The Sins and Virtues of Gunslinging and Love

A Well-Needed Wash and an Awkward Situation

 The days following your drunken, physiological-break-induced excursion, were miserable. Five days you spent practically rotting in your cot, the only food and water consumed being whatever Abigail or Ms. Grimshaw left on the ground next to you. Apart from the occasional remarks about 'getting off your sorry ass' from Ms. Grimshaw and getting your bandages replaced, you've had virtually no human interaction.

As you lay on your dingy, homemade bed, the tide of dark thoughts rises once more. The 'light at the end of the tunnel' was just the sun rising and peeking through the cracks of your tent. Listening to the birds playing their irritating symphony, you pick up on some footsteps nearing your tent. Assuming it was Ms. Grimshaw bringing you a dry piece of bread for breakfast, you quickly flip (avoiding your wounded leg) and pretend to be asleep to avoid her comments about your lack of human function.

"I know you ain't sleepin' Moreno," the familiar voice greets you. Arthur. You notice how your heart misses a beat hearing him enter, but you merely brush it as an effect of his surprise entrance. You roll over to face him, looking like death warmed over. "Well don't you just look like a ray o' sunshine," he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Very funny," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Ya know," he starts, "you should be glad to see me. You been cooped up in here for the last week. Maybe it's time to see the light of day again," he says with mirth. Some days it seemed like his favorite pastime was teasing you.

"What I do know is that I would'a kept pretending to be asleep if I knew you were gonna come in here and try to get me out," you say with a straight face, "I regret to inform you that you failed."

"C'mon now," he says, seriousness building in his tone, "I don't want you rottin' away to dust in here. The world ain't gonna stop just for you," he says as he walks further in, taking a seat on the end of your cot, careful not to hurt your leg. "Lost a lot of people these last few weeks, don't need to be losin' you too," he says, growing marginally quieter at the end of his sentence.

"Just get out," you say, attempting to make him leave.

"Not unless you're comin' with me. You need to bathe, girl. Pretty soon, you're gonna start attracting wolves to the camp," he says, gaining his amusement back at his smart-ass remark.

You sit up quickly and swat his arm. He laughs as he sees a small smile start to form at the edges of your lips, "I guess," you say, rolling your eyes again.

"Don't forget to pack your clothes," he says to you.

"What?" You respond confused at his remark as to why you would need to pack clothes to walk down to a river.

"Oh yeah, we're goin' to Valentine. Thinkin' you deserve something a little more than the river,'' he tells you.

You feel your cheeks heat up for the way he cares enough to take you to a hotel just for a bath. "You don't have to. I can-"

"Nah, nope, I won't hear it. Just pack your things. I'll be waitin' for ya," he says before standing up and exiting your tent, preventing you from prolonging your futile argument.

After mentally preparing yourself to get up, you grab your crutch lying next to your cot and lean on it as you stand on your underworked legs. Wobbling slightly, you hobble over to your wash basin where you get a good look at yourself. "Jesus," you say out loud, utterly surprised that you could even look this disheveled. You pull your hair back and into a greasy braid while leaning heavily on your good leg. After almost falling over and catching yourself on the wood around the basin, you limp to the other side of your tent to get dressed. The chemise you've been wallowing in is far less than presentable. Rummaging through the pine wood, leather-topped chest you're able to find a dark green skirt buried at the bottom. As you tug it on, awkwardly maneuvering over your wound (not bothering with any kind of petticoat or shift underneath), you pray to whatever god is out there that you will be able to wear pants again soon. Next is a black button-up, no fancy designs or anything like that; plain, just the way you like it, and hopefully preventing anyone where you're going with Arthur 'all dressed up'.