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Was it the crows cawing mockingly in the distance, or the rain that soaked deep into her bones?
Was it her soiled boots as the water pooled around her toes, or her bangs shielding her eyes, masking the tears that streaked her cheeks?
Was it the raw, bleeding scratches on her right shoulder that stung with every second she stood in the cemetary, or was it the name etched deep into the tombstone, just as it was carved into her brain?
"Reckless." Her whispers gone unheard.
Crow stood still, quiet, unmoving. Her feet planted into the muddy puddle, not a single muscle shifting to move away despite everything in her head telling her to do so. She couldn't peel her eyes away, even as her lips parted and closed multiple times, jumbled words desperate to be spoken yet nothing made sense.
She sucked the air through her teeth, trembling, bottom lip quivering until she finally released a slow, tight exhale.
"You were reckless… weren't you?" She mumbled.
With the umbrella left abandoned by her feet, her clothes stuck to her skin, drenching her to the bone. It didn't seem to bother her — there wasn't a lot of things that could nettle her physical expressions, even when it storms within. But as soon as a hand made contact with her waist, snaking carefully around it to hold her close, she flinched into the man's embrace, her head jerked upwards to meet his eyes.
Caleb stared at the stone, his cheek lightly brushing against her own. She remembered the scratchy sensation of his stubble, freshly shaven in the morning. He didn't say anything for a long moment, as if allowing the loss to hover between them, when none of them were mournful.
"You wanted the burial." Caleb spoke.
"I did." Crow replied quietly, leaning her head against his.
"Care to tell me why, Sugar?"
Why? Was there an answer to such a question? Her gaze burned through the large lump before her, burying a body deep within, a hole fresh through his skull. When she had made that request, she was not thinking, she was not feeling anything. At least, that was what it was like. She could not, for the life of her, recall as to why. Must everything need a 'why'?
Crow shook her head, her hand instinctively holding her right shoulder, blood already seeping through her white blouse.
"Need to get that treated." Caleb sighed, taking her hand off of it.
But Crow gripped tightly.
"No. I can still feel it."
Life played out oddly for her. Caleb had been one to violate her, as per many men in the past after she had been sold off. Yet, it took one's touch on her shoulder, arm and thigh to cause a loss of control. Before she could stop it, the scratching began. Even in her sleep, she'd dig her nails into her skin, streaking angry red lines all over her skin for an imaginary itch. Lines then became wounds, endlessly bleeding with no ointment can help heal its scars. Pain was not foreign — it was all she had ever known. But these laid a permanent mark. It crept into her nightmares, and even in her wake.
As her arm trembled beneath her touch, Caleb held her close, pressing a small kiss atop her head.
"Then stare. Stare long enough until you're sure he's dead."
With that, he took a step back and left her alone.
Would death really be the 'cure' to it all? Fucker's buried 6 feet under but she could still hear his voice, his presence looming behind her, breathing down her neck. She chewed her inner cheek, the taste of iron filling her mouth as she lowered herself to a crouch, reading the engravings closely.
"I'd let you touch me again," She whispered, only she could hear.
"My other arm, where it isn't all raw and ugly. You'd take the offer, wouldn't you? You'd take more than you were given, because you were never grateful."
Her lips parted, slowly extending her tongue out, saliva mixed with blood dripped from the tip and onto the muddy soil.
"You'd like that, won't you?"
He's rotting, moutful of mud and clay, eyes stitched and sealed shut. Heartbeat's unbeating, rigor mortis long set in, he was as stiff and dead as a corpse could be. Yet, it was as if he never left. His touch continued to prickle her skin, hair standing on its ends like his hand hovered just within reach. She could feel the chill run down her spine, like when his chest pressed against her back, his chin right by her neck.
The things she'd do if she was able to sink her fingers into his eye sockets herself.
Caleb got to him first. The outlaw was usually more composed, opting to warn and intimidate rather than jumping into violence. She barely had any time to process before his fist cracked into █████'s face, sending him toppling to the ground. He wasn't small, by any means, but Caleb was much larger.
She remembered the way █████'s body was dragged away by Caleb's men. No words were exchanged, no orders were barked. All it took was a glare from the head man himself, and they acted without question. She never knew he could make █████ appear so weak and defenseless.
"All bark but those fucken' jaws aren't biting." He grumbled, a hand instinctively around her waist once more.
Perhaps that was why she could still sense his presence. She was not able to watch his life drain from his eyes herself.
The storm grew stronger, the winds began to whistle in the far distance through bullet holes in the rooftops, through frail walls that shook the houses nearby. She could barely hear Caleb call her name as he rushed back towards her with a coat in his hands, taking a hesitant step back to leave. Even as she read █████'s name over and over again in his tombstone, his voice brushed her earlobe just barely.
"You smell so nice."
Caleb's hands rested on her arms as he placed his coat over her shoulders, the leather hung heavily on her back. She trembled against his touch, turning around to press her face into his chest.
"I can still hear him."
A nightmare to live through for the rest of her life.