Die In Sleep {HS}

III - Hatches

[Billy ]

Holy cow, how this drink tastes bad! And adding to how I'm at the verge of throwing my burning stomach up, I asked for it without having a single coin to pay for.

Apparently, I'm making too much wrong decisions lately, although they do have their racionality. I escaped and came here to survive and I've just killed someone for the first time for self defense. Right after, I found myself in this dark smelly room with half a dozen other drunk cowboys, all here for the same purpose of forgetting and feel mentally sane in a way only we understand.

I wish I didn't know what got into me, first of all, the moment that knife choped the first strand of my hair. But I had to, after that previous experience, a part of me even felt disgusted of being a girl. So,
I cut most of my curls off so it can go a little bit unnoticed.

It hurt me doing so more than I had first predicted. I started remembering and hearing father's admiring voice of everytime he compared them to the gallop of a wild horse. With tears down my face, I forced myself not to wonder what would father think about me doing this to my hair, chopping more and more strands of it like mad, because father is dead gone and won't see it, anyway.

That was when I realized I had to put myself together, there was no time to cry, and I hadn't checked on Fender yet. Getting out of the house carelessly, as if I hadn't left a dead body inside and anyone could see me, I thanked God my clothes aren't too tight and obvious, and I didn't have to borrow that man's in order to do so, and that Fender was there chewing the weeds around the porch.

He wasn't tied or anything, but he knew better than to leave as if he was some dumb animal thinking he deserved better, and that's the second thing I like the most about my horse; his reliability. The first is his fur. Which I petted tenderly on our way to somewhere I could figure if alcohol really makes me forget and all those whatever reasons men get wasted.

It definitely occupies my mind with trying to act normal and used to it and manly worth of wearing the smell it leaves on my breath. I seem to be doing well, to be just another one of them. Though, of course, once I observe that, something happens and I suddenly feel a weird attention on me, precisely.

The hatches are swung open right behind me, across the room, and the previous noises of drunk chattering and occasional other bangs are immediately shut down. Slow heavy boot steps come in and take over everything in the bar, including the soul of all those present.

For after realizing the sudden change and it not being some effect the alcohol is having on me, I lift my gaze just enough to see the barman standing straight and still, ahead to where that superior presence remains now in silence. Wondering what may he be up to, to suddenly look scared like that, I allow my gaze to turn to the side and see if anyone is just as curious as me.

Though curious is how everyone else I look around to stands in the same way, all of them fighting for their lives to keep the balance and posture before whoever requires that behavior.

"Aren't you going to stand?" A deep dragged voice suddenly fills the silenced room without much effort. Everyone holds their breaths while I finish the drink with a smooth swing of my head. When the cup hits the wooden counter louder than it would normally do, I understand I must have been the one talked to, considering I'm also the one not standing.

But why should I? I know this man from nowhere and have no reasons to pay that kind of respect for him, whatever great doings of his require so. Or is it out of fear, that this people surrender like this, as if to show how much well behaved they've been.

Wondering like that, I turn my gaze calmly to look over my shoulder at the event. Aware of how my hat hangs low and almost covers my eyes, I allow myself to take in and study his authoritarian figure in the middle of the room.

The light of the day behind him being the only source of light inside, makes me resign to only be able to take in his tall silhouette, thin waist and large shoulders. Only then a sparkle at his breathing chest brings my attention to the golden Sheriff distinctive he wears at it.

Wow, he's a Sheriff. What now? Does he want me to kneel before him and kiss his feet? Knowing very well what I'm doing, I slide from my seat very calmly, making him think I would indeed give in to him like everyone else. Only to then start making my way towards him, now as if daring him to do anything to me for not actually doing so.

"On my way out." I tell him equally lowly instead, for all I do is simply walking out of the building and leaving only the noise of the swinging hatches behind.

A part of me predicts the Sheriff is going to follow right behind and arrest me right away, for I am not that innocent at all and I may have just shown nothing but rebellion to the authority. So that's when adrenaline starts rushing inside my veins and I'm atop my horse before I notice it.

No one comes out, and as I look to observe precisely that, I can't help but notice the two other horses waiting there just like mine was. One of them is a weird shade of brown and caries a man who looks just as authoritarian as that one prior is.

He sends me a suspicious look, and my committed self looks away to elsewhere. Though I catch myself studying the other horse more attentively and its black fur so dark that neither the desert sun seems to have any lighting effect on it.

Checking quickly on the man again and seeing him still staring, I immediately turn my horse so he takes me away. But where to exactly, I suppose it is time to find out.