A/N: Trying to get these updates out once a week! You guys reading this makes the effort totally worth it. I know it may not be your cup of tea, but I appreciate your feedback, it helps me to know what's good and what isn't. I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing and you deliver. :)
A clap of thunder wakes me up, and I raise my head from the covers. Rain patters onto the window and slowly runs down to the frame, each drop racing the other. I listen for awhile and rest my weary head back onto the pillow. It's chilly in the room, and for a moment I think the bed is empty, and I feel utterly alone. I turn my head and see the covered mound next to me, sides rising and falling with each gentle breath. Why is she still here? I honestly don't know what happened the night prior and I don't know what time it is. It's too cloudy out for me to determine the hour, but I feel like I've been sleeping for three full days, even though I know that's not the case.
With a sigh, I throw my weakened legs over the side of the bed, yanking the covers off as I do so. A brief groan sounds behind me and the covers are snatched back. I sit up and stare at the empty floor, knowing I need to get dressed, but not having the motivation.
What day is it? All the days seem to just meld into one, unending, repetitive cycle. I lost my job the other day, showing up late too many times I guess. Who cares, anyway?
I stand up and walk over to the dresser, grabbing my wrinkled shirt off the floor as I go. I fill the basin on the dresser with cool water from a jug and wash my face, the cold water making me more alert. Shaking my head, I stand up straight and spot my reflection in the mirror. What have I become? Why is seeing my own face such a bitter reminder of everything that's wrong with my life? I hate myself, I hate the way I look, my habits, my own voice. I'm a wreck, there's no denying it.
I slam my hands down on the dresser and exhale. My left hand instantly stings and I stare down at my palm, seeing the ugly scar stretched out across it. The bullet wound that left my hand almost unusable. I didn't do anything to deserve it, all I ever did was try to help. Slim did this to me. I don't know why…Maybe he lost it, maybe he misunderstood my intentions, maybe he was just too upset to try and understand what really happened; I sure didn't stick around to learn him the facts. I had reached my breaking point. He always thought my breaking point was either non existent or temporary. That I'd get pissed and stay in town until I had sorted out my feelings, like some moody housewife. Or that I could never get mad enough to ever seriously contemplate leaving. I'll admit, I left enough times, but I always came back with my tail between my legs, wondering why I was so stupid. They say anger is temporary, but I've been mad since the day I left.
Why shouldn't I be? My best friend shot me. Trust me, I could've forgiven him that offense if it was a wrongdoing on its own merit, but it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I had taken months of his bullshit, and I thought I'd sort through it and everything would be alright again, but so much had happened up to that point. We both completely lost it like a couple of angry lovers, and looking back on it, maybe it was silly. Although, sometimes I think of Slim and wonder if he still hates me. He told me to leave, that I was no longer welcome. I never, ever thought that I would hear him say those words, especially to me. We were like brothers, like family; family don't turn on each other. Guess I wore out my welcome. The way I figure it, it had to happen eventually. I'd always been a drifter, but I thought I had found my home. I'd been kicked around since the day I was born and then this…this. The ultimate betrayal of trust, friendship, understanding. All out the window with no hope of redemption. It was so unlike him to act like that, but I think he meant it when he told me it was my fault I killed Andy.
I open the dresser drawer and see the yellow bandanna I snagged from that day. It was the only thing I had left of Andy, a reminder of his horrific last moments. I was too slow, I killed him. I didn't mean too, Slim knew that. He was one of the most forgiving people in the world, why did he go off his rudder? I had never seen him so mad before.
I saw him, holding Andy's broken, lifeless body in his arms. God, I wish I was dead. I killed a thirteen year old boy and the only way I can sleep at night without his grisly death replaying in my mind, is to go on one of my alcohol induced hazes.
I'm a nobody, maybe when I was a gunslick I was someone, but those days are over. Right now, I'm a broke, depressed, drunk excuse for a man.
"You can't be serious," A voice sounds behind me. I whip my head from the mirror and see the girl from last night throwing my empty wallet on the bed.
"You are unbelievable, you really are. Good job telling me you're broke."
I cringe, "Yeah about that-"
"You were throwing money around last night like there was no tomorrow and you're telling me you're broke?"
"I lost the rest of it in a poker game last night."
She groans and stands akimbo, giving me the death glare. I ignore her and continue dressing. When I'm done, I grab my hat and stuff Andy's bandanna in my pocket, heading for the door. The girl rushes past me and yanks my six shooter out of its holster and dangles it in the air like it's some kind of prize.
"This will suffice as payment for my services," she chirped, blocking the door.
Aw, hell no! That was my specialty fighting pistol. No one would take that from me, especially not a two-bit saloon whore. I felt a little guilty about not being able to pay her, but I was desperate.
"You can't have that," I said in a warning tone.
"I can so, and if you dare take it from me, I'll tell the sheriff you raped me." she said, raising her chin in defiance.
"Yeah well, good luck with that sweetie. No one will ever believe you. So go ahead and get the sheriff over here, I don't care." I replied, slowly walking over to her and snatching the pistol back from her. I felt like the lowest scum of the earth, saying stuff like that to a girl that was about as down on her luck as I was, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.
I proceeded to open the window and crawl out onto the roof, sliding down the shingles and preparing to jump. I was still pretty hung over, and the ground kept moving, like waves in the ocean. Only, I knew that if I landed wrong, I'd probably kill myself, but then again, no great loss there. The shingles were slick with the oncoming rain, and it kept pounding on me, relentlessly, determined to see me fail.
I saw my horse tied to the hitching post below me and I grinned, knowing I'd land perfectly in that saddle.
"That's right, kill yourself you trail bum!" the girl shrieks, slamming the window shut. The commotion startles me and I fall forward, unprepared for the landing.
I missed the horse completely and landed face flat in the mud in the street below. I laid there momentarily, my head feeling like it was about to explode. I push myself to my knees and then feel someone yank me backwards by my shirt collar.
"There you are, you bastard!" A gruff voice snarls. My nostrils are greeted with a rather foul stench and I turn my head to the side to see a big burly man sneering at me while refusing to unhand me. His clothing and features were reminiscent of the Sioux, but I couldn't be sure.
I roll my eyes and shake my head with what little strength I have.
"Now just what in the hell do you want? You took me for all I had last night, wasn't that good enough for you?"
"You still owe me," A higher-pitched voice chimes in. A petite man walks into my field of vision, and I find myself looking up at him. He's very well dressed and his grin is painfully fake, his pearly white teeth glinting as a flash of lightning strikes nearby. If my memory serves me well, I believe this man to be called Seth Collins; gambling man, professional tinhorn.
I wince as rain continues to bounce off my face and get into my eyes.
"I owe ya nothing'!" I argue.
His green eyes narrow and his smile fades into a scowl. "That's where you're wrong, pally," he hisses.
I feel myself being dragged backwards into an alley and I instantly realize that this is going to get messy. My boot heels drag through the mud and at this point, I'm sopping wet and my hair is in my face.
I'm shoved against the side of a building in the alley and the burly man holds me up, my legs too weak for me to stand.
"You still owe us $500!" Collins growled.
I looked at him, utterly exhausted. "I don't have the money right now!" I rasped, trying to make myself heard over the raging storm.
"Where's the damn money?" he agitated.
"I left it on your mother's dresser!" I spit; Childish and ineffective on my part.
Another flash of lightning and I'm met with the burly man's fist, right in my gut.
"Well," Collins replied, "Now that's just too bad in't it? You should've saved it for us."
Strike after strike, from the face back to my stomach, it's all just too much.
"Who shoved the totem pole up your ass, inbred sonuva-"
Before I can finish, I'm socked again.
I don't even know who's throwing the punches, I just know it hurts like hell. My arms flail vainly as I try my best to fight back. I don't care how hung over I am, I will never, ever go down without a fight.
Despite my sincerest efforts, the punches keep coming, almost in time with the thunder and lightning. Rain blurs my vision, along with the blood that is now streaming down my forehead and into my eyes. My outstretched fingertips don't even graze him, they grapple blindly at the air as I grow increasingly frustrated.
"Why don't you just kill me?" I grumble at the men, as I slowly slide down the wall and into the mud. I try to get back on my feet, but I'm promptly kicked over.
"And make it easy for you?" The little man sneered, "No way José."
"You'll just have to die on your own sweet time,"
My head is in the muck and I see their boots walking away from me. I see my chance and yank out my gun, aiming it at them. I would shoot the bastards in the back, but I'm not that low yet.
"Collins," I shout, "Draw!"
He turns around and shoots my way, my gun clicks and there's no bullet. I hear his bullet rush by my ear and he laughs.
"You've lost your touch, Harper," he cackles.
"So have you," I retort.
Apparently, he can't take a smart remark, so once again I'm swiftly kicked in the jaw and everything goes momentarily black as my head connects with the ground.
Blood, so much blood. Whose is it? Where is it coming from? Blood, mixed in with mud, all a blur now. It's in my nose, in my mouth, I'm covered in the mixture. My head hurts, my stomach, my arms, my legs…everything hurts. I'm dizzy, fading, the edges of my vision turn into black spots and I let my swollen eyes close, just for a second.
How did I let this happen? Everything that got me to this point was a mistake. I never should've let this happen to me. I'm miserable, lost, aching.
I want to go home, but I don't have one. I know why I had to leave, I miss it, and I just wish I could back. However, I cringe whenever I think about it. I was told I don't belong there.
I want to believe that, but I feel myself being called back. I want to go back, back to when I could ride in and actually get the familiar sensation every time that that was my one true oasis. I thought I'd ride home and be welcomed back like an old friend, but I don't reckon that's what would've gone down. How can I show my face there ever again? I'm just as good as a murder. Running, like a coward, running away from my problems and still tumbling right back into trouble. If I live to see the morning light, I will go back.
Even if it's not for keeps, I just need the closure. If I can see Andy's grave, pay my respects, look at the ranch and leave, I'll be fine.
I'll be fine…
I keep repeating that phrase in my head as I finally succumb to the dizzying blackness.
A/N: Bear in mind that Andy is not dead, in case you were scared. POVs can be confusing, I know.