you beam at Arthur.
“I have to tell you something.”, you say.
I want you too. Arthur, I want you so much that I can’t even sleep at night. I don’t care that you’re not a good man. I want you as you are and I could kick myself for not saying this sooner. Francis won’t come to pick me up and at this point, I don’t even think I want him to. I belong here with you and the others and oh my God, I belong with you.
None of that manages to leave your lips.
“Looking for some company?”, a sultry voice from the shadows speaks.
A woman steps out of them, wearing clothes as revealing as yours, though more worn in every way. The skirt hugging her legs is thin, allowing the light of the street lanterns to shine through and illuminate the outlines of her body. Her blouse is tattered and unbuttoned so far that it’s a wonder that the peaks of her breasts aren’t popping out. Brown, messy locks are framing her scarred face.
Edith Downes gapes at you and you stare right back.
Two sides of the same coin, in a way.
Two women, ruined by the same man for vastly different reasons.
The sight is too much for your tormented heart. Having caught her at her lowest, the corners of your eyes well up with tears and she flinches away from your pity. Sparks fly in her face as she soaks up the scene before her. It must look horrible the way you cling to the man who killed her husband, in nothing but your flimsy little undergarments.
Suddenly, the tables have turned and she’s the one to pity you. You want to open your mouth and explain yourself. You want to defend Arthur’s honor and yours, telling her that he saved your life back in the river, that you would have died a thousand times over without him.
“Mrs. Downes?”, Arthur asks and takes a step forward.
She reels back, features contorted with anger and hatred that she directs at the both of you. You might have thrown yourself over her dying husband to protect him, but now you’re fraternizing with the enemy.
I’m a good person, you want to yell at her.
“Officer! Help!”, she shrieks and you jerk awake. “Officer, they’re robbing me!”
“No, we aren’t-“, you rush as defense, but Arthur is already dragging you away.
Heavy footsteps thunder right after you as you sprint and wince at every pebble and glass shard that digs into your heels. After only a few seconds, your feet are scrubbed raw and hurting as if you dipped them into boiling oil. Your eyes are burning and you fully rely on the outlaw to get you out of this.
Allowing him to pull you through the maze of alleys, you find yourself in a dark nook between two doors. He pushes you into the wall and shields you with his large body. If the lawmen decide to shoot, only he will end up hit and you squirm to break free from the stifling cage.
Arthur hisses something in your ear, most likely an order for you to keep still. Burying your face into his broad chest, you silently sob into it, muffling it just about enough to avoid drawing attention. The men that have been pursuing you sprint down the alleyway you’re hiding in and for a terrifying moment, you’re convinced they will find you.
But they dash right past you, not even glancing in your direction and you allow yourself to relax after the drumming of their boots fades away. The two of you remain in this position a while longer and you might have relished the proximity, if it wasn’t for Edith’s face flashing before your inner eye.
“I’m so sorry.”, Arthur mutters and you shove him away from you.
“You dare apologize to me? You ruined her life!” You pull at the collar of your chemise in order to catch a breath, even though it’s far away from your throat.
A shadow is cast over his grim features.
“What choice did I have?”
By now it feels like you’ve had this exact same argument a hundred times before.
“You had the choice to take my money. I offered it to you every single time, but you insisted-“
“That wasn’t your debt to settle.”, he interrupts you and you scoff sharply.
“What’s wrong with you?”, you snap with a shrill voice, uncaring to the possibility of alarming the police officers of your location. “You’re such a…”
His nostrils flare and he brings his face close to yours. It’s like the bath house all over again, but this time the air is loaded with resentment. It enters your body and poisons you from the inside, corrupting the feelings and dreams you entertained not too long ago.
“A what? C’mon say it. Say it to my face.”, he challenges, but your mouth refuses to cooperate. “Admit, you only like me sometimes. You complain about me, but you only want me when you’re drunk or think I’m tame.”
“Excuse me?”, you gasp, appalled at the mere suggestion.
“Ya heard me. You like the idea of me.”
“That’s not true!”, you argue and he scoffs bitterly.
The sound leaves a sour taste on your tongue.
“It ain’t?”, he spits and you bite down on the inside of your cheeks so fiercely that copper begins to flood your mouth.
“Do you think I want to love you?”, you blurt out, catching the both of you completely off-guard with your bold confession. “Do you think I enjoy falling for a murderer? You think I like craving the attention of a man like you?”
“Then why do you?”, he drawls and narrows his eyes.
“Because I believed you were better than this. I thought you’re able to change, because I’ve seen the good you’re capable of doing. You’re not the man that people make you out to be. Not entirely.”
Now that the cat is out of the bag, you’re able to breathe freely again. Not only have you unloaded the truth of Francis’ real role and the reason you’re doing Dutch’s bidding so vigorously, but your feelings towards the outlaw are now finally out as well. It has been lying tense on your chest, souring every interaction with him.
This is the brief sensation of flying during a fall. The crash follows shortly after as you stare into Arthur’s face and note the contorted features. He’s done quick work to snuff out the expression of shock and fondness if it had ever even been on there. Emotions were flashing over his face so fast that you barely had the time to register any of them.
Now that your words have sunken in, there’s nothing aside from a sour scowl edged into his hardened lines. He looks more like you just insulted him and spat on his boots instead of confessing your love and believe of his ability to be a good man. Or a decent one at least.
“Well, too bad I gotta disappoint you there, Miss.”, he says.
