See Me Before You
"Dutch! Please, just talk to me!" I had begged, every day, all I wanted was him to show some sort of affection, something to show that he saw me. Sometimes, I would even stand next to him, on the balcony at Shady Belle, and he would continue to look straight ahead, not even acknowledging my presence.
To say that it drove me crazy was an understatement.
I had slowly felt my heart crack, as the days went on and on. Miss Grimshaw had warned me that Dutch would "go off" me, and that he'd get sick of me, wanting a younger, prettier girl to be his. But I knew that I was different. The way he used to look at me when we had first met made me remember why I had stuck around with him for so long.
He was the adventurous, mysterious knight in shining armour that I had been searching so deeply for. And I was his woman, from another land, of sophistication and riches.
I had worked so hard on improving myself, just so that he wouldn't get sick of me, but now, I realize that it was inevitable.
So that's why I sat there, in a dark saloon in Saint Denis. It was one of those where there are bigger, more popular saloons around it, so all the people go for those, leaving that one dark and desolate. At least the drinks were cheaper though.
I had already drunk an awful lot, my vision was starting to go blurry, but I felt like I was thinking clearer than any time before.
"Another." I raised my empty shot glass to the drowsy looking bartender, who just handed me the whole bottle, seemingly to have decided that he couldn't be bothered to keep pouring the drinks for me. That was about right.
It felt cold in my hands, but I could hardly taste it as I threw it down my throat, emptying it within seconds.
An idea popped into my head. If I showed Dutch how much of a mess he turned me into, how much he had ruined me, how much he had corrupted me and manipulated me. Well. Maybe he'd finally see me for once, instead of looking away and ignoring me like he usually did.
A fire burned inside of me as I got to my feet. The room was spinning but that was the least of my worries. As I stepped out into the busy Saint Denis streets, a plan was beginning to form in my mind. I let out a laugh. A plan. If I wasn't made for that bastard, then I didn't know who was.
"Molly?" Someone said my name, was it Dutch? Had he finally come to his senses, and realized that he had missed me? That all his sulking, and ignorance was for nothing, and that they were finally destined for the life I had dreamed so longingly for? I looked around but felt my heart fall in my chest when I realized that it was just Uncle.
I realized that I had left my horse back at camp, and there was no way I was walking. My dress would get muddy if I walked back, and I had to look my best all the time for him. I had to. If I didn't… well, I tried not to remind myself of the painful sting in my heart as I gazed idly at the man they called Uncle. "Take me home." I whispered, hearing how slurred my speech was.
"Are you ok, Miss O'shea?" The short man asked as he brought his horse over to me. He climbed on, and I heaved myself up. I ignored his question, too deep in my own thoughts to hear what he had to said, it probably wasn't anything of any importance anyway.
I needed to get Dutch's attention. But what could I do that would get some sort of reaction out of him? I could try the seductive way, wear a low-cut dress, different makeup. No. He would push past me, apparently his work with that Micah Bell and Arthur Morgan was more important than the woman that loved him so dearly. The woman that had thrown away her perfect life to live with a man who couldn't even confirm they were going to have any food every day. Let alone live comfortably, under a roof and four walls. She had stuck with him through all types of danger, even when the world had begun to crumble in Blackwater, who was there for him? By his side, and motivating him to carry on? Me. I was. Nobody else, but me.
I had to try a different approach. He always seemed to be preoccupied with his work, telling me to shut up so that he could think, and shouting at me about how much pressure he was under.
Then it came to me. As if someone had opened the cloth curtains in an abandoned manor house, the sunlight spreading in like a wildfire.
If I said that I had told the Pinkertons all about their stupid plans, he would definitely see me. He would be angry at first, yes that was true, I was certain of it. But if I just told him, explained to him how I felt, he would see what I meant. He would see what he had put me through, and he would hold me close, whispering his apologies in my ear as we drifted off into a peaceful slumber together. "Molly, my dear, I'm so sorry for hurting you." He would say.
The horse stopped and I tried to get down but ended up falling off. Nobody seemed to stop working though, so I dusted the dress off, making sure there was no dirt on it before following Uncle into this new camp that they seemed to be stopping off at. Dirty hermits.
"Dutch? Dutch?" I shouted; my voice louder than I had aimed it to be.
"I found her in Saint Denis. Drunk out of her mind." Uncle explained, another person acting as if I wasn't there.
People surrounded me as I approached Dutch, I tried to act put together, but just seeing his face lit a fire inside of me. "Dutch van der Linde!" I hissed, anger building up. He was seeing me; his eyes were on me.
"Molly O'shea. Please calm yourself down. This is not a good look for you." He spoke, his words condescending, making me feel smaller than that boy that always seemed to run around the camp. Joe, was it? Jack? Oh well, that didn't matter. Nothing mattered other than me and Dutch.
"Oh, as if you care about me, Dutch! As if you care!" I shouted, aware that people had surrounded around me. Even better. Now they would sympathize with me, now they would see how he had treated me and flock to my aid.
I needed help, I knew that, but all within due time, I told myself.
"I told them! It was me!" I shouted, looking at all their faces, staring down at me. I was bigger than them, I was the one with a house back home in Dublin, a family that loved me. Why was I still there? Dutch. That was why.
"What did you just say?" He asked, his voice with a warning tone of anger.
"I loved you, you bastard!" I shouted, finally they would all see the tragedy of my heart. Oh, how he had corrupted such an innocent woman, from such a clean world with his dirty lies and trickery.
"You told the Pinkertons about us?" He asked, I felt tears in my eyes. I loved him. I had said that I loved him. Had he not heard me? It was now that he was supposed to realize that he had been wrong this entire time. Him, not me, so why was he looking at me like that? Why were they all staring as if I was the enemy?
I could see Arthur, whispering in his ear that I wasn't worth it, that Dutch shouldn't get angry at me. Typical Arthur Morgan, wanting Dutch to look past me, look over me and focus on his work instead. Arthur just fuelled the fire further.
There was a gunshot, and as tears fell down my cheeks, I looked down. Blood was pooling around me, staining my perfect white shirt. I didn't feel the pain of it. The only pain I felt was in my heart, as I fell to my knees before him, giving one last look, maybe now he would realize what he had done to me, maybe now he would realize the pain he had dragged me through.
He had his head turned from me. He had his head turned away, as I lay before him, wounded and bleeding out. He had his head turned.
And in those moments, they say that you see your life flash before your eyes.
All I thought about was how dirty my dress was.
He would never love me with blood stains.
He would never love me.
