Cause and Effect

Chapter 14

nemesism  

(n). frustration, anger, or aggression directed inwards towards oneself

//--//--//

Light had a funny way of illuminating and obstructing. 

He could see Charles, could see him shake his head, knife glinting at his throat, Arroyo's face floating above him. 

He would be fine, Charles. He told them everything, shame creeping over him as he remembered. 

Charles wasn't fine, the man hacked and hacked and hacked, and still, Charles's eyes stared into his, never leaving, open, terrified.

He had saved him, he had told him everything, he had saved him. 

So why,

So why was seeing Charles slaughtered like a goddamn animal in front of him?

"Arthur," the voice, gently and soft. A hand on his shoulder, not the one that they had to reopen, and scrape out the shattered remains of the bullet, the other one. He glanced up, chest heaving, face wet. Goddamn had he been fuckin' crying? He scrubbed at his face, glancing around, the familiar sights of Hosea's trailer meeting his eyes. 

A more louder "Arthur," again, and he finally acknowledged the voice with an exaggerated wave of the hand. 

"Damn Hosea, 's nothin'."

"Nothing?" Hosea sat back, glancing at him. "Think I know better than that, Arthur, considerin' how I raised you, practically." 

Arthur lay back, shoulder letting out an aggressive pulse of pain, and he winced. "Got any more of them pain meds?" He asked instead, one hand touching his swollen face gingerly. "Feel like shit."

"Those," Hosea corrected mildly, before helping him up, and handing him some. "And this is it, until at least ten tonight. Don't need to add opioid addiction to your issues."

Arthur pulled a face, carefully washing down the tablets. "What'd I do without you?" He muttered. 

"Probably die," Hosea quipped back, leaning back. "Now, what's goin' on up there? Charles told me some, but you ain't told me any."

Arthur sighed heavily, not really wanting to get into it at all with him. "Not much Hosea, 'cept now the whole del Lobo gang's gonna know 'bout us, 'cus of me." He couldn't even look at Hosea, feeling the guilt and helplessness wash over him again. "We're in more shit, and it's because of me, again."

Hosea frowned. "What do you mean, again? Most times we get in shit, it's 'cus of Dutch, or that fool Micah, not you, you hear me?"

Arthur shrugged, eyes downcast on the thin blanket covering him. "Sure, Hosea, but this time I really fucked up."

"Arthur," Hosea sighed, rubbing his face wearily. "No, you didn't son. I'd be more concerned if you let a man die to keep a secret that was more than likely to come out anyways." 

At Arthur's scoff, Hosea grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to glance up at him. "Mean it, son, what you did? Shows you're more man than most of us here."

Arthur shook his head, twisting the blanket nervously between his hands. "Hosea, c'mon now, don't make it out like all that." 

"I will," Hosea said stubbornly. "Charles is lucky to know you, Arthur Morgan. I'm lucky to know you, hell everyone here, is. We're better for it, son, knowin' you." He patted him softly, gently taking the strangled blanket out of his grasp. "I'm gonna be right here, if you need me, alright?"