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kinaslie · 7 months ago

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STRANGERS (+18)

Pairing: Cowboy!Austin x Female!Reader

Summary: In 1969 you ran away from home, from your religious craze parents. You should’ve listened to your parents, you shouldn’t have talked to strangers.

Note: This is HEAVILY inspired by Ethel Cain’s Strangers. You don’t really have to read it if you don’t want to, perhaps this is very… heavy for what I normally write.

Warning: Prostitution, religious talk, cannib*lism, death, murder.

Your body grew cold on his basement. Your mind went to the words everyone spoke to you since you were a child:

‘Don’t talk to strangers or you might fall in love.’

The hot air hit your face as you sat on the side of the road, watching only pick-up trucks drive by, with cattle or vegetables and fruit. In your bell bottoms and band tshirt, you sighed. You had been trying to hitchhike again, but the farmers ignored you.

You were giving up, you were walking by the side of the road, you watched a cowboy walking with his brown horse. The man slowed down the horse.

“What’cha doing here, doll?” He asked you, smile on his face.

“You care?” You said, rolling your eyes. As you kept walking, but his horse kept walking by your side.

“Indeed I do, doll. What’s a pretty face like yours doin’ here?” He asked, the throttling of the horse filled the silent road.

“Just, admiring.” You lied, what a shitty lie.

“Damn right you are. You ain’t from round here, I can see it. You one of them city girls?” He asked, a smirk in his face.

Should you lie? He was attractive, very. Why not?

“Do you know of a nearby town?” You asked. “And no, I’m not from around here.”

“Well, dollface, the only town I know of is mine and I can do a sweet thing like you a favor.” He looked at you up and down.

You thought about it. Wondering and thinking all things that could go wrong. He could kill her, well, he seemed kind enough. Of course he wouldn’t kill her.

“Say listen. Whiskey and I will give ya a ride. You can stay in my farm.”

“Really?” You asked, incredulous of his kindness.

“Really, doll. Come on.”

You got on his horse, holding your backpack as your arms wrapped around his waist. You were trusting your life to him. Truly. And you trusted him a whole fucking much that now you regretted it.

Now, a few years later. Six specifically. You were living THE life. Was it the one you wanted? No, absolutely not. A cowboy’s wife life wasn’t what you thought you’d want. But strangely, you found yourself liking the entire shift in your life.

But you liked it, you didn’t do anything related to farm work. You changed but not so much, you didn’t enjoy feeding pigs, or chickens or cleaning cow and horse shit. Maybe you ran away, but you found gold with Austin. Your Austin, your husband, the father of your children. Two by the way. Two boys, Brando and Johnny.

Maybe if you were still in the city with your religious parents you would’ve had this same life, but with a man you would’ve probably forced yourself to like. Did you miss your parents? Absolutely, with all their faults, you missed your mother. More. She was the best of the two, you missed her warm arms, and her delicious cooking that you tried to recreate faithfully every day.

Your mother was still waiting for you, still sticking brochures with your photo. You were too reckless but you were her baby. And she missed her baby. You often wondered while looking at the stars, if she was looking at them too. You were doing the best you could, under the very same moon but different states.

“Why are you still here?” Austin asked you from the front door as you sat on the porch’s steps. “Ya still wonderin’ bout your parents? They ain’t lookin’ for you no more. If they were, they would’ve found ya already.”

You sighed. You didn’t know anything about them anymore, so he must be right.

“I know. I just like the weather, it’s perfect.” You looked over your shoulder, a pout in your mouth.

“Why you poutin’ baby, hm?” He walked towards you, sat by your side and grabbed your chin softly. “No poutin’ alright? You have us here. We’re family. We good?”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Good.”

“Now get inside. Johnny’s diaper needs a change.” He said, his hand dropping from your chin.

You made your way inside, and you picked up Johnny. Tickling his belly.

You loved your boys, even though changing their cloth diapers wasn’t something you enjoyed.

But the money was tight and you were married to a literal cowboy, did you think you’d buy disposable diapers? Ha!

You tucked your boys into their beds. Smiling at the oldest, Brando.

“What’s with the face?” You asked, smiling.

“Can we play with the pigs tomorrow?” Brando asked, fidgeting with his fingers.

“You know you can’t play with pigs. They’re too big! Bigger than you!” You tickled his belly. The boy giggled. His chubby cheeks were rosy pink.

“But we can get on horses. I’ll take you and Buttercream around tomorrow.” You promised. “But only if you sleep!”

Brando nodded immediately, closing his eyes and not moving. After a while, he fell asleep. You looked at Johnny in his crib and at Brando.

“I love you.” You whispered to both.

Then you were walking to your bedroom, but saw Austin on the kitchen, drinking some liquor. He looked stressed.

“What is it, baby?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. Kissing his cheek.

“Money’s tight. We haven’t been havin’ a good week, month. Year. I need you to help me make money.”

Confused, you walk to be besides him. Make money? There wasn’t many jobs women could do in the nearby town.

“How so?” You asked, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Remember that there’s some friends of mine that like you real bad—“

“Absolutely not. No.” You shook your head. No, you wouldn’t go so low to sell your body. That was too far. Even for a runaway like you!

“You live here for free anyways, doll face. Don’t forget it. I give you a roof, food, a bed, some real nice arms to sleep with every night.” He snapped at you. You startled, he barely raised his voice, but when he did, it scared you.

“When did all of this become a give and take?” You asked him. Hurt because he didn’t seen you birthing his kids and taking care of him as something worth of at least some recognition.

“It’s always been that, sweetheart.” He grabbed your wrist suddenly. “Don’t forget your place now, please…”

You stared at him. Not wanting to do it.

“Just think of our boys. Aren’t they your babies? Don’t you want to give them a good life? Because I sure as hell want to. And if you ain’t willing to do so then I don’t know why you’re still here.” He said. Squeezing your wrist.

He was guilt-tripping you, but did you know? Of course not. It was 1975, maybe he was just doing what was best for the kids.

You felt as if your life had completely changed. You weren’t so bright and smiley anymore. Not when every night you had disgusting farmers and cowboys all over you.

You started smoking too many cigarettes, more than you could count. Austin often stood outside the door, smoking and counting money. After the last man left, Austin entered the now transformed barn, smiling like a victor.

“Honey, you’ll make me rich like a goddamn Rockefeller!” He smiled widely, counting money on his hands.

You weren’t crying but you felt very empty inside. You did this because of your boys. Only because of that. But a tear escaped your eye, he pouted.

“Why the tears, dollface?” He knelt in front of you, wiping your tear with his calloused thumb. “This is for the boys. Alright? They’ll appreciate it. You did good today.”

What you did to forget everything was drink and drink. You sometimes tended your sons drunk, stumbling and maybe not remembering much the next day, but you made it to stay sane. And it worked. It did wonders.

But you had to deal with it. Anyways.

“Let’s go inside. I already tucked the boys in. C’mon, doll. You know— we’re a team. And we do this because we love each other, don’t we?”

But God, you loved the man. He was the most charming man you could have encountered. There was a reason why you settled down. Why you stayed in the shitty farm. You could have gone around more states if he hadn’t found you. Perhaps you could be dead by now. He was the best thing you could have found.

“Yes we are.” You smiled at him, forcing it out but it was true. You really thought you were a team in this. Because he was also getting hurt, watching his wife get railed by random men every night.

He treated you kindly, unless you wanted his whole business to end. Because he pulled out his shot gun and he got crazy. And that scared you, a whole lot. His eyes, the way he held into the weapon.

It was something you tried to not do: make him mad. You didn’t want to end up dead. But this was your husband, for all his faults, you loved him and you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

Back in California, your mother shopped at the local market. She stood in the dairy aisle, staring at the milk carton with your face in it. Her sweet girl. Tears filled her eyes.

You were always a rebel but oh, how she missed you. She hadn’t been able to sleep since you left. She worried every minute the breathed. She still waited up for you every night, hoping that one day, you’ll come back knocking on the door.

But she knew that you left because of her too, your father and her had always been too strict, too religious and too suffocating. She didn’t blame you for leaving. She just wished to see you once again so she could apologize. But she knew that you would never forgive her for everything she had let her husband do to you.

She practically lived in your bedroom now. Always holding your old teddy bear, your old diplomas, your old photos. She hoped that you were at least okay, happy, but she wished that you came back to her.

“She won’t come back, love.” Your father said, starting to get tired of your mother dwelling of your absence.

“She has to. My baby has to come back to me.” Your mother said, holding into one of your jackets, it didn’t smell like you anymore, but just the mere thought of you ever wearing it was comforting enough. “We shouldn’t have been the way we were.”

“We had to be strict, it’s what’s right.” Your father said firmly. As a priest, he believed in God above anyone else. Even before your mother and you.

You were his pride, of course, he loved you with all his might. His only child.

You were crying in bed, tired and sad. Perhaps even a bit drunk. You heard his cowboy boots creaking in the floor.

“What’cha cryin’ for, doll?”

“Nothing, don’t worry.” You sniffled your tears, wiping them away. You were in this long nightgown.

“Hey, don’t lie to me, doll. Ya sad?” He sat down on the bed, sipping his whisky.

“It’s really nothing. Just, thinkin’ of my parents.”

“How many times have I told you to not think about them?” His voice hardened. “They ain’t your family, I am, the boys are. We’re the only ones you need.”

You sighed, nodding. Austin grabbed your chin. You should humbly be grateful for the fact that he picked you up from the side way, took you to his house, made you his wife, have you children, gave you a roof over your head and food on the table.

“You should be happy that you’re here. That I gave you all of this. What you do with those men— is you repaying all I’ve done for your ass.” Austin dropped your chin, she stopped feeling the coldness of his calloused hands

He leaned in and kissed you, lifting your nightgown. He made love to you all night, as if to prove that you were still his, that no matter how many men fucked you, you still had his last name.

And you just wanted to be his, just that, to be his. You just wanted him to say it. That’s why you tried to be good.

We’re you no good?

Were you no good?

You were very drunk, you couldn’t even think properly and your vision was blurry. Inside the barn, you had one of your boy’s teddy bears, it made you feel less lonely and it made you have a reason on why you were doing this.

You had this client that was particularly violent, throwing you around. You didn’t feel anything, you were drunk, drunk as hell.

All you heard was Austin’s voice, the man’s voice, someone loading a shot-gun. And then the gun-shot and it that very moment, you fell down.

Had he shot you? Did Austin shoot you? Did the love of your life shot you? In your head, you thought that it was because you were refusing the man, maybe he grew tired of you and decided that you weren’t fit anymore.

You were good.

You tried to be good.

Were you not good?

You were his.

Were you not his?

You wanted him to tell you that you were his.

Austin freaked out, the other man fled. He saw you there, he ran to your side.

“Doll, doll, doll!” Austin tried to wake you up. Freaked out, tears pricked his eyes out of desperation.

What had he done?

He dragged your body to his basement, scared, still crying like a goddamn baby. But he tried to make sure to not wake up the boys.

He stared at your body, he hated it so bad. He hated to see you now. He despised the sight of your cold body.

He couldn’t even sleep that night, he tossed and turned. What was he going to do with your body?

Bury you? What if he sold the ranch and the new owner found you? Burn you? No, he wasn’t going to disrespect you like that. He would be erasing you from the world— but he had already done it.

He had killed you the minute he started pimping you out for miserable bucks.

He thought for days, until on a psychotic episode, he decided something— if he consumed you, he would always have a piece of you with him, he would have you forever, within him, in his system.

He devoured you like smoked bovine skin, it was funny, bovine skin was tough. Ha, you never considered yourself tough.

But he looked so handsome with you all over his mouth. He cried while he chewed, he really cried, chugging whisky so you wouldn’t come back like puke.

You worried. We’re you making his stomach turn? Were you making him feel sick? You worried for that, how dare you make him feel sick? You felt guilty, not even after your death you could do anything right.

Your sons came running to the kitchen, but Austin only yelled for them to go away. You got angry, why was he yelling at your little boys?

He had left them motherless. No. It was a cycle. Your mother was a childless mother and your sons were motherless children. He had taken you twice. Twice.

Now you didn’t feel guilty. If anything, you were taunting him.

Am I making you feel sick?

He puked all over himself, sobbing his eyes and heart out. He didn’t have any other choice but turn himself in, the guilt was eating him away just like he had eaten you.

He had destroyed and disrespected your body. From day one. Your memory was now restricted to a Polaroid in the police’s evidence. The few people in town who knew you would only remember the horrid nature of your death, they wouldn’t remember you as a person.

You wished to talk to your mother one last time. To hug her and cry in her arms.

To tell her that you made it real far.

That you never blamed her for loving you the way she did while she was torn apart because of your father.

To make her stop thinking about you so hard so that she could get sleep at night again.

For her to stop worrying about you and your beautiful eyes.

To tell your mother and sons that you love them.

‘And I’ll see you when you get here.’

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