Author: xoVanilla-Bean PM
No matter how much she loved him, she would never be able to save him. — HarlancentricRated: Fiction T - English - Tragedy - Words: 956 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 2 - Published: 07-14-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5217270
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
author's notes - I blame Edward Norton for playing Harlan. If he didn't, I wouldn't even have watched the movie.
This is also all by itself in its little, new sub-category. :)
.::Goodbye::.WARNING: Contains three bad words.
Harlan Fairfax Caruthers was taken in by her presence. Her fine, fine spirit and her wonderful heart stole his rotten one, and he finally felt true to himself—for a few fleeting moments. When he was with her, the feeling filled his senses, causing a mass euphoria that encompassed his small, twisted mind. Every thought that flickered through his head wasn't so hazy; his dreams and hopes exploded within, and he had found the trail, clean cut and clear.
His mind clicked and he was brilliant. Really.
He knew she was just as crazy about him as he was of her. No never was a tangible answer he gave an option to.
Crazy never was exactly the right word that described him.
I can't was never true.
Where was her true voice? What was keeping her from using it? It was only him. He knew she wanted to leave her asshole of a father just like he wanted her to. Maybe leaving her alone was the biggest mistake.
"This is my true voice!"
Blood rushed to his head; the wanting and the needing ate at him.
This was all he ever wanted.
He was angry and he was mad. He was so mad. He was frustrated. Why wasn't she listening to his flawless plan? He knew she wanted this.
It was instinct to reach for the cold, burning metal.
The stealing sociopathic fucking cowboy came out in full force. That wasn't supposed to happen. But then again, she wasn't supposed to argue with him.
They were both lost. It didn't matter how hard she tried to save him—he already drowned a long time ago.
He really didn't mean to. It almost killed him to watch her sharp breaths—it almost killed him to hear her whimper. It almost killed him when he looked into her glossy eyes, how they beckoned the question, why?
But he could only bolt away and hide, or else he would've gotten his brains blown out by that fucking sheriff. He would save her, he would. And he couldn't ruin his brilliant plan of happiness, could he?
It only took a few hours for him to figure his plan out—the pounding burn in his leg pulsed the lost hope through his veins once more.
She's in a coma.
He always knew the twig man believed in him—he wouldn't let him down. The sheriff did shoot her just below the heart, after all.
Don't worry. She'll be fine.
He loved the thrill he got when he shot old man Charlie in the leg. He felt like he was living the dream—living in the wild, wild, west.
What's your line?
He loved the look he saw in her father's eyes when they rode off on the white stallion he—stole—borrowed. He wasn't able to catch them only a few yards away; what would make him think he would be able to catch them, ever?
I'mma fuckin' cowboy.
It wasn't only a Western reenactment. It was home—where he always wanted to be, where he always wanted to live. All he wanted was a dance with his beloved October on that wooden stage, to sway to the country music, he wanted to gaze into her liquid crystal eyes and tell her he loved her, again and again. Then, they could do anything under the vast blue sky, just like he wanted. Just like she wanted.
How could that man be so foolish and find him again? They were going to get away all the same.
But he didn't give up so easily this time. They were at the end of their rope, the blood seeping out of his side, the boy not closing the garage door fast enough to hide that damn horse.
He wasn't going to die in this still-in-construction house.
The gun was pointed at him again—for showing Lonnie how to shoot, just like him—by the asshole that fathered his October. A man with such a tainted soul as his shouldn't be graced with a daughter so wonderful such as her.
Red shrouded his vision. The world was a cruel place where fathers left you at the age of thirteen.
The old man stumbled; he stumbled; and the boy, bless his meek little soul—but maybe it was going to hold gumption after all—was yelling and pulling for the man to stop.
Bang—Right through the chest, right through the heart that was tinged with lies and hate and deceit and confusion. It never would find its rightful place in the hateful world where faces were always closed and souls were never open; except for those few, the few that wouldn't push and pull and leave him. Kind of like her and the little boy that could have had such a peaceful, fulfilling life together.
Don't say anything.
She let the ashes meld together with the wind, over the open field that had always called his name.
Tears whispered down her face. She understood him now, even with him shooting her, even with him lying, even with him changing his name and trying to find himself, even with his mind somewhat twisted and a little crazy.
She loved him… she just couldn't save him.