MISS O’SHEA
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Eyes dark like the night sky. Twinkling, not with stars but with betrayal, annoyance & a dash of f u r y beneath it all. A mixture; boiling DEEP within his system; slow, yet all-engulfing, & then a deep breath. A pseudo flame burning his lungs & spreading to his mind like a w i l d f i r e. He could still hear their voices echoing in his mind. The questioning, doubting, SCRUTINIZING, all clinging to his mind like he clung to his p r i d e. The gang which he had fought for, doubting him. H i m.
Slender fingers slid against the glass in his hands, swirling the golden liquid before raising it to his lips. The full taste of the fancier whiskey rolling off his tongue with eyes still settled on Miss O’Shea. If his most loyal sons ? had lost faith in him, why would she not? The constant need for useless conversation & craving his attention when all he needed to do was THINK. Think, act, p l a n. Was it a maneuver? Had her mind been corrupted too? Dark eyes squinted. Another swig — the hurt, anger, his own doubt evident in the crease of his brow. The faith he preached to have; like a whisper of an unfulfilled promise. FAITH in the gang, in his plan, in their f a t e; it was all futile while hearing their doubtful voices & watching their judgemental eyes. HE was the one who had kept them all afloat for twenty years. HIM. Their belief & wish to fight alongside him had only strengthened their survival odds. Now — with nearly no one left with any f a i t h; it was all turning sour — & he tried. He truly tried.
Eyes followed the ginger approaching him, expression never changing. The question still floating in the air, torturing him — even when she answered it. How many times had the others not reassured him of their faith in him? Of their l o y a l t y ? All that, only to be tossed away with their struggles. — & her; MOLLY, her ever-hurting eyes & doubtful behavior... Was it the beginning of her disbelief in him? Had she already come to walk on that path? The questions remained as he sat there, staring into the green of her eyes struggling in the attempt to read her thoughts. He didn’t want to instill any ideas in her head — of the DOUBT & deviancy — & instead let out a sigh, the taste of the alcohol having yet to burn out on his tongue. A strong arm wrapping around her waist, in one firm movement pulling her farther into his lap with all intents on keeping her there for now. Fingertips running along the pattern of her dress, almost as a caress & briefly he found that his frustration & his a n g e r was extinguished, for the sake of the questions burning on as he studied her eyes. Though only for a single second. ❝ We are going to pull through. ❞ He spoke reassuringly now, his voice calmer than expected. ❝ — It’s been a tough year, but I need everyone to keep believing — or we won’t make it. I need some FAITH from all of you. ❞ He put down the glass, using the new f r e e d o m of his hand to wander to her chin; ever so slightly letting his thumb graze her bottom lip. Eyes, still expressing a certain obscure g l o o m, as his thoughts wandered. He wanted to believe in their loyalty — wanted to believe Miss Molly O’Shea, but every day; with every challenge he faced & every doubtful question thrown at him, it was as if he ventured further into uncharted territory. Their skepticism, disbelief, reluctance only became more visible to him; more real. As he sat there — so very close to his lover; listening to her words of reassurance — he almost breathed out the reply oh so rigidly & distant, yet warm ? at the same time: ❝ We’ll see about that. ❞
