Another Him- RDR2

return

Out of the shouting, the punches being thrown, the music pouring from the piano, and the usual Saturday evening chaos, all you could focus on was the sweat glistening on the man's forehead.

You hadn't approached him first. You weren't that kind of person. But for whatever reason, he had singled you out and sparked up a conversation.

"...so I says to her, I ain't ever needed you here! Always gripin' and complaining!" He slung his arms around while he talked. He'd clearly had a bit too much to drink. Normally, you'd have left by now. Let him find some other woman to cling onto. But his barely coherent speech and dramatic gestures were somewhat amusing to you.

"All's I'm saying is, yes, miss, I'm married. But y'know what? I'm near divorced!"

You laughed to yourself. "Sure, mister." You knocked back a shot of whiskey, feeling it burn against the back of your throat. A few months ago, you would've winced at the sensation. But it was like your father had told you- acquired taste. You raised an arm at the bartender for another round.

"What about you, miss?" His words were slurred. He raised his voice to yell over all the background noise. You watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple, paying only half attention to what he was saying. "No one comes to Rhodes for a... nice, relaxing getaway." You looked him in the eye. You felt your muscles tense. Suddenly all the noise went quiet, punches stopped being thrown, the drunks stopped yelling at whoever looked at them wrong, the piano faded out. It was just you and this drunken stranger. Your could feel your heart beat in your chest. He lowered his voice.

"What're you runnin' from, miss?"

-

The next morning, you pushed open the saloon's doors. For the past month, you'd been staying there, growing used to the creaking floorboards, dirty mirrors, and, thanks to the thin walls, horrible sleep. It was unconventional for someone to stay for so long, so the bartender had started charging you extra. It was no problem for you, though.

The streets of Rhodes were red and dusty. It was the only thing that hadn't changed about the town since you were a little girl. That and the thick, southern air.

You fidgeted with the envelope in your hand as you made your way through town. You felt the warmth of the sun kiss your skin as it rose and the town began to wake up. You saw a man emerge from the gunsmith, you watched the butcher walk across the street to open his shop. One of the things you liked about this place were the slow mornings.

The double doors to the post office creaked open. A man and a woman sat side by side, suitcases at their sides, at the far side of the building. The man glaced up and made eye contact with you. You darted your eyes away.

"Morning, Y/N," spoke a voice. You turned towards the speaker and gave him a smile.

"Hi, Alden." Alden was the clerk at the train station, and over the past month, you'd gotten close with him, as far as employees and customers go. "Got anything for me?" you asked hopefully.

"Miss, today's your lucky day." You felt your heart skip a beat, and you rushed to the counter. Alden was usually pretty serious, but you could see a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't fully aware of your situation, but he knew that every morning, you would come by with hope and leave with disappointment. That was all he needed to know.

"You're serious?" you exclaimed. "From who?"

"Someone named Tacitus Kilgore," he said. He had pulled an envelope from under the counter and was reading the name carefully.

"Give it here!" you demanded, coming off more aggressive than you'd intended. He stared in shock for a moment before handing the letter to you. "Sorry," you apologized, taking it from his hand. "Thanks, Alden."

Back in your room, you finally tore into the letter. You ripped the envelope across the top and fished out a folded up piece of paper with your fingers. Hastily, you unfolded the letter.

Dear Miss S.,

About time you came back! We ran into some trouble down in Blackwater, you must've heard by now. Reason we wasn't answering your letters was because we got holed up in the Grizzlies in a snowstorm, and came back down a couple days ago.

We're camped just south of Valentine, a place called Horseshoe Overlook. It's real nice here. Come find us when you can. There's a lot you have to get caught up on.

-Mr. P

That was Pearson writing to you, you were sure of it. You could feel you heart nearly leaping out of your chest.

Valentine. You'd been there last month, before you came to Rhodes. And you knew the area very well- you were half certain you knew exactly where they were.

You tucked the letter into the pocket on your vest, for safekeeping, and started to gather your belongings from your room. There wasn't a lot that you owned, just your guns, your food, and some extra clothes. You picked up the shotgun that rested at your bedside and slung it over your shoulder, tucked the pistol on the nightstand in its holster. Just as you were about to leave, something on the dresser caught your eye.

It was the letter you had written. You picked it up, studied it for a moment, then reached into your bag. Your hand sifted through it before landing on a small box.

You pulled your hand out, holding a box of matches. You slid open the small container and took out a single match, stuck it against the bottom of your boot, and set the letter on fire.

You held it in your hand, watching the flame eat away at the envelope for as long as you could. The fire got close to your fingertips, you could feel the heat radiating from it, so you dropped the smoldering mass into the floor and stamped out what remained of it.

Satisfied that you'd taken care of everything, you opened the door and stepped into the saloon. It was around noon now, the only people inside were a few lunch goers and the bartender.

"I'll be leaving now," you turned to say to him. You got the reaction you'd expected- he just glared at you, muttered finally, and turned to go see to cleaning the place up. You ignored the hostility in his response and turned to walk out the door.

Across the street, Biscuit was hitched up on a post. She was a pretty horse, a Mustang with a cream colored coat. You'd won her in an auction last year, down in Blackwater, and fell in love with her.

"Hey, girl," you greeted her, stroking the white blaze that ran from the top of her head to her nose. She swung her head around to look at you. "Finally getting out of here, huh?"

You loaded your bag onto her, strapping down to the back of your saddle. Next was your shotgun. You reached over your shoulder to pull it off of yourself, then stowed it on Biscuit.

Finally, you gripped the saddle, hoisted yourself up, and swung your leg over her broad sides. You absentmindedly stroked her neck while you took one last look at the town. You weren't exactly sure whether you'd miss it here or not, but you didn't worry about it too much. You reasoned someway or another, you'd be back here someday.

You tapped your heels into Biscuit's sides. She reacted by speeding up into a trot. You took her  down the main road, heading west out of town, kicking up dust. It was just past noon. You would likely be in Valentine by sunset.

As Rhodes grew more distant, you picked up more and more speed. Your horse moved at a hard gallop, riding west, chasing the setting sun.