Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. All relations come from Ms. Margaret Mitchell's novel Gone with the Wind.
Author's Note: This story was published in 2006 as Against All Odds. The story has been rewritten and edited for a more cohesive flow and better continuity. Please enjoy. I would love your thoughts and criticism.
"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."
Rhett's dark eyes were hard, unyielding. There was not a trace of tenderness here; there was no love. His eyes narrowed and he cocked his eyebrows ever so slightly. He was angry- rightfully so. Rhett's icy look sent a chill down Scarlett's spine, but what's more: a sharp stab of pain through her chest.
A moment passed where they stood staring at each other before he turned, clearing the foyer in four steps. He reached for the coat rack next to the front door where he removed his jacket and hat. He folded his long coat over his left arm and held his curled brim, flared crown hat in his right. There was a silent beat of an instant where Rhett took in a long, slow breath in a vain attempt to calm himself. His blood was pounding- coursing through his body in a simmering rage. His anger flowed, pooling in a vein behind his left eye where it throbbed as a continuous: hurt, hurt, hurt.
Slowly, Rhett turned back to where he had left Scarlett standing, dumbfounded, at the base of the grand staircase. He caught her emerald green cat eyes and immediately regretted it. He could see his own anguish reflected in her porcelain face. Her eyes were wide and her brows furrowed meeting at a little wrinkle right at the bridge of her nose. She was confused and a little accusatory.
With tremendous effort, Rhett steeled himself and swallowed hard. Without breaking his gaze, he placed his hat on top of his head. For a moment Scarlett thought there was a flickering light of grief that crept into his gaze, but it went as quick as it came. Again, the cool, determined look was back.
Scarlett watched him, silent and stunned. Despite the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, she did not yet feel the heady emotions that came with a departing lover. She only felt numb. It struck her that in that moment she felt as if she were watching someone else's life unfold before her. She was not standing in the foyer of her home watching her husband leave her. Her husband- her beloved husband- who she had expressed her love for just moments before was not gathering his belongings. Rhett did not tell her he was leaving her. In Scarlett's dissociative haze, Rhett was not turning to open the front door and she was not gripping the handrail until her knuckles turned white.
The click of the lock as Rhett turned the door handle sounded like a grand boom in the silent vestibule pulling Scarlett out of her dissociative calm. Suddenly, this was all too real. Scarlett frantically started, moving towards Rhett as terror exploded inside of her. How would she get on without Rhett? He had been the only constant in her life for over a decade. She relied on him more than she knew. She loved him. She LOVED him, damn it. She had loved him for years but was too insolent to understand, for what did she know of love? No one before Rhett had ever shown her real, genuine affection. She hadn't recognized it when it crept its way into her heart all those years ago. She clung to her Ashley Wilkes security blanket.
Ashley: a juvenile representation of her childhood. Ashley represented everything Scarlett had lost throughout the war. He was her age of innocence, but there was no more innocence. She hadn't known innocence since before the war when the biggest concern was who she would dance with at the next garden party. What a fool she had been. What a stubborn, idiotic fool she had been for trying so desperately to cling to a moment in time when she was unabashedly happy and force those around her to partake in her charade.
Rhett bent down and grabbed his suitcase in his large hand. This time he refused to look back. He would not see the myriad of emotions dancing across Scarlett's face. Rhett refused to be moved by her tears.
"Rhett, no." Scarlett managed. The plea caught in her throat and tumbled from her lips in a barely audible whisper. She reached out a trembling hand and took a step forward. She laid a pleading hand on his wrist. "Please wait, my love."
Rhett flinched. My. Love. Something about those two syllables shattered his calm resolve. The vein behind his eye seemed to burst. Burning white rage blinded him momentarily, but when he came to he was livid and shaking. How could she have the audacity to call him her love? Rhett turned his head. Scarlett noticed that every movement was calculated.
"Are you a masochist, Scarlett?"
Had Scarlett not been standing inches from him, she would not have thought that the sentence came from he husband. The steely coolness in his voice was deceptive. His voice was low and the words slipped from between his teeth like a snarl.
"I am tired, Scarlett." Rhett turned his face away from her. "How else can I make it apparent to you that I do not want you? I do not love you. I can barely stand the sight of you as it is. Now, please love, if you wouldn't mind…" Rhett pulled his arm from her grasp, opened the door, and stepped out into the foggy night.
Scarlett was frozen in place, the emotional blow temporarily rendering her immobile. How could this be happening? Hadn't they shared their bed recently? She remembered that night. He was angry then, too. He had pinned her to his body, seeking her lips in an unrecognized need. He tasted of brandy and stale cigarettes that night. She recalled him carrying her up the steps and into her room. He had torn her clothes off, ravenous for her body. He was initially rough but when she had finally opened to him, he found solace in her curves. He caressed her neck, breasts, and waist. His lips had softened around her collarbone. She had sworn he whispered that he loved her.
It dawned on Scarlett that that moment of intense passion was nearly a year ago. He had been terribly inebriated that night. She sadly recalled that after that night of passion everything had changed. There was no more love in his eyes. A cry escaped her and she flung open the half-closed door. "Rhett! Rhett, come back!"
She took off down the street falling freely into the foggy abyss. She could barely see a foot in front of her, but she kept running. She kept running for all the years she has missed. She kept running in the hopes of salvaging her marriage. She kept running for him.
Tears clouded her vision and her hair whipped wildly in the wind sticking to the tracks of tears on her cheeks. She felt strangely like she was being strangled. It was as if the fog was enveloping her whole, sucking her down into the depths of its belly and suffocating her. She called out to Rhett again.
It struck Scarlett, as she rounded again upon the house on Peachtree Street that she knew he was truly gone. She had assumed she had run into the center of town to meet the ghosts of Atlanta. Instead she was lost in her own town. She wondered if Rhett had gone to see Belle. The thought overwhelmed her and she cried out. Her knees gave way under her and she reached out to steady herself on a nearby fence.
She stood there gathering herself for a long while as silent tears stained her cheeks. "He will come back," she told herself softly. "He will come back. He always comes back to me."
Even as the words escaped her lips she knew the sentiment was a lie. In the past he had always returned, yes, but there was never so much hatred in his stare. He had never looked at her as if he regretted every decision he had made to get him to this moment.
Scarlett took in a shaky breath and straightened her shoulders. In a daze she turned around and started for home. The numbness had set back in. She didn't remember the walk home nor did she realize she was still crying. She didn't notice that Prissy met her at the door of her home. Scarlett didn't hear Prissy when she asked if Scarlett were all right. The slow climb up the grand staircase was a blur. The blanket of numbness engulfed her. It was only after she had closed the door to her room did she remember the terrible ache in her heart that threatened to burst. It was only then that she, Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler understood that for the first time in her life, was alone.