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sunshiline-writes · 1 month ago

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A Rose Amidst Thorns #22: How to Ease a Rattlesnake

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Word Count: 2.7k

CW: Aftermath of noncon, noncon mentions, blood mention, abusive relationships, breakdown, panic attack, complicated character dynamics, POC whump, lady whump, idk there wasn't much violence in this one very lore heavy.

You’re fucking afraid of him and you can’t really kill someone you’re still afraid of.

The words stood out in her brain. How was Jesse, of all people, aware of her fear? Was it in her eyes? Her father always said that eyes were the perfect windows into the soul. They betrayed everything, even on the most neutral of faces.

Henrietta could not see Miguel's eyes. They were too swollen and purple to even see a glimpse of white as he clung to Solomon's nightshirt in his sleep. Seeing him like this. It was the worst he’d ever been. Not even Jesse had been this rough with the kid. At least the kid could see and walk after he was done with him.

But no. She knew Xavier. The way he liked it when it hurt a little bit. It always hurt, he was too big and too rough for it not too. Rougher still when the crying started. It turned him on more, made him more violent. God. She hoped that he’d never do it to someone else. Or at least, not in a way she could see the aftermath like this. Henrietta had hoped that she would never have to think about it again, she could leave and never come back.

I repent nothing, she said to herself. The phrase tattooed in her mind, somewhere in between the idea of freedom and a quiet life.

It was true she supposed, the fact that she was still afraid. That his darkness was only getting worse and he would kill her and throw away the dead body like she was nothing. That one day, she would come to a moment where she would have to choose between him and herself, and she would choose herself. That’s what Henreitta did. She chose herself. She wasn’t good like Solomon or Miguel. Henrietta had killed people to get out of this place once. She would gladly do it again and again. However many times, however many people, she would kill them all to get her chance at a quiet life.

She looked over at Jesse who was still sitting there, back against the stall door. He had green eyes like his uncle, like his mother. The signature Reede eyes. Those eyes looked less like Xaviers at the moment and more like his mothers. Resigned, tired, maybe even a little sad.

“So,” she whispered to not wake Solomon, who was curled around Miguel protectively, “what do you think of the plan?”

Jesse glanced up at her, squinting for a moment before leaning his head back on the stall door.

“I dunno actually. Feels stupid. Risky. Especially if we’re leavin’ before Migs is all the way good.”

“Better,” she corrected.

“Hm?” Jesse asked, squinting again.

“All the way better. Not all the way good.”

Jesse scoffed and took a deep breath, leveling his head. He looked her in the eye with a tired smile and said, “Fuck you bitch. Don’ go correctin’ someone who doesn’t even know how to read.”

Henrietta stopped, tilting her head curiously. Xavier never taught him? Never thought too? If Jesse was to take over the ranch, he’d need a skill like that wouldn’t he? She made no further comment other than a huff of breath.

“Doc says he’s hurt real bad. It’ll take at least two weeks to get him functioning enough to even try your dumbass plan,” Jesse continued for some god forsaken reason. She pictured him without a mouth, or a tongue. “Didn’ know you were so popular with townfolk, always seemed stuck up to me.”

“Shut your mouth or fucking leave Jesse,” she snapped. Henrietta bit her lip and growled slightly in frustration. “The townspeople in Red Rock were good ones. Helped me when I needed it. I returned the favor a few times. It's that simple Jess, you do good and good comes back to you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Whatever Jess, it’s your grave people will be pissing on when you die.”

That one got a surprised laugh out of Jesse who had now taken to looking at the ceiling. Xavier was gonna be pissed they were talking like this. That Jesse had taken Miguel to them. They would have to return Miguel to the hayloft soon. The early blue rays of the morning were starting to slip through the cracks of their makeshift oasis. Gently, she shook Solomon’s shoulder, who woke with bleary eyes. Adjusting Miguel in his arms, he sat himself up. Miguel’s head was now laid in his lap and he ran a gentle hand through his hair. Trying to ease the kids soul.

Hair was sacred. Held many things. Suffering, happiness, grief. It was all memory. It was all important. Her mother used to do her hair every morning before she practiced the violin. Gently pulling and stretching it. Those mornings had the best conversations, the best music and the best memories. To Solomon it was a connection to the soul. She understood that, she felt it in those mornings before church as her mother ran a comb through with warmed water. Having hair touched in a certain way, it soothed an ache that nothing else matched. It was about community, about those memories held in the hands of someone trusted.

“Solomon we have to take him back,” she whispered softly.

“I know.. Just a little longer. Let him have the warmth a little longer,” he pleaded. Henrietta let him have a few more minutes before she gave Solomon a look. Solomon nodded and gently tried to rouse Miguel. The boy couldn’t open his eyes but he moaned in pain. It was grating to Henrietta's ears. Hearing him be in so much pain, it made her heart shatter into a million pieces.

“I know she’awee. I know.. I know,” Solomon said softly on deaf ears. “Jesse, you gotta take him now. He’s gonna start making too much noise soon.”

Jesse nodded, standing up and going over to Solomon and with a gentleness that Henrietta didn’t know he possessed, took him from Sol’s arms. He left the stable quietly and quickly. There was a beat of silence.

Then Solomon started to cry.

Tears fell onto his legs, his hands went up to wipe them and more kept coming. His breathing hitched, and he bit his lip to quiet himself. His fists pressed into his eyes as if that would physically stop them from flowing. Henrietta sat in front of him and held out her arms. Solomon took care of everyone.. Who took care of Solomon?

Henrietta had always been a selfish creature, but right then, she grabbed Solomon's wrist and pulled him toward her. Solomon let himself be led and then he buried his face into her shoulder.

“Go ahead and cry Solomon. You don’t have to hide yourself right now,” Henrietta said gently.

Solomon stopped crying and took a deep breath. Then he began to wail, full body shudders and half screams. Burying teeth into her shoulder as he screamed into her shoulder. Arms curled up between his chest and hers as she moved herself closer. He leaned fully into her as she sat next to him, feeling her nightgown and shoulder be soaked with tears and spit. Slowly, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Everything will be okay Solomon. Everything will be okay. We’re gonna leave this place. We are. We got everything planned. We have the food stash, the horses and we’ll send the signal soon. Just gotta wait for Migs to heal a little. Get his strength up. Melanie, Isabella and Jacob and all his men, they’re gonna help us get out of here. You’ll see Solomon.”

The wails had died down and he was now just quietly sobbing into the crook of her neck. This would be too intimate if it was anyone else. But Solomon was good, he wasn’t like that. Solomon was a good man, a real one. Henrietta thought men like him didn’t exist anymore. Henrietta had seen the way good people interact with each other in Red Rock. The community there didn't rely on fear or hatred. They all helped one another. The garden was communal, everyone shared the sugar and they had welcomed Henrietta with open arms. Melanie, Jacob, Isabella, Ricardo, Gregory. All names that carved their way into her heart in the short three years that she lived there. She should have kept moving. Henrietta knew better and yet she stayed. The one thing she couldn’t do for Solomon and Miguel, she could do for the strangers at Red Rock.

Leaving Miguel behind was something she didn’t really regret, she had to admit. He would have slowed her down. Shooting Terrance like that though, yeah, she regretted that. There was no guilt though. She regretted the action but it didn’t eat her alive like guilt did.

I repent nothing.

Henrietta needed to stop thinking about the past. She was in the here and now. Here and now is all that mattered. Solomon was here with her, her rock. Miguel was alive, he was not yet a shell of a human being. These thoughts eased the churning in her soul slightly.

Finally, Solomon had stopped crying, opting to just sit there with his face in the crook of her neck. He breathed in deep then exhaled. Deep breath, exhale. Again and again. Henrietta let him. She would wait for him to collect himself, however long it took.

“I am so tired,” he eventually said, removing his face from her neck. His hands rubbed at his eyes, palms digging into them.

“I know Sol. I know,” she said softly, wiping away the wet from her neck with her hand.

“Sorry.. I just..” Solomon started and Henrietta let out a quiet chuckle.

“Don’t be. I was wondering when you’d break down. You’ve been holding in so much ever since I met you. You needed that. I don’t mind. You’ve done the same for me plenty of times. It’s the least I can do.”

Solomon hummed, smoothing down his hair. It had all but fallen out of the two braids he always wore. He let out a long, tired sigh.

“Two weeks. We have two weeks to prepare for everything.”

“Yeah.”

Solomon frowned. Shifting slightly from his spot he winced. He was getting old, Henrietta realized vaguely. The beating hadn’t helped either. Ever since Xavier had beaten him within an inch of his life, his movements were more stiff. Every movement seemed to cause him some sort of pain. He was weak. They were all losing strength.

The thought that two weeks might be too long flashed across her mind. So far, her and Jesse were the healthiest of the bunch. What a sorry group they were.

A woman, an old man, a rapist, and a deaf and dumb boy.

They were so fucked.

****

Henrietta made dinner that night like nothing happened. Like she didn’t know about Miguel’s condition. As if she didn’t half carry Solomon back to his room so he could lay down. As if Jesse and her hadn’t nodded to each other when he came back into the house to eat breakfast.

Xavier woke up around mid-noon and he went up to their bedroom and continued to sleep until he smelt dinner and made his way downstairs. He looked haggard. Hair unruly, shirt half unbuttoned. He was still covered in Miguel’s blood. It seemed he had enough sense to clean his hands, but it was all over his clothes.

“Wh-What happened?” Henrietta asked dumbly. The sizzle of the potatoes on the pan made her turn around to move them around before turning back to Xavier.

“Mm,” he grumbled, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Do you really wanna know Etta?”

“I think I would like to, yes.”

Xavier gave her a lazy grin, laughing slightly. He groaned slightly and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, fingers rubbing into his temples.

“Had too much to drink again, Xavi?” she growled out as she moved from the potatoes for a moment to start brewing some coffee.

He glanced at her, expression lighting up slightly. He was amused at her, perhaps he had taken all of his violence and used it up on Miguel. She found herself feeling relief at the thought. If he took it all out on Miguel then he would have no energy or ideas to take out on her.

Ah that’s always where it fell wasn’t it? Henrietta feeling relief over something that she was not supposed to feel relief for. It was always that selfish thought of at least it’s not me. It could be worse. She could be the one fucked within an inch of her life, bleeding from every orfice and eyes swollen shut. But she wasn’t, she was here, cooking a monster lunch and waiting for him to strike.

Xavier was a rattlesnake, watching, waiting to strike. People always stay still when they’re near a rattlesnake. Their rattle is louder than anything else when a person is near it. It's a warning that a person is in danger. God gave snakes rattles so He could laugh at people who ignored the sound. The way to escape a rattler was simple. Slow movements.

“I’m makin’ potatoes and cabbage,” she said slowly, blowing out the fire on the stove. She turned to face him again, leaning back on the counter, letting the potatoes cool. “It’ll be ready soon.”

Slow movements.

“Etta, whose blood is this on my shirt?” he asked, grin making her stomach twist into a knot. The snake shook its rattler. Deafeningly loud.

“I think only you know that Xavi,” she said carefully.

“Take a guess Etta.”

Henrietta frowned, standing up straighter. She chewed on her lip and looked at him more closely. Scrutinizing him. His pants were covered in it, his hands, and the collar of his shirt. She did not want to answer this question. She could see the snake coiling up to strike, rattling sound only growing louder.

“M-Miguel..” she said quietly.

“Louder Etta.”

“Miguel. It’s.. It’s Miguel's blood.”

Xavier leaned back in his chair, lazy grin changing into something sharp. He sighed heavily and interlaced his hands behind his head. The silence only made the rattler sound grow louder.

“I think you deserve a prize,” he said, tilting his head at her. “Give me a kiss sweetheart.”

Slow movements.

Forcing herself to take a few steps toward him, she tried to stop thinking about the blood. The blood and the way he cried when he woke up. The way that Xavier’s aura threatened to choke her. She stepped forward, leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his lips. Something tender, like she loved him.

You can’t do it because you’re still too afraid. You’re not angry enough Henrietta.

Xavier reached behind her, possessive hand on her neck and deepened the kiss. Tongue in her mouth, sliding along her teeth, pressing on her tongue. Not angry enough, not angry enough. She couldn’t breathe. Slow movement. Pressure building up, in her chest, in her head. The sound was deafening, it was deafening. His hand was hot on her neck. Not angry enough, not angry enough.

“You should have heard him scream,” whispered into her ear, “it was beautiful. A true symphony. You should play your violin to it Etta. Make a duet out of it.”

Flashes across the forefront of her mind, one by one. Playing violin in a shitty bar, locking eyes with him, dancing, their first date, kissing him on the pier, marrying him, their first night together. All the flashes of memory pressed into her mouth along with his tongue and it choked her.

You’re still afraid. You can’t kill someone you’re still afraid of.

Xavier finally let her go and she stumbled back, wiping the spit from her face. She stared at him and he laughed. The sound grating to her ears. Out of tune. A wrong chord. He was wrong. He no longer was a part of her symphony. He had no place there.

She refused to let him poison her song with his venom any longer. Henrietta stared at him.

Jesse was wrong.

She didn’t need the anger. It wasn’t anger that was missing. She forgot who she was. She forgot that anger was not her weapon. Her weapon was apathy. Fuck slow movements. A gun can kill a rattlesnake just fine. Henrietta looked at Xavier and felt nothing at all.

She could use that.

______

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