You wonder when your life would stop being a living hell.
If anyone had asked you when you were a young, bright-eyed teenager what you'd be doing in adulthood, you probably would've responded with something other than 'slave to a bunch of criminals'. Your younger self would've been proven to be a fool, but luckily, no one asked because no one had bothered to believe in you, anyway. You were sold off like you were an item, just some object in the house instead of someone's child, and you found yourself in such a miserable situation you wonder if you were ever meant to live past twenty.
Day in and out you scrubbed floors, washed blood from clothes, and were used in more than one way to satisfy the men around camp. It makes you sick to your stomach but you'd learned how to close your eyes and picture yourself somewhere else, until it was all said and done and you could go back to the manual labor. You preferred it compared to having some disgusting man lurching over you and lusting after you, but it's a life you had to get used to; they all had guns, and were decent enough shots, you'd be dead before you set your own two feet outside of camp.
As the days went by, you realized you minded that thought less and less. Death. An escape.
Your day started off like any other, but one of the lower ranking members decided he wanted a 'taste of you' before he left; you shiver at those words, disgusting, you hated when they talked like that. They acted like they were doing you a favor, like no one would want you otherwise, and now that you'd be used so much, you were beginning to think that's true. Who would want someone who's been used and abused like you had? Who would even have the patience to deal with you after this?
Your thoughts are blank as the man begins to unbuckle his belt, but he's interrupted by the sound of gunshots outside. He abruptly stops taking off his pants and heads to the window, taking cover behind it and pulling out his own pistol, just in case. You can hear the other members outside screaming, calling out for help, or ordering others to get into position; were you under attack? You don't move from the bed even at the threat of a stray bullet flying through the window, you'd actually be grateful at such a happy accident (as long as it killed you, and didn't just cause you suffer more).
The door to the dingy shack you lived in is kicked open by a man, one who doesn't look like he came to play games. You're stricken with fear, wondering if this is how you'd die: shot by some stranger who didn't know they could actually be saving you. Just a few seconds before you'd been so placid at the thought of death, and now you can feel the fear running through your veins.
You wanted to live, just not like this.
A look of concern flashes across the strangers face, and you realize there's no way you'd be mistaken as a member of this gang; you looked too beaten down, too weak, to be anything but a victim.
"Are you alright?" The man asks, and it's at that point you realize he doesn't notice the other man who's now positioned behind the door.
"Look out!" Your cry comes too late as the stranger nearly gets shot, but something on your face must have alerted him, because he avoids a fatal wound. "Bastard!"
You're not allowed to have many things in your little shack, especially nothing considered a weapon, but the previous night a member had left an empty alcohol bottle near your bed. You had had plans to use it for an escape attempt, had been formulating a plan, but now seemed as good a time as any. Leaning over to grab said bottle tight in hand you throw it as hard as you can while the stranger struggles with the man, knowing your aim isn't great, but you're lucky enough to land a direct hit. The gang member stumbles from the hit, giving the other man enough time to shoot him square in the head, the room now cleared of threats.
You're filled with adrenaline from the act but suddenly realize you're still in a room with a stranger, one whose intentions you still didn't know. Your camp could just be being raided by an even worst set of people, who would make your life even more miserable, and the thought of having to do more of the same when you felt such momentary relief at the thought of freedom made your heart lurch.
"Please, if all you want is to take me back to your camp and rape me and make me... be your slave, or whatever it is, please just goddamn shoot me or I'll shoot myself."
There's mild alarm that settles across the man's face, and he takes another quick glance around the room. You don't know what he's looking for but you can feel your heart pounding loudly in your chest, thumping hard, wondering if this was the end or if freedom was finally at the tips of your fingers.
"I'd like you to come with us." He finally speaks. "We won't do anything horrible to you, but you can't stay here. You won't survive alone."
You're almost offended at that but you're not shocked, you must look gaunt, exhausted, like a sickly person who hadn't been fed properly in weeks. That wasn't entirely untrue, you barely got the food and water you needed, and tended to only get luxuries like a bath if you put out enough or did a 'favor' that normally ended with you in immense pain, so how did you expect to look? You hadn't looked in a mirror for a long time, and you wondered if you'd ever be able to look in one again.
Would you even recognize that person?
"I promise we won't hurt you." He puts his gun away, holding his hands up to show he's unarmed.
"I... I don't know..." What was there for you to lose? He clearly had no plans on leaving you behind, took some pity on you, too, so why not see if his kindness would last? You carefully get up from the bed, looking over towards the disheveled closet and grabbing your coat; it was one of the only things you could call your own, no matter how old and too small for you it was. "What's your name? I feel like... maybe I'll trust you more, if you tell me."
He doesn't seem to find anything odd about this, "My name is Charles Smith. Stick close to me, just in case."
You follow after him quietly, taking a quick look at the battlefield around outside; there's dead bodies everywhere, all of them members of the gang that you'd been sold to. You see familiar faces and you want to spit at their bodies, but you don't have the spit to spare for the likes of them. You stare at Charles' back as he makes his way towards his 'friends', you didn't know who they were but they seemed happy to see that he was okay, so you counted them as friends.
"Charles, who's that you got there?"
You cower behind him, the booming voice intimidating, making you remember every man who'd ever yelled at and hurt you in your life. All the men gathered around note the response, and they don't seem too pleased with the way you reacted; you fear they may retaliate, call you some awful name, but instead you just score more pity points with them.
"Poor thing, scared outta her mind."
"We can't just leave her here, we should take her back with us."
"We really need another mouth to feed?"
"We're not leaving her." Charles states calmly, but with conviction. The rest of the men nod in understanding, and Charles leads you over to his horse. "You'll ride back with me."
You're still not completely positive whether or not you're walking into a trap, a worse life, but you don't feel like it could be any worse than the situation you were leaving. They might be murderers but they did kill some awful folk, not innocent ones, not to mention Charles just... didn't seem the type. You'd seen him kill a man but he radiated kindness, specifically towards you, able to spot immediately that you were a victim of the gang his people had targeted. You're quiet and listen in on their conversation as they head back towards camp, your grip on Charles tight as you don't remember the last time you'd ridden a horse and you certainly didn't want to fall off and make a fool of yourself now.
When you first enter the camp beside Charles, or specifically, behind him, you get stared at. You were a newcomer, unrecognized, not to mention you looked a complete and total mess. What did bring you comfort, however, was the fact there were women milling about and also staring at you. They looked clean, healthy, like they weren't abused every day of their life like you'd been, meaning the gang might not pose a serious danger to you.
"Come on, dear, we'll be takin' care of you right now." An older woman walked over, ushering you away from your source of comfort and into a group of women who looked equally as concerned for you. It felt awkward, to have so much attention on you, but you couldn't say their presence was unwelcome. You felt naturally more comfortable around the other women, and they almost doted on you, helping you clean up your face, get into clean clothing (offered by the woman closest to you in size), and finding something for you to eat while they settled you at a wooden table.
"It's awful what they did to you." One woman, Mary-Beth you think her name was, says as she brushes the knots from your hair. "You won't have to worry about that anymore."
"If you're going to be staying with us, you'll have to put the work in. We all have a part in keeping this camp running." The older woman stated matter-of-factly, to the point you were almost intimidated. You hadn't agreed to stay, but at the same time, where would you go? What else did you have to do in this world besides help repay the people who had saved you from your own living nightmare?
"I know how to... how to cook and clean, all of that." The older woman nods in approval before she heads back into the throng of camp, likely to talk to the man who's standing at the largest tent; he'd been glancing over at you every now and again after talking to Charles and a few of the others that had raided the camp, and you figured you were likely the topic of the conversation.
You talk some more with the girls, get them to open up about themselves so you can feel like you know them at least a little better. You're still reluctant to talk about yourself, about the things that had been done to you, but you could tell some of them have had it hard, too. There wasn't anything to be embarrassed about, but your life had been so marred by fear you couldn't help but worry of the potential judgment that might come. You did make it known you weren't a willing member of that gang, that you were sold by your own parents, but that's as far as you went. You didn't think there was much else interesting about your past.
The leader of the gang, Dutch, had agreed that you were welcomed to stay. He had wanted to talk to you one-on-one, but seeing how nervous that made you, he spoke to you with Miss Grimshaw, giving you your official gang welcome. His words are comforting, letting you know that no one would ever touch you without your permission again, and that you were officially under his (and by extension, the rest of the gangs) protection as long as you wanted to stay and offered them your loyalty.
While sitting beside the fire with Mary-Beth, who you found to be a very relaxing person to be around, Charles approaches. Your eyes light up when you notice him come towards you, and you feel an odd fluttering in your heart; the feeling is easy enough to push down, especially because he was your savior. He was the reason you were still here, alive, recovering, and potentially finding a new place to belong.
"How are you doing?" He's a man of few words, but they're gentle, and you can confidently say he's one of the only men you've ever felt instantly comfortable around. You don't know if it's just from his calm aura, or if it's because he was your rescuer, but you don't look into it too deeply.
"Much better." You smile at him. "Thank you for, uh, not shootin' me when I asked you to."
"Of course." The look on his face tells you he never planned to do such a thing regardless of the situation, and it brings you great comfort. "Looks like you're getting along with everyone."
After a few more words with Charles he leaves you be, with you watching him as he goes before turning to Mary-Beth. She had been watching the conversation the entire time with an amused look, simply smiling as you turned back to her and asking if you'd like to sleep next to her tonight (until they found a more suitable bedding area for you). You agree, not remembering the last time you slept next to someone who wasn't completely repulsive, and wonder if tonight your dreams would be more pleasant than they had been in years.
They were.
A month, then two, pass with you staying with the gang, earning your keep and comfortably finding a place for you. At first you'd felt like an unwanted outsider, inducted due to pity, but you found yourself becoming 'one of them' the longer you're there. You soon feel 'healthy' again, like a normal human being, your skin no longer gaunt and gaining more weight from being fed regularly. It was a nice feeling, to not feel like some sort of half-starved goblin, and you find some more confidence as you continue on with your day to day life.
You had pleasant dreams in the beginning but the nightmares came back, and they haven't stopped yet. Sometimes you worry this is all just a dream, working yourself into an anxious fit over the existential nightmare of a thought. Mary-Beth had been quite comforting during it all, very gentle and understanding to your trauma, and being the first one to comfort you when you worked yourself up. It was still embarrassing, but you worked twice as hard on those days, just to focus on doing what you could so you wouldn't be seen as a useless member.
Charles hadn't stopped checking in on you, either.
You'd gotten to spend some time alone with him, too, though it was while hunting so it's not like many words had been exchanged. There was something grounding about being close to him, about watching him guide you along, and you found him to be the greatest motivation to stay with the gang. You hoped your attachment to him wasn't entirely unhealthy, as you could push off all the mental trauma you'd had on him, but he was always willing to listen. You could tell he knew about what those men did to you, who wouldn't have put that together, and you wonder, does that make you less attractive in his eyes? Were you just a tainted woman to him now, never able to soar above the 'friend' rank in his eyes?
You thought, maybe, the feelings you'd developed for Charles were purely because he had saved you, and there's no doubt that had something to do with it, but you don't think that's all there is to it. You'd grown up around a bunch of loud-mouth drunks, crass men, evil men, and being around someone like Charles was a breath of fresh air. You talked to the other men around camp, and you did enjoy their company, but he was the one you liked to spend the most time around. Charles was just different from anyone you'd ever known, and it made him that much more attractive.
'He's definitely a good lover.' You think, your thoughts often drifting to this thought when you were doing menial tasks around camp. 'Probably not always gentle, but always loving.'
"Why don't you come with us to town?" Mary-Beth asks one day, and you give her a shifty-eyed look. You hadn't gone to town because you'd feared leaving the safety of the gang's camp, and you weren't sure if you could make that leap just yet. Even Mary-Beth's comforting presence wasn't enough to make you feel safe. "What if I ask Charles to join us?"
Shit, you should've seen that coming.
Mary-Beth wasn't an idiot, she observed all the happenings around camp and everything around her when her nose wasn't buried in a book, and there was no way you could keep your feelings for Charles from her. She didn't pester you about it because there were far more important things to do around camp, but you always knew that she knew. It made you a bit uncomfortable, the fact you didn't even have to tell her for her to just know, but you try not to let it bother you. She wouldn't tell him or do anything to make you uncomfortable, but still, you had to be jealous of that skill.
She does, indeed, ask Charles to join the two of you and he agrees, despite looking a bit hesitant. You wonder what that's about but don't question it as the ride into town begins, your fingers playing with the material of your sleeve nervously as you try not to think of what could go wrong. As long as you got in and out, got what Mary-Beth wanted from the store, and made your way back to the wagon, you'd be fine, right? There was no reason for you to work yourself up over nothing, plus, who'd be stupid enough to start a fight in the middle of a busy town? Or to kidnap a woman?
Mary-Beth hurries off to the post office to send off a few letters, leaving you with a list of things she was asked to get from the general store. You head there, telling Charles he can do what he wants, but he seems to insist on sticking with you.
"Hey, don't I know ya?"
You don't even realize you're the one being addressed at first, just trying to oversee that the shopkeeper has every item on the list packed away. Charles had stepped outside with him to start loading up the wagon, leaving you alone in the store, waiting for them both to finish up. You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder and jump, suddenly tense and whipping around to see an ugly mug you'd never wanted to see again.
"Yeah, yeah! I do know ya." You're frozen in fear as his hand grips your chin, forcibly turning your head so he can see both sides of it. "I had ya before, didn't I? Back in the good ol'-"
"Keep your hands to yourself."
The shopkeeper looks rather nervous as he returns behind his counter and Charles approaches you and the man, the look on his face causing the man to retract his hand instantly. You had never fooled yourself about who Charles was as a person; he was a man who could kill when he wanted to, and that energy was radiating off of him in waves now. If he wasn't protecting you now, you might have been intimidated by the glower on his face. You have to admire how striking he looks in the moment, the scar on the one side of his face seeming to complete the look of angry brute who could kill without hesitation.
The man glances at you as he backs away, raising his finger again as if to say 'I won't forget I saw you here' but when Charles steps forward, the man makes a run for it out of the closest door. You've been holding your breath the entire time, you think, because suddenly you feel like your legs are jelly and you want nothing more than to curl up on the ground. That would be unsightly, and embarrassing, so you stumble backwards a few steps to fall against the counter. The shopkeeper reaches out worriedly, but there's no need, as Charles is back by your side in an instant.
"Mary-Beth should be done now, we should leave." You grab onto his sleeve to try to balance yourself but you knees buckle and you stumble forward into his arms; he doesn't let you fall, even if the position is oddly intimate.
You couldn't describe what you were feeling now that you were in Charles arms, face buried in his chest with no want or need to move. He doesn't rush you to move away, either, his hands resting on your back, head tilted down so he could look at you as you gathered your thoughts and calmed yourself down. If you hadn't just been scared out of your mind you might feel some reluctance to act like this, to suddenly push yourself this close to a man you had feelings for, but right now, what you wanted was to feel safe.
And there was no safer place than in Charles' arms.
You gather a bit more of yourself together on the ride back, Mary-Beth patting your arm and apologizing for dragging you into town. She wasn't wrong that you needed to face your fear eventually, that you couldn't spend your entire life hiding away within the camp, especially when the time came for them all to up and leave again. But you feel like you'd been lucky that Charles was there, because how wrong could that have gone? What if the man had connected the dots, realized the gang you'd been staying with had been murdered, and tried to enact some revenge of his own?
There's no point in thinking about it, dwelling on the possibility, and you throw yourself back into chores when you're back. You can feel Charles staring at you, but you ignore it, not feeling like you're in enough of a talking mood. You'd never felt weaker in your life and that was something, coming from a glorified whore who'd spent plenty of her adult life locked away in a shack with no means of escape. You tried to think better of yourself, to think you weren't just that and that wouldn't be your only contribution to the world, but it was so hard considering you'd thought that way for years.
You're grateful when the sun goes down and you have an excuse to curl up in your makeshift bed, wishing you had more blankets so you could just disappear. You don't know if Charles or Mary-Beth mentioned what happened in town to any of the others, but you hoped not; you still felt helpless, and you didn't want the other members to see you like that. At first you'd been so willing to accept their pity, and now what you wanted from them was respect.
You didn't get respect by being who you were, a coward who had to rely on others to protect them.
"Hey there."
You flinch at the sound of his familiar voice, knowing you'd wanted to hear it since you'd come to your senses, but denied yourself as punishment. Punishment for what? Probably being weak, but it's hard to think so poorly of yourself when Charles was around. He wouldn't have saved you if he thought you were a worthless soul, would he? Dutch wouldn't have invited you to become part of the gang if he thought you had nothing to offer, would he? You wished your mind would stop flip-flopping, wish it'd just decide whether you thought you deserved to live or die, but your mood gets slightly better as you sit up to speak to Charles.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner." As far as you were concerned, his timing had been perfect even if that sleazebag had gotten his hands on you. You think over what to respond, not really knowing how to keep the conversation going when your brain remained muddled with anxieties.
"He was... he..."
"I got the message from how terrified you looked."
"Yeah, it was just... I know we haven't traveled real far from wherever I was before but sometimes it feels like another life time, and then this happens. I try so damn hard to forget about it and move on and it- it keeps getting shoved in my face. It's like the world won't let me forget nothin' about how awful it was to be- to be-! Every day!" You still had trouble voicing what was done to you, and you never did because you know it didn't have to be said. People knew what had been done to you the minute they looked at you, and you hated that, above all. How could you forget about that mess if no one else could?
"I know. You don't have to say it." The look on his face isn't exactly pity, but you can tell he's listening, absorbing the full impact of your words. You had revealed a summary of the mental battles you'd been fighting since you joined the camp to Charles, something you'd barely managed to confide in anyone. Even Mary-Beth didn't know the extent of your fear, how deeply it ran, otherwise she might've never suggested bringing you into town to begin with.
"Thank you for all that you've done, Charles, but I think I'm... I think I'm beyond saving at that point."
He lets out a sigh.
"I don't think that's true, but it doesn't matter what I think; it only matters how you feel about it. If you think of yourself as a victim as the rest of your life, that's all you'll be." His words are sharp, to the point, but they're correct and you knew it. You didn't want to hide behind the shroud of being a victim any longer, you wanted to take back your life and figure out what you wanted from it, but it still wouldn't be as easy as you wished it could be. If the world owed you anything, it was that, right? An easy road to recovery. "But I don't think you'll be one, I don't think you're entirely one now."
"You sure about that?" You laugh without humor. "Don't even know what I want out of life."
"Neither do half of us." He motioned towards the other members, some of whom had gathered around the fire while others sat at the table playing some card game. "Come out there with me. You don't have to talk to anyone... just be."
You mull over the idea and, despite wanting nothing more than to sleep, decide it's most likely the best idea. Being around the other gang members always put you in a better mood, listening to Javier sing, or Hosea tell one of his stories, it made you feel human again. As you go to stand up Charles offers his hand, and you smile up at him, gratefully taking it.
He was your savior, in more ways than one.