Until Death - Red Dead Redemption II

Act V: Homicide Relief

The first thing Jack felt when he awoke was a pain in his ass. A pain that felt familiar in a terrifying way. A half-asleep hand cupped his rear as he felt the lack of clothing on him. Shooting up from his slumber, looking down to see his trousers around his ankles. Then he noticed the familiar substance matted into the hair leading from his groin to his belly button. This stuff. This excrement.

He's not stupid. He put two and two together and realized what had happened the night prior. He at first felt a sense of joy, as he deep down desired what had happened, but then a feeling of shame washed over him. Then the memories poured in as well, his mind shooting hundreds of different signals at him. The feeling battered him as he pulled up his bottoms and crawled out of the tent. Immediately noticing that Arthur was nowhere to be found.

He found all traces of Arthur completely gone, nothing besides a piece of paper folded gently in front of the tent. Jack grabbed the piece of paper and unfolded it. Finding a handwritten letter addressed to himself.

Dear Jack,

As you are reading this I assume you've figured out my absence. I had a fantastic time with you, however what transpired last night was a mistake. I don't hold it against you but I think you'll agree we should part ways. As this is not something I can move past. I hope not to leave you feeling guilty as this is not your fault, it is my own for allowing myself to behave in such a way. I wish you well on where you find yourself next but I cannot join you on that journey.

Goodbye, Mr. Yorke.

Jack felt a lot of things. Betrayal. Hurt. Anger. Sadness. Every possible emotion flooded through him as he found himself crying. Something he doesn't like to do. He crumpled up the note and threw it into the fire. Of which was still burning bright. Arthur must have teased it. Anger felt the most prominent, he felt mad enough to kill a town.

He didn't know what to do. It all felt so awful. But what he did see was a half-empty bottle of whisky on the floor. And without much thought, he took a swig of it. The burning sensation filled his throat as he walked away from the camp. Arthur had even taken Mystery. Which was fair. Jack would have done the same thing.

He was walking somewhere. Somewhere unspecified, somewhere unlucky.

Jack isn't quick to anger. In the blatant way that is. Most things didn't bother him. Being stared at. Yelled at and such didn't do much to phase him. But some things did. Certain words being thrown at him, mentions of his past. Anyone who threatens him in the slightest. Being laughed at, those things did nothing but fill him with hate.

He was currently just outside of Valentine. Stumbling around the street. A half-full bottle of whisky dangling from his limp arm.
His world was faded, but not entirely gone as he looked down at his feet. Counting his steps as he made his way to no particular destination.

People don't usually say anything to him when he's wandering drunk out of his mind. It's not worth the hassle of trying to reason with someone intoxicated. But sometimes people will yell things. Often it's just people who are upset that a drunken man is wandering around their property.

But recently Jack has been getting something yelled at him more and more. Even when he's not drunk. Queer. He doesn't understand how someone can tell who you're with by the way you look. Is it because of his lack of facial hair? Maybe his choice of garments? Maybe it's the way he talks. The way he moves. The way he is.

These thoughts have been burrowing into Jack's head. Digging in like a rot, as his brain fails to combat these thoughts. He's not lesser than these morons because he is sweet on guys. At Least he doesn't think he is..? But he isn't even sure he's specific to men. Or if he is anything. He's not sure of anything.