Pushing the door open, you entered into the kitchen of the house, your fathers house. It was just you and him for five years after your mother had died of apoplexy, and since then, your father had drown himself in drink. You took it upon yourself to care for him and run the house, work at the saloon and come home to make food for yourself and your father.
As you walked in, you made your way to the sitting room, where your father was slumped in the arm chair. With a sigh, you crouched down in front of him and shook his arm gently, "Papa?"
The frail man before you stirred awake, his hooded eyes opened and looked up at you. It took him a moment for him to come around, and as he did, you made work on the fire. Once you kindled the fire, the fire grew bigger and bigger, its orange flames dancing over the logs that began to burn with its glistening embers. And slowly, the room began to warm up.
"What time is it?" Your father slurred, rubbing his eyes.
"Its 10 o'clock, you hungry?" You asked.
"Hm," was all he could manage, and so you snook off into the kitchen as you reheated the stew that was made the previous day. Once it was hot, you scooped a ladle full into a bowl and brought it over onto your fathers lap. The two of you sat by the fire quietly as you ate.
The room was silent. There wasn't much to say, there never was when your father was the way he was, deep in drink and in and out of consciousness. You hated to see him like that, nothing more than an empty shell. Not even half the man that he used to be. He used to be a carpenter, a loved character throughout the village, a popular figure of the town. Now people just look on at you in pity, and you hated it. Your father did not need pity, nor did you. That was half the reason why you kept him away from the public eye, but it didn't stop him from stumbling into the saloon begging for a drink to drown his sorrows. Thankfully, the owner of the saloon is a good friend of your fathers, and he helps both you and him to get by.
"Thank you," He slurred as he polished off his food, letting the spoon fall to the floor, "oh,"
"Here," You said as you rose from your chair and picked it up for him. Grabbing the empty bowl, you went to turn around and make your way into the kitchen, but he grabbed your arm.
"Katherine?" He questioned, but you shook your head.
"No papa, it's [Y/N],"
"Oh... [Y/N]..." He suddenly burst into tears, "You look so much like your mother,"
"I know papa, i know," You sighed, pulling him into your arms, holding him tightly as he sobbed drunkenly. This was a regular occurrence, one that you have numbed yourself from time and time again. With it now being a routine, you waited for him to tire himself out, and once he did, you helped him to bed.
Now finally alone, you snook out onto the porch and collapsed into the rocking chair that your father had created years ago for your mother. It was the only thing, apart from the photograph of her on the fireplace, that reminded you of her. You could remember watching as your mother was sit in the chair, gently rocking in it as she busied herself knitting. She'd hum a peaceful tune as your played with your makeshift dolls, and your father would be in the workshop creating his many wonderful creations and commissions. It was a simple life, and one that you could only wish for.
You sunk further into the chair, wrapping your shawl closer around yourself as you gave out a shaky sigh. Maybe your life will perk up. Maybe your father will see sense and stop drinking. Maybe he'll find salvation in god, perhaps. Or find himself a nice woman to grow old with...
ESTÁS LEYENDO
When The Seasons Change {RDR2 FanFic}
Fanfic{Based on the potential story of Eliza} ~Arthur Morgan x Reader ~ Before the events of Black Water, Arthur Morgan meets [Y/N], a quiet waitress at the local saloon. A drunken night leads to a night of pleasure. But what follows pleasure, is somethin...
