ok, this story is something different than my usual style. If this part appears repetitive or disjointed it should...it is a drunk Rhett, pondering. I'd like to meet the person who does linear thought while drunk lol.
Sometimes, if he worked hard enough at the Landing during the day and drank enough at night, he began to almost believe the lies his weary mind spun. Almost.
She had been gone a month. Every day seemed longer than the one that preceded it. His alcohol fogged mind struggled against even thinking of her. But, as he sat slumped in a chair before the fire in his study at Dunmore Landing he usually lost that battle. She had begun haunting him, with a frequency that he could have never imagined possible.
His memories of Scarlett had become a specter of sorts, haunting both his waking hours and sleepless nights. When he did manage to sleep, she was there. Waiting for him, her flashing emerald eyes taunting him.
She knew, in his dreams, that no matter how hard he tried to rend her from his heart and banish her from his thoughts, he was incapable of such a Herculean task.
Dreaming of her was nothing new, he had been doing it on and off for years, ever since the bazaar in Atlanta. When he had taken her in his arms during the first waltz of the evening, he had known that in all the world there was no other woman for him. One day win her heart. One day she would say the same words to him that she had to that imbecile Ashley Wilkes, 'I love you.' And then he would tell her, pour out the contents of his secret ridden heart. When he finally heard those words from her lips he would spend the rest of his life loving her so completely that all thoughts of Ashley Wilkes would be washed from her mind.
Liar, his guilty conscience whispered, she did tell you she loved you and you threw it in her face. His God damned conscience, absent during the last twenty some odd years had finally returned, with a vengeance. Now, his newly returned conscience was his constant companion.
He wanted to hate everything concerning her. Hate wanting her, hate wondering about her, hate the way that he blamed her completely for his current state.
It was her fault because she was too vibrant, and too beautiful, and he had always wanted her too much. She was the embodiment of everything he had ever looked for in a woman. He could not say wife because the idea of taking a wife had always been so foreign to him. There had never been a woman of his acquaintance before Scarlett that he cared about so passionately.
The season had nearly come to an end and through it all he had been able to resist her considerable charms. There had been times that he had nearly weakened, God help him he could not deny that truth, but he had remanded strong.
Ever since that night on the rain soaked beach he had been mired down in a pit of regret and guilt. He had almost lost her. For a split second he had thought that she was gone, that she had stopped breathing. He would relieve those moments again and again until the endless amounts of liqueur he consumed each night finally rendered him unconscious.
When he was drunk enough to overcome some of his grievances against her, he could see the hard truth that was clear as crystal. Not all of the current mess they were in was Scarlett's fault. He knew it wasn't all her fault, yet a part of him continued to try and blame her completely. Because, if everything that had gone wrong between them was her fault, it couldn't be his.
Sometimes he wondered if the only reason he was so consumed by thoughts of her was because he had driven her away.
He had practically ignored her during the time she had been under his mother's roof. Whenever he could go over to the Landing, he had.
He had dismissed her out of hand because he felt that he had earned the right to treat her that way. She had never given him the chance to show how much he loved her, he had never told her because she was a callous, cruel little bitch who would have shredded his heart with the claws she hardly ever sheathed.
Except, you never gave her a reason to give you a chance, his heart cried out. He wanted to argue, after all, he had showered her with everything she had wanted; money for Tara, a mansion, jewelry and gowns. But, he had never told her that he loved her in a way that could be construed as anything other than flippant.
She had never given him a chance because he had never given her the right incentive. He had never even hinted that he would have rewarded even the smallest amount of effort with his heart.
His goddamn memory, it plagued him with a barrage of missed chances, regrets, and loss.
After they had returned to his mother's house on the Battery he had left her those god damned flowers and that stupid note. Whenever he closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep, he could see her face as she scanned the contents of his hastily written note.
Had she cried? Scarlett hated to cry. She was sure it marked her as weak and soft. Had his words reduced her to tears? He prayed that in spite of everything that had passed between them he hadn't driven her to tears.
She was so strong, the strongest person he'd ever known. Stronger certainly than he was. When he had realized he loved her, he had alternately teased her or degraded her. Scarlett was so different; when she had finally discovered her love for him she immediately confessed it. Confessed only to be pitied and then dismissed.
And yet, she had rallied against what could have only been a crushing disappointment to her fragile hope for the future. After having such a monumental gift hurled back in her face, she had still come to him in Charleston, knowing that he might not welcome her with open arms.
He had returned to Charleston ready to try again. He would not have made it easy for her, but he had at least been willing to accept her efforts with an open mind. There was a large margin for failure, but he had finally accepted that she was his destiny.
He had left her for a week. During that week he had accepted the inevitable, and given the same span of time, with the evidence at hand, so had she.
After everything that had transpired between them throughout the years, his desertion had been the final load to be thrust upon her slender shoulders. He had left her when she needed him with only a note and some flowers to show that he acknowledged her existence.
Just as he had been ready to concede that it couldn't be over between them, Scarlett had accepted that their marriage was over.
Cross purposes once again. With a twisted grimace, he used his penknife to slit open the heavy gilt paper covering the whiskey bottle's cork. Sleep wouldn't come tonight, but the oblivion of being senselessly intoxicated would.
At least he could say one thing for being drunk. It made the time pass that much faster. But, where, his weary mind questioned, was he in such a hurry to get to?
As he took a swig from the bottle, something nagged at him, a vital piece of the puzzle that was her hasty departure. There was something off, and he couldn't put a finger on it.