I hate this fucking chapter, I hate my fucking computer, I hate myself
Fucking ENJOY I GUESS.
Also, SMALL BUT ALSO HUGE WARNING, JUST IN CASE!
Tiny mentions of sexual abuse and rape within this chapter, but really it's only a wee bit. I didn't really want to make it a huge focus on Annabel because let's be honest, my girl is legit the best girl and she's a strong girl and she's a brave girl who won't let things in her past define her.
ahhhhhh, I need to find a better way to cope with my shit.
There was an awkward silence that seemed to follow them since that one night in Santa Rosa. They would pass on simple words, confirmations on where they were headed and such, but nothing beyond that.
They were both sure that they were blowing it way out of proportion, but then came the time they were passing over the Rio Grande as the sun was setting. The mountains were painted pink and purple and red and with the high contrast of the snow, it was almost unbelievable what they were seeing. They stopped by the river for the night, Arthur caught a few fish for their dinner and Annabel cooked them without a word.
This was going on for days, and Arthur managed to build up his courage during those days to finally talk to her.
They were in the middle of nowhere and no one was around, so it would be fine.
Right?
"Annabel?" she didn't really respond or react when he called out to her. She was in her own little world, stoking the fire and flipping the fish every once in a while. "Anna." He was firmer this time, louder too and that caught her attention easily.
Her head perked up, and her shoulders hunched forward as a reaction. She hummed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. "Yes?"
"You feelin' alright?" she hummed her response, going back to cooking. He scowled at her, knowing that she was just trying to avoid talking about anything between them and he hated it.
She always acted like a child when she was like this.
"Ya know, you can't keep ignorin' me like this." He muttered, poking the fire with a stick a little too aggressively. Sparks were sent up into the air as he did so, and the crackling cause Annabel to scrunch her nose at him.
"And you can't keep getting angry whenever I don't want to talk." She removed the filets of fish from the fire and gave some to Arthur, almost haphazardly.
"Yer avoidin' me."
"I am not avoiding you, Arthur. I just don't want to talk."
"Exactly! Yer avoidin' me!" she groaned and rolled her eyes, and Arthur gapped at her. "You're actin' like a child."
"What do you want to talk about anyways, hm? That night in Santa Rosa that you never seem to shut up about?" she shot out, her words like molten hot knives to Arthur's cold skin. "It was nothing. There was nothing between us. It just happened, so drop it." She dropped her plate of fish by the fire with a loud clatter against the rocks and crawled into her tent. "I'm not hungry anymore, don't bother me. Goodnight."
He listen to her shuffle around in her tent until silence covered him like a blanket, if the blanket was made of annoying, scratchy wool that would always attract burrs. It was annoying and frustrated and it made him mad, or he thought he felt mad from the way that weirdly familiar feeling bubbled in his chest and made him lose his appetite as well.
He couldn't really figure out the words to describe how he was feeling, but he could describe it with the last person who made him feel this way.
Mary.
He pulled out his journal, needing to get out whatever he's feeling in whatever way he can. He scribbled a few little doodles of local plants and the Rio Grande. He drafted the tents that were right across from him, with an arrow pointed to Annabel's tent with a small note.
-She's worse with romance than I am.
How many years has it been since I've felt this way, with the weird churning of my stomach and tightening of my chest. I can always blame it on getting old, but I know that Annabel has this power over me.
Being sweet on her is like trying to ride a damn bull. You think you can handle the bucking, but than that bull twists wrong and soon enough you're staring deep into the eyes of something that can put you six feet in the ground.
I can tell she's conflicted, and I know she's dealing with mourning her father but she's pushing herself much more than I had hoped or anticipated.
I'm hoping that once we get to the next stop, she won't be so damn moody.
They were a few days out from Bluewater, and Annabel was still giving Arthur the silent treatment.
She would let him know where they were, what city was next, that she was hungry or needed to relieve herself.
But other than that, she kept her mouth shut.
And while it annoyed Arthur to no fucking end, she didn't seem to care as long as she didn't say anything that would ruin the progress.
Their progress, whatever that was.
They were still a few days out from their next destination, and Arthur was going to have to deal with her silent treatment for those few days.
"Are you gonna talk to me, or are you gonna just stare at me when I say yer name?" she shrugged, not pulling her face from her book. He started to grind his teeth to keep himself from groaning in frustration, and the sound of his teeth doing such a thing made him shudder softly.
She continued to read, looking up every so often to make sure she wasn't going off the path, and Arthur could see her eyes flicking over the words on her page a little too quickly than normal.
"You ain't readin', are ya?" he chided, and he could see her shoulders stiffen just a hair that even he was surprised that he noticed it. "Annabel."
She looked up from her book with a raised brow with a slight look of annoyance that she keeps getting pulled from her book. Her eyes were dark, and the clouds above weren't making them any softer. Thick lashes fluttered from him then back to her book with a loud enough sigh to cause him to grimace and curl his lip into a pout.
He huffs, looking down at the horn on his saddle and wrapping his reins around them. His hands felt raw from the rubbing of leather, and his ass hadn't felt this sore since his days with the gang. He shifted uncomfortably, and he was almost tempted to hop off and walk.
But then his feet would start to ache and he would be back in his saddle with the same sour look on his face.
By the time night came along with the moon coming over from the east, they were upon the city of Cubero.
Cubero was a small pueblo that seemed to be slightly abandoned and seemed to be more dirt than people. The only place that had any beds was the saloon and the saloon was full of sad looking people who stayed pretty quiet even as they hitched their horses and walked in.
As they pushed their way through the swinging doors, they noticed that no one looked their way.
No one seemed to care about the two as they ordered a room, some food and some alcohol. Arthur's eyes found Annabel's body as she walked her way through the quiet place, up the stairs and around the corner and into the room.
He nursed his bottle of cheap beer, and hoping to chase away the awful taste with some whiskey, but their whiskey was not any better.
He noticed the silent whispers around him, all in Spanish and the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight. His paranoia made the alcohol settle awkwardly in his stomach, and he refused a third bottle of beer that the bartender offered him.
He saw someone walk out the back of the saloon, their eyes meeting for a split second and his stomach dropped all too suddenly as the small man seemed to run out all too fast.
Arthur was getting too old to chase people around like he used to, and with how comfortable he's been living these last three years, he can't go assuming that everyone is out to get him.
Not anymore, at least.
He walked up the stairs, his heels hitting heavily against the old and weathered wood and his spurs making slight clicking noises with every step.
He knocked on the door to their room, and he was sure that it was a small room with a small bed meant for one person.
"You can come in, I'm decent."
The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was musty, bare, and rather noisy from the slight moans and the slamming of the bed frame from the room next door. He could see the slight red tint that dusted over Annabel's cheeks and with the way her lips were pursed into a thin line, he knew that she was embarrassed. The sounds that came from the other room caused her to look around awkwardly, but she avoided his eyes and all he could do was chuckle at how embarrassed she was by just the simple act between two people.
"You think it's funny, huh?" she tried to make it seem like she was playing around, but her words seemed to fall out of her mouth with such an aggressive seethe. He looked at her face contort from the way her words fell, and he could tell she didn't mean it.
"I don't know why you're getting all embarrassed." He walks over to the wooden rocking chair with a tacky fabric that covered the cushy seat. He practically fell into the chair and realized just how sore he was from all the riding he was doing.
He looked around some more, seeing the lace curtains covering the small, single pane window then he saw the tiny dresser that had some half-melted candles that stained and stuck themselves to the wood.
There was some knock off pictures with some over exaggerated frames that was placed over a brick fireplace that seemed too small to make a decent fire to warm their cold bones.
"I was thinking of having a bath." He looked over to Annabel, her body tilted slightly and her hair out of its normal braid. Soft curls were brushed through with her fingers as she pulled out some burrs and other unusual things out from her strands. She pulled a twig out of her hair with a wince, and threw it towards the fireplace. "But I'm kind of unsure of this place."
"So it's not just me…" He thought back to the small man who looked too young to be working in a milling town like this.
There was a long silence as Arthur stared out of the window from the creaky rocking chair and Annabel continued to mess with her hair, twisting it around and putting it in a low, messy bun.
He noticed how she seemed to stare at herself in the armoire mirror, and he could see the way her eyes looked herself up and down and the way her lips pressed into a thin line before curling into a sneer. It was almost as if he could hear her thoughts, the put downs and the disgust that seemed to just fall from the looks she was giving herself in the dirty mirror.
Her sigh made him pull his eyes away quickly, afraid of getting caught staring at something he admired so deeply even if she didn't believe she could be admired in that way.
"Do you mind if I take the bed?" her voice was quiet, and only for his ears. The moans next door seemed to have stopped and he was sure that Annabel was thankful for that.
"I don' mind." He looked over to her, a small smile gracing his lips. She wasn't looking his way; however, and so it was lost within the musty air and unusual silence of the pueblo.
"Goodnight, Arthur."
"Goodnight, Anna."
Bluewater was gorgeous.
As they came up over the hill that overlooked the valley, all they could see was flickering lights and soft noises of music and children's shrilling laughter. There was some music being played loudly and the harmonic resonance seemed to calm Annabel as she trailed behind Arthur who seemed exhausted and sore from the last few nights of fitful sleep.
The trail turned from dirt to gravel to cobble stone and concrete as she looked up at the colorful Christmas decorations that covered the small village buildings. Bright lights with greens and reds, garlands covering the light poles and some doorways seemed to have some mistletoe hanging from them as a joke.
They checked into the hotel, and Arthur noticed something about the person at the front desk.
The same small stature, the same wary eyes, the nervous energy.
He was the same guy from saloon from Cubero.
Arthur knew that the moment he caused a scene, both the law and Annabel would be on him like ants to honey, so he watched him from under the brim of his hat as Annabel gave him sweet smiles and soft words.
He noticed the way the boy looked from Annabel to Arthur than back to Annabel, and he tried his hardest not to seem so damn nervous, but Annabel picked up on it; turning around to eye Arthur with annoyance as she continued to pay for their rooms.
Arthur's steely blue eyes bored holes into the boy's head as he took the bags and followed Annabel to their room.
The place smelled better than Cubero, but it still had the same awful taste in aesthetics and furniture. Old, creaky chairs with cheap cushions and a bed covered in quilts he thought were simply donated or bought from an estate sale. There was one lamp between the two beds, and that was the only form of light with in the small room.
"I ordered myself a bath, so I might be a while."
She was out the door before he could answer.
All he could do was sigh, standing in front of the doorway for a moment before he decided to leave and explore the small village.
The place seemed to remind him Annesburg. Train tracks running through the middle of the town, homes that were built close to each other with working girls wooing drunken men into the little alleyways.
There was only one saloon in town, and it was obviously busy.
Men sat on the porch, drinking and chugging down their beer and liquor while the loud piano played some messy tune through the window.
As he pushed through the crowd of drunken men and working girls, he noticed the boy from hotel.
The same boy who was also in Cubero.
The boy didn't seem to notice Arthur watching him from a distance, and Arthur could see the boy talking to a man with a wide brimmed hat covering his face. He could tell that the man was annoyed with what the boy was saying, placing a tight hand on the boys shoulder before dragging him outside and being followed by two other men.
Arthur; knowing that Annabel would murder him if he followed, stayed by the bar. He watched and waited, and waited, and waited…
Then he left and followed the group out the door towards the back.
He could hear the boys' cries as the men started to punch him, hoping to get what they wanted to hear from him forcefully.
"Tell me what room they're in, and I might not kill you."
"I can't…"
"Now is not the time to think you're being a hero. What room is Arthur Morgan in?" the boy wheezed and whimpered as another punch landed against his stomach.
"The hotel across the street, top floor…" he wheezed again, and Arthur could tell how wet it sounded as he coughed and gagged. "There's a woman… She doesn't know of who he is, I'm sure of it."
"Oh, save us the bullshit." There was a gurgling sound that seemed to be followed by a resounding thump of a dead body, and Arthur knew that the boy was dead.
Hell, he would have done the same.
Arthur was about to turn the corner to try and sneak up on the men, but loud gunshots rang out and caused everyone within the saloon to go into a panic. There was no doubt this was a quiet town, and gunshots ringing out as loud as they did most likely broke the peace they had for quite a while.
Several more pops seemed to go off before he heard Annabel's yelling.
As he rounded the corner of the saloon, he saw her with the Lancaster butted against her left shoulder, pointing it down at the man who seemed to threaten her. Arthur noticed the fury that radiated from her as she slowly moved closer to the man clutching his shoulder with fear and adrenaline running through her body.
Bodies started to push him around as the customers started to push past both him and the man with the large brim hat.
"Please, don't kill me."
"Will you leave us alone if you run?"
"Ma'am –," she didn't give him a chance to get his excuse out as she shot him through the forehead.
Something seemed to run through Arthur as he saw her pull the trigger without hesitation. First was the cold feeling that seemed to cause his heart to stop. The look in her dark brown eyes, as she lowered her rifle was chilling and for a moment, he saw something he didn't want to see in her. He always saw her as someone who was soft and sweet and innocent, so the scowling look of survival that knitted her brows made goosebumps to rise on his skin.
Second, was fear. The fear of losing her to a life that she should never know, even though he knew that the lack of hesitation to kill has to come from experience. The fear of losing her to a bullet in the head because while she was strong and confident in killing, she lacked the skill in doing so fast.
Third was veneration and adoration.
She was gorgeous, her hair still dripping with water from her bath, and hanging down in loose curls down her back. A long sleeve dress that seemed to compliment her curves just right, and all he could do was stare at the woman in front of him that held no fear in taking a life. Her dark eyes seemed to soften as she dropped the rifle from her shoulder and she looked over towards Arthur, and he could see the anger and hatred leave her body and that familiar kindness and love began to replace it.
Shots rang out again, and he noticed the one man shooting towards Annabel and climbing onto his horse to run off like the coward he was.
Before Arthur could pull his revolver out, Annabel already had her rifle butted up and ready, firing shot after shot after shot at the man.
Her hands were too shaky to put a good shot on him, but the fight was done and she knew that it was time to go.
"Annabel!" her shoulder slumped forward, and she started to feel the stinging pain in her right arm as Arthur ran over to her.
Bullets had grazed her arm, ruining her dress and staining the thin layers with dark red blood. All she could do was groan in annoyance as Arthur came up to her, his hand twitching by his revolver while his other hand seemed to reach for her injured shoulder.
"Don't touch it." She hissed at him, pulling away from his roughly which caused her more pain, "We need to get out of here." Her eyes seemed to soften as she looked up at him, and all he could do was place a hand on the small of her back.
A shiver ran through her body as he did that, and she realized just how cold it was outside compared to his warm hands.
"Grab the horses, I'll grab the bags."
They were a few miles out from Bluewater, hiding within the small amount of trees and brush from the law that was patrolling the radius of the village.
Arthur was making a fire, trying to cook up a rabbit that was unlucky enough to cross paths with him on their way out.
Annabel, was wincing and grimacing under the cover of the tent as she tries to stitch herself up with shaky hands and a woozy head. She kept poking the curved needle in the wrong spot, and she would inhale sharply and groan in frustration.
She was already three bottles into her small stash of gin, and she only had three left, but she was tempted to drink it all and let herself bleed out.
Arthur peaked into her tent after she yelped and dropped the needle which hanged loosely from the string that was two stitched in. Her whole body was shaking, tears stained her cheeks and her brows were knitted into a scowl, and all he could do was chuckle.
"Can you help me? I just can't seem to get it." Her voice was weak and wobbly as he placed himself next to her. Her hair was pulled over her left shoulder, out of the way from the wounds but still annoying her no doubt.
He had never stitched anyone up before, but he did poorly cauterized a gunshot wound once.
So he took up the needle in his inept hands, and started to poorly stitch up her wounds.
She chugged a bottle of gin, trying desperately to chase the pain away as he awkwardly poked holes and pulled the sutures taunt against her skin.
"You suck at this."
"Shut it. You asked me for help, remember?" she could only chuckle before she winched and whined about the pain as the needle made its last suture. "That should hold."
"Great." She groaned as she started to dress the wound, "Thanks." She sounded exhausted and drunk as she placed thick pads of gauze on her arm.
He lingered for a moment too long, the crackling of the fire being what pulls him away from her. He couldn't help but want to ask where she learned to kill like that. He wanted to know what happened in her life that left her with the skills to put a man down without the nagging hesitation that most get when they kill their first man.
He wanted to know more.
"You're staring, Art." Her slurred words brought him back to the world, and he could only clear his throat from choking on his own words. "What're you thinkin' about?" she had dragged out her bedroll and laid herself next to him as he skinned the rabbit and prepared it.
"You didn't hesitate."
"Was I supposed to?" she questioned, laying on her back to stare at the starless sky. "It wasn't the first time that I killed someone, if that's what you're trying to ask."
"How many did you kill before this?" she hesitated slightly, sighing as she thought about it.
"He was my sixth victim." The silence was thick, and he could tell it was a hard subject for her to talk about. "The five before him were men trying to take our house since we had paid the bank in full and everything, the land was ours. The men would constantly threaten my, so I would constantly have to put bullets in their heads."
He stayed quiet, stoking the fire before placing the fillets of meat close to the fire.
"Since the house was so close to the river, they wanted to build another bridge for wagons and carriages but they wanted to build right were the house was. I told them no, they threatened that they would take it from me in whatever way possible, so I…" she made a finger gun up towards the sky before making a silly gun sound. "My mama taught me how to shoot, but I taught myself how to kill."
"It's a dangerous game to play, you know."
"I would rather be alive with a home and skeletons in my closet, than having to live my days in a place that didn't feel like home." She grumbled slightly, picking at her hang nails and cuticles. "It's not like I don't have skeletons in my closet already."
"Me too, darlin'…"
The silence overtook them again. The shrills of the cicadas in the trees, the loud howls of coyotes, and the screeching of owls seemed to fill in and all Annabel could do was relish in the sounds of the wildlife around her and the crackling of the fire as it died slowly.
"I never told you about my college days."
"You remember that, hm?" she gave a breathy chuckle, looking up at him with tired eyes.
"I remember a lot, Arthur Morgan." He felt a blush creep up from his neck and towards his cheeks when she said that. What else was there that she would remember that he didn't know about? "You still want to know, don't you?"
"I want to know about your scar." She hummed, and he noticed that she started to run her fingers over where the scar laid on her neck.
"It was my second year of college," her voice was quite, almost hesitant with what words were going to spill out from her throat. "I had fallen hard for a boy who went to the brother school to mine. His father actually ran the program that I attended.
"His name was Daniel Evans. His family had moved from Britain due to his fathers' skills in surgery. He was a sweet boy, but ultimately too cocky at the end." Her breath started to grow shaky, and he could tell that her throat was starting to close up as she talking about it.
"Near the end of the second year, he had proposed to me. He had said sweet things to me, and me being the young, foolish girl who believed in fairy tales, believed that he loved me.
"He had taken me to his father office, and he tried to do things that I wasn't okay with. I told him no, I told him to stop but he was taller than me and bigger than me so he was able to push me over the desk and use me.
"When I tried to fight back, he pulled out a knife and placed it against my throat but I still fought and moved which caused this scar." She continued to run her fingers over the puckered skin, "He only stopped when he saw my blood start to stain his fathers' desk and papers and I took that chance to run and get myself fixed up.
"After that, I took my studies seriously. I worked hard to get out early, and I graduated two years earlier than all of my friends and classmates just so I could get away from him."
"Where is he now?" Arthur couldn't help but ask, not out of worry but out of an unfeigned curiosity.
"Who knows." She shrugged, sighing deeply as the alcohol started to lull her to sleep. "I think he ended up moving back to Britain to finish his studies, but his father still teaches at the women's college in Pennsylvania."
He handed her a fillet of rabbit, but she refused it as she tried to drag her bedroll into her tent again.
"You're gonna feel like shit in the morning if you don't eat something now."
"That's what I'm hoping for, Arthur." She fluffs her flat pillow and weakly smiles, "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
And with that, he was left alone by the weakening fire and a whole cooked rabbit.
He couldn't help but feel… something. There were no words to describe what he felt after that little story of hers, but it was something that bubbled and burst deep in his chest.
Maybe, just maybe… it was a sense of admiration.
He chuckled, leaning back slightly and looking up at the dark sky.
"She's one tough sonovabitch, don't you think?"
The wind blew past him, soft and brisk, almost as if in agreeance.
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I always feel weird when I write or even mention rape and things because it's always so cliche and overused so I wanted to mention it, and keep it as something thats like "Oh, that's something that pushed her to become better than everything around her so she could on only prove to herself but to others that things like this don't define her." but also it is a slight trauma that even I know of because I've experienced what she went through and yeah.
Let me know what you think, let me know if it's bad because tbh, I feel it.