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Rhett was sad, anxious, and lonely, but most of all, angry as he made his way into the bar saloon just bellow Belle Watling's house. His mind, as usual, was on his beloved Scarlett. How he hated that woman. How many times he had wished that little brat dead, since their first meeting at Twelve Oaks. He thought he would forget about her, how surprised he was when he saw her at the ball, dressed from head to toe in that ridiculous black dress. But that annoying pounding in the back of his mind would not leave him alone. That pounding was the bloody truth. And the truth was that he'd die for her. His gut-wrenched and his mind was filled with rage as he bit his lip and balled his hands into tight fists, trying to control his anger. He shoved past the drunken men shouting drink orders at the bartender, and winking at the giggling whores, trying to by them off. Rhett made his way up the stairs and into Belle Watling's home. He knocked twice on the door, and she opened immediately. She looked surprised by the expression on his face.


"Good evening, Belle." he murmured, pulling off his hat.

She smiled and stepped away from the door, letting him through."Tough night?" she asks, shutting the door.

Rhett collapses on a plush, red-velvet sofa and buries his face in his hands."It's her again."

Belle's tone turns into one of disgust,"Scarlett?"

Rhett watches her through his fingers."Sometimes she makes me so angry I'm about ready to wring her neck."

"Is it that Ashley business again?" Belle asks knowingly, sympathetically.

"I despise that woman!" Rhett carries on, but stops when he hears Belle's high-pitched chuckle, and suddenly she's standing over him.

"Oh, honey, stop lying to yourself. You're in over your head, hook, line, and sinker." She drawls pleasantly in a Louisiana twang as she massages his tough shoulders.

Rhett says nothing, only sighs, because he knows she's right.

Scarlett sits son a plush chair in front of her floor-to-ceiling mirror, admiring her reflection in the glass. She looks beautiful as usual, her black hair curled and her green eyes on fire. She thinks about Ashley, giddily as she tries on a pair of ear bobs. She has over fifty pairs, but none which seem right.

She is dressed simply tonight, a long dress with minimal amount of lace, foamy, the color of the sea.

It is one of the nights when the women of the ex-Confederacy got together at Melanie Wilkes's house to embroider and gossip about the men and...their most popular topic...Belle Watling. Scarlett would not have bothered to go, except for to reasons. One, if Melanie had not dragged her to her home each Wednesday night, and two, she was sure that if she didn't go, the most popular gossip topic would be...well...her.

She checked her hair once more before sanding up and retriving her embroidery kit.

Her hand stopped a few inches from the bag, and fell loosely at her side.

It was made of dark green velvet, one that red had brought her from London, during the years of his dashing and romantic image as blockade runner in those long years of the Civil War, when America was in the state of disunion.

It reminded her of Rhett.

She had forgotten how angry he was earlier this evening.

But he knew that she was in love with Ashley.

She had told him countless times.

She shrugged. He'll come around.

But then she sighed. Suppose he didn't.

She pushed the darkening thought out of her pretty head.

No, she wouldn't think about that now, she had a gossip session to go to.

India glared at Scarlett over her embroidery. She wasn't listening about the latest gossip, useless tidbits about whom married whom and why. Frankly, she didn't care.

Her mind was to busy throwing daggers in Scarlett's direction.

She could not understand how the woman could sit there so calmly, as if nothing had happened.

Scarlett had everything, the world at her feet, two beautiful children, and a handsome, dashing husband.

India had none of that.

But what made her most angry was how ungrateful she was.

How horribly she treats Rhett, dear Rhett, reducing him to such a low level with her adulterous acts.

She wished the woman would die. Just die.

India was in love with Rhett, a secret she would carry to her grave, unless, she could win his affection.

When Scarlett's green glare met her own, India darkened, and looked down.

She did not wnat to loose her eye vision buy looking at the revolting creature.

So she looked down at her embroidery and focused her thoughts on Rhett.

Rhett Butler.

Sorry for typos. Too tired to care.

Review please.