Old Habits: The Prologue
Aug 15, 2019 22:36:36 GMT -8
Post by misslizj on Aug 15, 2019 22:36:36 GMT -8
(Not a challenge story, I just thought I'd share it here where everyone would have the chance to see it.)
I ran across this little piece that I wrote a couple of years ago. I’m not sure where I was going with it or if I meant for it to stand alone, but I realized it would work well with the story I just finished, “Old Habits Die Hard.” I’m posting this today in honor of Amanda’s life.
Kitty was bone tired when she left Matt at the new doc’s office to go back to her room at the Long Branch. She hadn’t slept for more than an hour or two at a time the entire time she’d been back in Dodge, and Hannah’s bed--she had insisted on Kitty taking her room even though she hadn’t been in it much so far--was mighty comfortable. Still it was no surprise to find that sleep was an elusive goal that afternoon. She had intended to slip away and go back to New Orleans without Matt even seeing her once she was sure he was out of danger, but somehow, she hadn’t. Their awkward yet endearing conversation kept running through her head like a player piano. That cowboy was mighty glad to see her, that much was obvious, and his eagerness to pick up where they’d left off, whatever that even meant, both thrilled and scared her. She wondered if he could tell she was lying when she’d told him he was out from under her nails for good--and whatever had possessed her to use that particular metaphor, of all things? Why remind him of their physical relationship when she wanted--no, needed--to keep him at arm’s length? Or had it been an unintentional jab at what had always been one of her secret fears--that their relationship had been nothing but physical, at least from his perspective?
Except...she knew, in her heart that it wasn’t true. Whatever was wrong between them, it wasn’t a lack of love. Words came hard to a man like Matt, and she could count on both hands with fingers left over the number of times he’d told her he loved her. Even when she was lying there on Doc’s table, trying to die after the horror of the Dog Soldiers, he hadn’t been able to say it. But she knew. She could see the hurt and, yes, fear, in his eyes when he told her over and over that he needed her. He couldn’t live without her anymore than she could without him--or at least the knowledge that the other was somewhere in the world, breathing and walking upright. She wondered if he knew that he’d called for her every single day that she’d been there to take care of him, sometimes too unaware of her presence through his pain and fever even though she spoke to him, other times calming at the slightest touch from her. She wondered if there had been times in the last thirteen years when he’d been hurt or sick and calls for her had gone unanswered. Or if there had been anyone else there to answer them. Her throat ached with tears she wouldn’t allow herself to shed. She turned on her side, hugging the pillows tightly.
Still unable to sleep, she looked at her surroundings. Hannah had redecorated the room. The bed was in a different spot, and, of course it was a different bed. The older woman had simpler tastes than Kitty, but the room was in its own way still feminine and elegant. The only things in the room that indicated Kitty’s presence were her hairbrush and the small jewelry box she traveled with sitting on top of the bureau. But with the basic structure of the room along with the faint noise from the saloon downstairs there was no mistaking where she was--the room where she and Matt had spent most of their time together. She shook her head and got up wearily.
Sleep wasn’t going to come. Not right then, anyway. She couldn’t be in this room without him.
Continued in “Old Habits Die Hard”
I ran across this little piece that I wrote a couple of years ago. I’m not sure where I was going with it or if I meant for it to stand alone, but I realized it would work well with the story I just finished, “Old Habits Die Hard.” I’m posting this today in honor of Amanda’s life.
Old Habits: The Prologue
Kitty was bone tired when she left Matt at the new doc’s office to go back to her room at the Long Branch. She hadn’t slept for more than an hour or two at a time the entire time she’d been back in Dodge, and Hannah’s bed--she had insisted on Kitty taking her room even though she hadn’t been in it much so far--was mighty comfortable. Still it was no surprise to find that sleep was an elusive goal that afternoon. She had intended to slip away and go back to New Orleans without Matt even seeing her once she was sure he was out of danger, but somehow, she hadn’t. Their awkward yet endearing conversation kept running through her head like a player piano. That cowboy was mighty glad to see her, that much was obvious, and his eagerness to pick up where they’d left off, whatever that even meant, both thrilled and scared her. She wondered if he could tell she was lying when she’d told him he was out from under her nails for good--and whatever had possessed her to use that particular metaphor, of all things? Why remind him of their physical relationship when she wanted--no, needed--to keep him at arm’s length? Or had it been an unintentional jab at what had always been one of her secret fears--that their relationship had been nothing but physical, at least from his perspective?
Except...she knew, in her heart that it wasn’t true. Whatever was wrong between them, it wasn’t a lack of love. Words came hard to a man like Matt, and she could count on both hands with fingers left over the number of times he’d told her he loved her. Even when she was lying there on Doc’s table, trying to die after the horror of the Dog Soldiers, he hadn’t been able to say it. But she knew. She could see the hurt and, yes, fear, in his eyes when he told her over and over that he needed her. He couldn’t live without her anymore than she could without him--or at least the knowledge that the other was somewhere in the world, breathing and walking upright. She wondered if he knew that he’d called for her every single day that she’d been there to take care of him, sometimes too unaware of her presence through his pain and fever even though she spoke to him, other times calming at the slightest touch from her. She wondered if there had been times in the last thirteen years when he’d been hurt or sick and calls for her had gone unanswered. Or if there had been anyone else there to answer them. Her throat ached with tears she wouldn’t allow herself to shed. She turned on her side, hugging the pillows tightly.
Still unable to sleep, she looked at her surroundings. Hannah had redecorated the room. The bed was in a different spot, and, of course it was a different bed. The older woman had simpler tastes than Kitty, but the room was in its own way still feminine and elegant. The only things in the room that indicated Kitty’s presence were her hairbrush and the small jewelry box she traveled with sitting on top of the bureau. But with the basic structure of the room along with the faint noise from the saloon downstairs there was no mistaking where she was--the room where she and Matt had spent most of their time together. She shook her head and got up wearily.
Sleep wasn’t going to come. Not right then, anyway. She couldn’t be in this room without him.
Continued in “Old Habits Die Hard”