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"I almost lost you,”
Annabelle’s voice was little more than a whisper, but in the stillness of the evening, it seemed to echo around her room. She shifted, slightly, so that her face was buried into Butch’s chest. The two cowgirls were recovering together, laying in Annabelle’s bed and relishing in being in each other’s company again. Butch couldn’t talk much - Mr Parker had said he would get the doctor round first thing in the morning to look at her throat, still damaged from whatever that man had made her inhale - and she had several minor injuries that Annabelle and her father had done their best to patch up, but Annabelle didn’t mind the quiet. Butch made a comfortable pillow, and the way their strong, calloused hand gently stroked Annabelle’s hair as the cicadas sang outside the open window was rather pleasant.
Still, not even this wonderful proximity to Butch could stop Annabelle’s mind from racing. She’s no coward - she’s a damn good shot, she’s robbed more banks than she should probably admit, and has never been afraid to kick handsy assholes where the sun don’t shine. But when Henry appeared holding her darling Butch’s tie - Annabelle had never known fear like it.
The very idea that she could have lost Butch - her Butch, her darling - without ever telling them how she feels, without ever saying I love you… without ever seeing their handsome face again, doesn’t bear thinking about.
“I almost lost you, Butch, I -” her grip around Butch’s body tightens. “I was so scared.”
Annabelle felt Butch’s hand go still.
“I know, sweetheart, I know,” his voice was still rough and croaky. He pulled Annabelle impossibly closer towards him and buried his own face in the top of her head, breathing in the sweet summery scent of her hair. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not without you, not ever.”
Annabelle felt her breath catch in her throat - she tried valiantly to fight against the rush of tears she knew were waiting just behind her eyelids, but then Butch’s hands started rubbing gently up and down her back with such tenderness, and she knew it was a lost cause. She stopped fighting and let her tears dampen the breast pocket of the soft check shirt Butch was wearing. Once the tears started, they didn’t stop - she cried and she cried, whilst Butch just held her tight. As she cried, the stress and fear that had taken route in her body began to slowly melt away.
Eventually, her sobs subsided. She pulled away - albeit reluctantly - from Butch’s chest and wiped roughly at her face, her expression crumbling when she saw that Butch’s eyes were also red-rimmed and her cheeks blotchy.
“Oh, my darling,” Annabelle cradled Butch’s face softly, wiping away tears with her thumbs. Butch smiled up at her.
“You don’t hafta worry about me none, Miss Parker. I’m right where I want to be.”
“Still I -,” Annabelle trailed off, biting her bottom lip nervously. Distantly, she could hear the muffled noises of her father downstairs pottering about doing God knows what, singing off-key to himself. “I could have lost you, Joanie, and it - it would have been all my fault.”
At this, Butch sat up, pushing herself up from her elbows. Annabelle hid her face in her hands, unable to bear the look on her lover’s face - she was certain this would be it, that this would be what would make Butch walk out.
“Sweetheart - what are you talkin’ about?”
Annabelle just shook her head in her palms.
“Annabelle, darlin’, won’t you look at me?” Butch gently peeled Annabelle’s hands away from her face, holding them gently between their own. “ Sweetheart. None of this is your fault.”
“But - “
“No. That bastard was a creep who couldn’t take no for an answer - that ain’t your fault. Listen t’me, you’ve done nothing wrong, alright? You -” Butch’s impassioned yet croaky speech was interrupted by a violent coughing fit, causing Annabelle to snap into action. She grabbed the glass of water that had been left on the bedside counter and helped Butch to take steady sips, rubbing the other woman’s back as she whispered assurances and apologies all the while.
“You girls alright in there?” Mr. Parker’s concerned voice came through the door, making Butch smile, even through their aggressive hacking. He knocked the door a few times before letting himself in anyway, causing Annabelle to roll her eyes fondly. “Y’alright, Butch?”
Butch gave him a double thumbs up.
“We’re alright, Daddy. Butch is just talkin’ too much, is all.”
Butch wanted to argue, to say that they were only talking as Annabelle was talking nonsense, but a) they didn’t want to prove her point and b) their throat was still burning. They settled for narrowing their eyes at Annabelle instead, who simply just offered Butch the glass of water again with a self-satisfied smile.
“Ah,” Mr. Parker relaxed a bit. “You just rest up, kiddo. Let our Annabelle take care of you, alright? Y’all be right as rain in no time.”
Butch wanted to say yessir, but couldn’t, so just nodded and gave the man a salute.
“Atta Butch. I’m gonna make you some tea, alright? And I don’t wanna hear no more talkin’ or coughin’ from ya. Y’all need anythin’ else?” Butch and Annabelle both shook their heads, with Annabelle shooing her dad away. He left the room, mumbling under his breath about how those damn kids will be the death of him. Annabelle sighed apologetically.
“I’m so sorry about him, but y’know how he gets. So overprotective.”
Butch just shook their head. They found it nice, the relationship Annabelle had with her father - they were glad she had someone so supportive and loving in her life.
Annabelle shifted in the bed so that she was still sitting up but leaning with her back against the wooden headboard. She fidgeted with the pillows for a moment before gesturing towards herself.
“C’mere,” she said, motioning for Butch to come closer, and Butch gladly went. In a reversal from their positions from earlier, Butch was now curled up in Annabelle’s arms, with Annabelle resting her chin in Butch’s curls. Mr. Parker had left the bedroom door open, and it was comforting to hear him clanking around saucepans to boil water whilst Annabelle traced pathways on their scalp with her sharp nails. They were surrounded by people they cared about - who cared about them in return. They were safe. They were all safe.
Annabelle hummed a tune under her breath, and Butch soon found that his eyes felt heavy. When Mr. Parker returned with two steaming, fragrant mugs, he had to force them back open and tiredly - but gratefully - took the mug from the older man.
“Aw, kiddo, you look beat,” Mr. Parker looked over Butch sympathetically. “You drink that up, get some sleep, and in the mornin’, we’ll go straight down to the doctor and see about getting you some laudanum for that throat of yours, alright?”
All Butch could do was nod.
“Right then. I’ll leave y’all girls alone now - but no funny business, alright!” He pointed at them both sternly, making Butch’s cheeks flush as Annabelle rolled her eyes.
"Dad!”
“I’m only kiddin’ sweetheart.” He kissed Annabelle’s forehead. “Goodnight, beautiful. Goodnight, Butch.”
He ruffled Butch’s hair and squeezed their arm.
“Night, Daddy. Love you.”
Butch just waved.
Mr. Parker finally left, leaving the door slightly ajar. Butch put down their mug and settled back into Annabelle’s arms. Annabelle reached over to pull a rust-coloured woven throw blanket over the two of them, ensuring Butch was tucked in securely before wrapping her arms around her protectively.
“Goodnight, my love,” Annabelle whispered into Butch’s curls. Butch could hear the smile in the other girl’s voice as she said: “...apparently, we have laudanum to look forward to tomorrow.”