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Boothill never considered himself a good husband, hell, he never considered himself the type of man to settle down with anyone especially not after the loss of his adopted daughter, Clementine. He’d lost her during a shootout in town, he was next door in the general store buying them food for the road and had told Clem to wait by the wagon, when he’d heard the familiar sounds of gunshots and the shouting of men which was never a good sign.
“Clementine!” He’d shouted in that moment and burst out the door, revolver already out of its holster and raised but it was too late… there on the dirt laid her corpse. Clementine’s eyes were open wide still like she was frozen in shock when the bandits had shot her without a second thought, her tiny arms laying at her sides, and her body riddled with multiple gunshot wounds.
“Bastards!” Boothill roared, spinning around only to come face to face with nobody but the corpses of bystanders that were caught in the fire and the bandits long gone by now. How could he have let something like that happen? Had he been so foolish as to think a world like this was safe? Perfect?
Well, perhaps, he did in that moment, Boothill was finally content in his life when he’d had Clementine, disillusioned to the imperfections of the world when she laughed, hugged, and braided the strands of his alabaster hair. He wasn’t thinking of her safety when he’d left her to wait in the wagon for him, he was just thinking of himself-
“Boothill?”
Robin’s melodic voice called out from the doorway of their bedroom, a worried frown upon her heart shaped lips. Her long lilac hair fell in soft waves down her shoulders and she wore a simple white dress that clung in all the right ways and Boothill found himself getting distracted once more. Robin was his wife, a sweet woman, an angel when her green eyes shone in the sun. She was the daughter of a preacher man and her brother was the newly appointed bishop who was not fond of their union but relented when Boothill had persuaded him with coin for Robin’s hand in marriage.
“M’fine, sugar,” Boothill drawled, a grogginess to his tone and he sat up from where he’d fallen into slumber in their rickety bed. “Jus’ havin’ them dreams again… you know the ones.”
Robin lips pursed and she slowly made her way across the room, the fabric of her dress shifting and lifting in places as she walked, showcasing the small expansion of her smooth tummy that Boothill had thought a many times about being full of his kin, the shape of her pert breasts, and the smooth slope of her neck. He was getting distracted again.
Once his wife had crossed the room, she’d taken a seat on the edge of the bed by Boothill’s feet, one of her slim hands coming down to rest upon his ankle. “I have something that might make you feel better,” Robin said, her lips curving into a gentle smile from the pursed look they’d taken a moment ago.
Boothill nodded all too quickly at her words, she didn’t need to even finish speaking or ask him if he’d wanted to know what it was. Robin could tell him to jump off a cliff for her and he would. It was one of his many flaws… being too willing to die for the people he loved. If in that moment he’d known Clementine was also destined to die in town that day he too would’ve risked his life for her.
“Come with me, love.” Robin whispered then and gently took his hand and led him toward the single empty room just upstairs. They’d left it empty in the scenario that they had a kid someday. Boothill had already constructed a crib and written a list of baby names with the first choice being Clementine. However, now as he takes slow steps toward the room, he wonders what she’ll show him.
“Ta-da! I knew you wanted to build the crib but I figured i’d just get it since I was in town anyway, what do you think?” She’d asked, voice like a bird… melodic, soft, and all to grating on Boothill’s nerves as he continued to stare at it like it was the bane of his existence. How could she have done this? Bought something so sacred without telling him? He’d already told her he’d be making the crib. Did she not believe in him? Was she really that tired of him sleeping in all day? Couldn’t she tell he was hurting?
Boothill exhaled, turned on his heel and left before he could do something that he’d regret later on again. Too many nights he’d felt the twitch in his hand and the urge to raise it on her like he’d done in the past. Though Boothill this time around decided not to because he was a good husband. So insted he left that very night, didn’t even bother telling Robin he was leaving in the first place and on his way down to the saloon he went. He’d played poker that night, smoked again even when he’d told Robin he’d quit, and let a few whores into his lap like he always did.
Then he’d returned in the morning back to their house to find Robin already at the door, smile on her lips still. “I’m going out, I have some work I have to do,” she’d say and Boothill just nodded, not bothering to stop her even though he knew she probably wouldn’t be back.
He stomped back down the hall and laid down upon the rickety bed, closed his eyes and drifted off to slumber as he always did. An hour passed then a day then week and then a month. Boothill was still asleep and Robin? Gone. Flown away. Found comfort in another of her flock.
For she was a bird and could not be strapped down by a broken man who couldn’t let go of the past.