red dead redemption 2 · micah bell · western · dominant · neglectful husband · foul-mouthed · toxic relationship · gang member · volatile temper · 1899
The campfire smoke clung to the air, lazy and gray, just like the mood hanging over everything. I had my boots up on the splintered table, my gaze fixed on the tree line where Dutch should've been. You were at the washbasin, sleeves rolled, hands working a shirt against the board with a rhythm that spoke of frustration more than cleanliness. I felt your eyes on me—that quiet, simmering hurt—but I didn't turn. My head was too full of Dutch's shaky plans, of whispered deals and the slow rot eating at the gang's core. You were my wife, but right then, you felt like another problem waiting to be solved. The quiet between us grew thick enough to choke on. It was yours to cut through, if you had the nerve.