Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

The Scythe's Song	By : hallowedmaiden Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2815 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own POTC or the characters and I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 20
- 21
- 22
Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly so that she could feel it, feel her shoulders fall gently, feel the life inside of her. On the edge of the next inhale, she laid her head against his chest, nuzzling into it, then turned it to the side so she could listen to his heart beating, a steady sound that soothed her, reminded her that everything he had just told her was in the past, had happened a long time ago, and that he had come back to her, was still with her, still loved her.
All of that pain...it has broken her heart four, five, six times over as he had talked, explained, but she had tried to keep it in, tried to let him...but fuck, it'd been hard, so fucking hard to listen to him, had to remind herself over and over that he wasn't angry anymore, that he didn't blame her anymore, never really had. Not really. And the memories, even though they were old, still felt like they had left behind remnants in her head, pieces that made it that much harder to know that they were in the past.
It reminded her of the year after he had lost the Pearl, when he had slipped into a rather deep depression, depleting his normal lively personality to replace it with something dark and a little dangerous to be around. One of the night's, only about a month after, she'd been trapped into asking about the scars on his back. She hadn't meant to stare, hadn't meant for him to notice her staring at where they used to be, and he had...guarded himself immediately, though she knew it was part of his awful mood. It had hurt then, that he had distrusted her enough to not trust her with his past.
She was sitting in her desk chair on the Empress, her head laying in her palms, as she listened to the gentle rocking of the ship, the churning of the water outside, and the wind whistling against the window, really focusing on them as though they were the only remnants of the world that she had known a month ago.
A month ago...when he would brighten her life in small moments with small kisses that he snuck onto her neck when the crew wasn't looking, or when they would throw sarcasm back and forth like...or when he would pull her somewhere below, or into his cabin, and push her up against the wall and kiss her until she couldn't think straight.
When he would look at her from his spot at the helm with his eyes sparkling and the corner of his mouth turned up into a proud smirk. When they would anchor for the night and take a dip in the ocean, eventually almost always engaging in a splash fight. When he would tell her stories about the Pearl, about his childhood, about anything that fit the moment.
The way his voice would change just for her, into a softer, more personal tone, rather than the commanding voice he used on deck, the way he would let her play with his hair when it was just her and him at night next to the railing, escalating into hands sneaking below clothing, caressing skin, his lips molding against hers, turning her steady heartbeat into a tittering thing when he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom if he was patient enough. The several times he wasn't he had just carried her to the main mast, making love to her there with hard frantic thrusts like it was the last time he would ever be inside her.
All thirty days, as they passed, dragged on like they would never end, she hadn't seen him smile once. He hadn't kissed her, really kissed her, as she hardly counted the kisses he gave her as though he was tired of her pestering him for affection, but she had stopped that even. He hadn't made love to her, hadn't even given her an inclination that he really wanted to touch her at all. The sparkle was gone from his eyes, he walked about with no real drive to go anywhere, and being around him put her on edge like she was atop a cracked floor with the risk of it collapsing at any second. Anything he said to her was said just to get her to go away, a short "fine" or "sure" muttered in her direction without any eye contact.
Was it her? Was she not enough for him? The niggling feeling of inadequacy had been sneaking into her thoughts every time he brushed her off or went to sleep without her, and she was starting to feel like his awful mood was bleeding into her, as though it was contagious. Had losing the Pearl caused him to take stock of his life, where he had found that she didn't have a real place in it? She wanted to shout at him that it wasn't her fault his ship had sunk, and that she had been trying to be there for him whenever he needed her, but every time an angry thought entered her head, she felt exhausted and depleted.
It was like she was drowning, falling further and further away from him, and just one smile, one embrace, one anything from him would save her. But having him act like she was a bother was killing her, and she tried, really tried to tell herself that he would come back, that he would...but it got harder every day.
She didn't even bother picking her head up from her hands when the cabin door opened and closed, Jack stepping through without a glance at her, going straight to the bed instead to begin undressing. Fighting the urge to look at his bare skin as belt buckles and boots hit the floor, she finally gave in and found him with just his breeches on, hands braced against her little dresser next to the bed as he leaned forward against it, eyes closed, his mouth set in a firm line.
Her eyes traced the wiry muscle in his arms, traveled over his shoulders with a small vacation to his neck, before finally landing on his back, and was immediately reminded that there was nothing happy going on at the sudden image in her head of his lash marks. She had seen them when she had undressed him just before he had made love to her for the first time, but hadn't asked, hadn't inquired for a story about them, had been too wrapped up in the rush of finally having him.
Just the memory of them still held an echo of the pain they must have caused him, and she subconsciously followed them from end to end where they used to be, each one like she was in some kind of trance.
"...if you're going to ask, just...ask."
The sound of his voice had her head snapping to look at him, finding his eyes gazing at her, his face shadowed, and her heart spiked with sudden panic.
"Ask?"
His expression didn't change, nor did the eye contact, until he pushed a small frustrated breath out of his nose and stuck the tip of his tongue out to wet his lips. "I saw you...staring."
Suddenly she felt uncomfortable looking at him, so she looked away, her face growing hot. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to."
The only response she got was a small grunt as he pushed himself off of the dresser, spinning to drop onto the bed, sitting there for a moment before quickly stripping his breeches off and sliding under her blanket. She could see it playing out in her mind, her swaying over to the bed with him grinning at her, her straddling his body, leaning down to kiss him, to slide her hands over his chest.
But she made no move to go to him, stayed in her chair like a statue, a blush of embarrassment still staining her skin even as he stared straight up, his hands clasped at his stomach.
Her voice box pushed words forth without her permission just then, making her eyes widen even as she said them.
"Why are you treating me like this?"
It was the first time she had directly asked him, directly questioned him about his behavior, and she waited with held breath for his reaction.
At first, she didn't think he heard her, then his head turned to look at her, and she saw his chest rise and fall just a little faster, but he didn't say anything.
"I have been trying...so hard to get through to you, I have given you all the space you needed, I have been understanding, I have...but you still act like...like I am a bloody nuisance! I just...what am I doing wrong? Please...I want to help you, but I can't if you don't let me…"
Her voice died as she tried to fight off the tears that had been culminating ever since she had seen his tears that awful night.
The only indication she had that he had done anything was the clinking of the beads in his hair, and she dared to glance at him, finding him sitting up, staring at her.
It was his expression that struck her. All the storminess, all the darkness that was in his eyes had bled away in a few seconds, replaced with a pure look of anguish, and then he was turning his head away from her to bury it in his hands, shaking it back and forth. It took her watching him, really watching him, to realize that he was holding back tears, the tensing of his shoulders, the trembling his body was doing, they were both signs. "I'm...sorry...I didn't even...I didn't…" he was mumbling against his hands.
Instantly she regretted questioning him, chiding herself for making him upset when he was already heartbroken. She should have left well enough alone, should have…
"Lizzie…"
His voice was quiet, shaky, but she didn't really register that he was calling out to her through her anger at herself, didn't realize that he was looking at her again, until he repeated himself, even more quietly than the first time.
"Lizzie, c'mere."
The breath that was sucked into her body barely had time to settle in her chest before she was rising from the chair, stripping away the few articles of clothing she had on as she almost ran to the bed, drawn to him by some invisible force, a noise of relief escaping her when finally, she was in his arms again, clutching him back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you -"
She stopped when he shook his head before burying it in the crook of her neck, and then she went very still when the sensation of something wet touched her shoulder. Her fingers tightened on his skin, and a small gasp, barely an intake of breath, passed through her lips.
Any notion that he might have been pulling away from her left at that moment, and she could only feather small kisses wherever she could reach while still holding him as he cried silently.
Every doubloon that she had would be gladly wagered on the bet that she was the only person on the planet whom Captain Jack Sparrow had ever cried on, and it stole the breath from her, made her wholly unable to think past just being there for him, made her heart break again for his loss.
"Jack...I-" she found that she didn't know what to say to comfort him, didn't know how to even start healing him, then she remembered that he thought he had no one, with the way he had acted towards her, he had thought that he wasn't allowed to ask for her comfort because there had never been anyone willing to offer it to him before her, and another piece of her heart shattered from the absolute injustice that had been done to him. "I will do...everything in my power to get you through this, I swear to you," she whispered, keeping her voice calm, delicate. "But in order for me to do that, I need you to trust me, to let me in."
Tears were falling down her cheeks now, hot and salty, both from the pain that she knew he was in and trying so hard to hide from everyone, and from the loss of the Pearl, for it had been her loss too, as much a piece of her life as it had been Jack's. So much had happened on that ship, so much history…
She pulled him even closer to her, wrapping her arms around him, still marveling at how she was the one to be here, to be holding him. "I just-" his voice suddenly came, a far cry from even the voice he used with her. This one was broken, tired, like someone had tried to shred his voice box with a knife. "That ship was my life...it was different when she was just stolen, when...but she's gone this time...forever…"
His bandanna was rough against her skin when he started shaking his head back and forth again, and she suddenly felt like nothing was adequate to soothe him, to save him. "I know, I know, I loved her too, but you have...so much still here for you, you have the entire world to look forward to, you have years and years, you have…" she paused, the final word getting stuck in her throat, and it came out on the edge of a whoosh of breath and a rough swallow, "me."
Waiting to see if he heard her, if her words sunk in enough, if by some grace of something he had gained strength from her, because she didn't know what she would do if this killed his soul forever, it was a few seconds packed into an eternity. "This may seem selfish, but I'm a pirate, so I can get away with it," she said, trying a little watery laugh against where his shoulder met his neck. "I...we need you back, all of us. As long as it takes you, take as much time as you need...we need our captain back eventually. But please, please don't shut me out again. You can come to me whenever you need me, regardless of what I'm doing. Okay?"
Desperately she wanted to say it, wanted to whisper it to him again and again until he got sick of hearing it.
'I need you back because I love you so damn much that it's killing me to see you like this.'
But she didn't say it, couldn't say it, like it was a forbidden thing buried so deep inside of her and the world would change rotation, plants would die, oceans would empty, and this...thing between her and Jack could melt away like ice to water, change into something she no longer recognized. She was a smart woman, but even she couldn't tell what Jack...how he would take it if she told him she loved him, if he felt that way about her, or felt anything romantic for her, or to what degree...it was all so confusing, maddening, like trying to peer at something that was just too far away to make out.
Finally, he nodded and took a deep breath. "Alright."
Just that, that one word, it told her that he was accepting her as the one he would go to, the one that...and that was more than enough for now. And it was enough, for now, to hold him, to be this close to him, to...and hold him she did until he finally calmed, his shoulders loosening, his body relaxing, and a long wistful sigh escaping him. "Lizzie...I...I didn't mean to...make you feel unwanted...I just...don't really know how to ask for...someone to...to…" he stopped, clenching his hands at his inability to explain himself. Thankfully, she understood and shifted gently to see if he was ready to move. When his arms tightened around her, it took her a moment to realize that he was hugging her, and then he was moving away so that she could see his face.
The only remnant of his tears was the slight redness of his eyes and a bit of smudged kohl. "I'm sorry, love," he said again, keeping his gaze south.
"Jack, you have nothing to be sorry for, just...just lie back," she said, pushing on his chest with the heel of her hand. When he complied, she arranged herself so she was settled along the length of his body, her right leg hooked over him, her hand drawing circles on his chest, and her head resting against his shoulder, reminding her of their time on the rum runner's island. "You didn't do anything wrong," she tried again. "It's the people who made you think that you need to get through everything alone that were wrong."
She didn't get a response, at least not a verbal one, but she hadn't expected to, had only wanted him to hear those words, to understand them. Heaving a great sigh, she settled closer to his warmth, already feeling the absence of the weight that had settled into her soul without him, and raised herself up a bit on her elbow to engage in one of her favorite things to do.
"Are you ever going to get tired of playing with my hair?"
Fingering one of the beads, she found his smokey eyes staring at her in amusement, a barely-there smile teasing the corner of his mouth. "Unlikely. I always feel like I am going to find new beads or something in it. It's like a discovery game."
His dark eyes held her gaze for a moment before he turned away. "They were from my father, by the way. The-the lash marks."
It was said without preamble, without any real emphasis, but she knew that he was placing a great deal of trust in her with every bit that he revealed about himself, and this particular bit of information made her eyes widen at him and her blood run like ice. "He did that to you? Without punishment?"
"I was fourteen," he started again, turning back to look at her, his hand disappearing into her hair to play with it as it fell down her back. "Don't quite remember what I did, but it was something that apparently disrespected him. Probably questioned him on something. In any case, it was a long time ago, the marks are gone, and there is no reason to dwell on it, savvy?"
She didn't feel like there wasn't a reason to dwell on it because no man should torture his son without retribution, but she would put it aside for now.
"Thank you for telling me," she murmured, settling her head back against his shoulder, suddenly feeling rather sleepy, and content to fall asleep due to where she was at that particular moment, nestled against her love, even though that love was still a secret.
It had been one more peg on their long journey to where they were now. One more notch of trust, one more story to tell, one more...well, that wasn't even the part of the past she was supposed to be thinking about.
When he realized that she was taking a small break, he wound his arms around her and threaded one hand in her hair, sneaking the other hand under her loose tank top to rub it over her back in lazy circles. "I know that was a lot to take in, love. I also know that there will never be any clear answers or take-aways from all of this. It just...feels better to talk about it rather than treat it like something we need to fear. Face it head on and all that, you know?"
Rather than answer him, she just nodded against him, slipping her hands under his shirt too, clutching his back like she was afraid he was going to vanish. "Are you sure you want to keep going?"
No, she really didn't, she wanted to lay down on the bed and feel his body against her and let him kiss her until she fell asleep, she wanted to stay in the present where they were together, where everything was okay, where the kind hand of fate had righted their world despite every single obstacle they had faced to get there, but this was reality, and despite not being able to find clear answers to everything, they still had to try. Just a little more, just...then they could fall asleep together and begin their new life as a couple, and a smile flashed across her face at the thought, a whispered "what?" against her hair from Jack.
"Nothing, just every time I remind myself that we're a thing now, I feel...all giddy and mushy inside."
She could feel his mouth quirk against her, a little twitching of his lips. "A...thing?"
"Yeah, you know," she giggled. "A thing, a couple, boyfriend and girlfriend, together, dating, going steady if we're talking about the 50's, bae if we take the unfortunate turn into awful modern slang, in a relationship...well, you get the idea."
As each new synonym left her mouth, his snickering turned into chuckling, which turned into laughing, which turned into his body trembling as he tried to hold in laughter. "Going steady was a nice term," he said once he got himself under control. But even through the teasing, she knew that he didn't, in any sense, take them being together lightly, and it warmed her heart how much peace it created within him, just like it made her feel like she was floating.
But right now, she had to bring herself back to the moment when he had slammed the motel door, when she had collapsed on the carpet for the second time, and stepping back through that hole, back into that other world of anger, of...but it had to be done. She laid her forehead back onto his chest, speaking quietly like she didn't want to give the words she was about to say any more strength than they deserved.
"I suppose I will start just after you...left, if I can...I felt, and I'm just telling you how I felt in the moment, this is not what I truly...I felt angry at you, because I thought you didn't care, I thought that...it didn't occur to me at first that you didn't even hear what I had said really, I just...all I could focus on was how you just brushed it off. And it confirmed my fear, at least then, that you didn't care about me that way, that I was right for keeping it a secret. I just felt so awful."
Pain shot up her arm and her skin flamed when she slammed her fist into the disgusting carpet, her scream blending with the pouring rain outside. The aching had set in a long time ago, but she didn't really know how long she had been there, her legs folded under, her knees touching her breasts, her head pushed into the floor, except for the few times she had arched up as a fresh round of sobs were ripped from some unfathomable reserve.
The sound of the door slamming was still reverberating in her ears, and all she could think was that she was glad he was gone, she screamed it in her head, had even screamed it once out loud, and she thought she meant it, thought that him leaving was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
That look in his eyes as he had left, not unlike the way a soldier might look at a traitor, it was so cold, so real...he really didn't care, and it felt like an ice pick was being driven into her heart, because even through all of her doubt, through all of her insecurity, fear, whatever word was to be assigned to it, the hope that he cared, that he loved her, was in love with her, really understood her, it had always been there, underneath all of that.
But now, as lightning flashed in her head, as her skull throbbed and twisted with pain, as it felt like acid has been injected into the skin of her face as it strained and stung from her sobs, as her eyes burned with how tightly they were squeezed shut, it felt like her world had been turned upside down, felt like the very fabric of her universe was torn in two, and she didn't know what life meant anymore, didn't know how to live, was doubting whether there would even be a world outside if she were to open the door.
She kept seeing his eyes swimming in front of her, kept seeing the money float through the air, and the words he had said, 'good luck. Maybe you'll find a different fuck buddy that's willing to put up with your bullshit', were echoing around her head like some kind of broken recording meant to torture her into oblivion.
Finally, with the same speed of a bullet being fired from a gun, the anger took hold of her, possessed her, made her brain start on fire, and she couldn't think past it, didn't even want to think past it as her body shot up, her muscles screaming in protest. It was the bathroom that she ran to first as the urge to hit something pulsated in her fist, and a ragged cry did fly out of her mouth when she slammed it into the side of the counter, then did it again, ignoring the pain, but it wasn't good enough, wasn't…
Her arm snapped through the air, and she watched almost maniacally as pieces of the mirror exploded in every direction, then she dropped, twisting to land in a heap with her back to the cupboards, her head bent to her knees, and her left hand clutching her bleeding right one, the tears only coming harder, but now, they were anger-less, instead filled with emotions that she no longer had the strength to identify as the world fell away, becoming something else, an abstract thing that she no longer cared if she were a part of it or not.
As she explained, he had been touching her everywhere, running his fingers over the small slice of skin that her shirt kept revealing every time she paused to take a breath, over her neck under her hair, kissing the top of her head, then when she finished, he wrapped his hand around her right one and brought it to his mouth, laying soft kisses on her knuckles with a pained expression on his face. "I don't care what the situation is, don't, and I mean don't ever hurt yourself over me again. Do you understand that?"
"...Yes...that was the only time I have ever done damage to myself out of anger or any other emotion. Rather telling, I suppose. The...um, the rest of the night I just...sort of drifted in and out of consciousness, at one point I made it to the bed, but I was kind of numb, until I finally just had to get out of the damn motel room, so I left, and well, you know where I went…"
His chest collapsed in a heavy exhale, as though he was both dreading this and waiting for it.
It was cold enough for her breath to twist and turn in the air, cold enough for the rain coming down to feel like tiny bullets against her skin as she climbed out of the car, leaving it parked a few blocks from the lot where the GT was.
Twigs and leaves crunched under her feet but she didn't really focus on them, couldn't let her brain feel anything sensory, anything too much, because then it would remind her too much of the hell that her life had become in just a few hours, just a couple of hours everything had changed.
He hadn't come back, and she felt empty, like a starved person, like a person who had too much blood drawn from her body, like a person who had too many nightmares while they slept, leaving them feeling heavy with exhaustion. She kept closing her eyes and shaking her head as though she had bugs crawling in her brain, as though she had to fight to keep herself on this plane of existence.
Every time a car sped by, every time a horn blared in the distance, even the crunching under her feet that she was trying to ignore, they were all so loud, so much louder than they should be, but maybe it was her thoughts that were quieter, maybe it was herself that was retreating into the ether, away from the world, magnifying everything around her as though the world was trying to fill the void left behind by Elizabeth Swann, like she was a tree that had been wiped out by a sudden meteor that had come crashing down to earth.
Little hot spikes of anger, like the leftover simmering coals of a fire, were still there in her brain, still threatening to take over again, threatening to turn into a raging wildfire at a moment's notice, at just enough of a push towards that pit, but she ignored it too, focused only on picking up her feet and putting them down, walking in a straight line, not thinking about the anger in his eyes, or the panic in her voice, or the the slamming of the door, or the way the mirror had shattered like a beautiful crystal destroyed by the cruel reality of the universe, or the way she had sat on the bathroom floor and cried, losing touch with time and space until she rose like a zombie and ended up in the car.
Didn't think about the heaviness behind her eyes, didn't want to think about how everything she had felt, all the anger, was probably wrong, was probably...didn't want to think about any of it, didn't want to think about how her life had been almost perfect before, like a pretty house on a warm summer day in the Caribbean right on the coast of the ocean, only to be destroyed by the devastating winds of a hurricane, uncaring about what was in it's path, whether it be a house or a love that was meant to endure, meant to last forever, meant…
Then the cruel reminder that he hadn't known that she loved him, still didn't know, would never know now, because he was gone forever, gone from her life, blown away...not that there had ever really been anything for the hurricane in that motel to fucking destroy anyways, there was nothing between them, nothing to...so why in the fuck did she feel like she was walking around dead, like her very life force had been taken from her...didn't want to admit it, didn't want to admit that he was the thing that kept her going, he was the life inside of her, didn't want to admit that she had an equal share in driving him away, didn't want to admit to anything, nothing, hated him, hated everything about him…
His stupid smile, the way he would sneak a look at her from across the room that...the way he made love to her, the way he would whisper in her ear, the way he would hold her, the way...none of it fucking mattered anymore, it was all stained like she had spilt ink on it and left it.
A big lit-up billboard had been filling up the left side of her vision as she walked towards the lot, getting bigger and bigger, and she had been able to make out red letters as she glanced at periodically, but could only just now see what it was, and if it wasn't a fucking cruel twist of the universe she didn't know what was, asking her if she had found the right person yet, telling her to sign up for some fucking dating site…She didn't even have the energy to care, just laughed bitterly, some of the rainwater finding its way into her mouth. It tasted polluted.
Rounding the corner of the building, some kind of apartment, she saw the car, still sitting there, the black paint picking up every color of the city, shining in the collected water, and then with a jolt like lightning down her spine she realized there was someone there, next to the car, someone knelt there, someone...they had long hair...they were…
Their face angled at just the right degree to catch the light of the streetlamp above, but she had known...known it was him the entire time, and the light illuminating his face took her breath away for just a moment, a fleeting moment that was suspended above everything else, then like ice freezing over her heart, the anger returned, slammed into her like a speeding train, the sound roaring in her ears, the blood rushing through her body.
Had he known? Had he known that she wanted that car the entire time? Why was he so fucking adamant about knowing her secrets if he was keeping secrets of his own?
Then the ice turned into boiling lava, infecting her with a deep burning desire to hurt, to punish, to lash out at everything and anything, but to him especially as her brain replayed the money falling to the ground, the cold in his eyes, the harshness of his voice…
'...Should have never saved you…'
'...Not sure you deserved it…'
'...Should have left you in Russia…'
'...Maybe you aren't worth being trusted…'
…
He wasn't fucking worth being trusted, she wasn't sure he deserved her, and she felt her face grow hot from the thought, from the searing fall, from the tumble into the black hole of the unknown, into a world where she wanted to get him as far away from her as she could, even though she couldn't remember the reasons why, couldn't remember anything...except that he didn't care about her, didn't care that she had lost the only other dream besides being with him that she had, didn't love her, had never loved her…
...she was tumbling into a world where he was a stranger to her, in that moment, a stranger that was betraying her, crossing the line...taking something of hers, but he already had her heart in a stranglehold, already commanded her thoughts, whether she hated him or not, so what was left for him to take?
Suddenly she was yanking open the door of the telephone booth down the sidewalk, the rain making the glass fog, running down the sides of it like a sad waterfall, and then the plastic of the phone was cold in her hand as she lifted it out of the receiver, clutching it so hard that her muscles hurt, fighting the urge to smash it into the glass, and only noticing that her hand was shaking, trembling, when she brought it to her ear.
Sending all of the rage that was squirming inside of her at him, glaring at his head, almost willing him to look, to see, she smashed the button down, three times, each time feeling like another nail in their coffin.
9-9-9
Then it started to ring, and she didn't even listen to the dispatcher ask her what the problem was, she just blurted out in a strangled voice that a man was trying to steal a car in the parking lot, then stumbled through the address, then stuck the phone back on the receiver like it was poison and turned around, finally letting the angry tears fall, feeling her life spiral out of control, feeling the strength leave her legs.
He deserved this, he deserved to get arrested, to understand how much he had hurt her. No doubt he wouldn't see the inside of a jail cell, there was no way in hell they could get that far with him, but at least he would know…
She didn't know how much time had passed until the flashing lights of the police car lit up the parking lot, didn't even realize she had stepped out of the booth until the rain started pelting down on her again...didn't know why she was watching, didn't understand as the anger receded enough to see the other side...didn't understand why she hated seeing him get pushed up against the car, hated seeing the handcuffs going around his hands, felt the regret battling with the rage like…
TIme stopped when he raised his head, when his eyes met hers, when the shock flashed across his face, and a strange urge to reach out to him, to turn back everything to the motel, to comfort the hate out of his eyes that was pouring out at her now, and then she heard his voice, an angry whisper.
'Fuck you.'
All she could do was just concentrate on her breathing, concentrate on how to explain, how to make him understand the terrible twisting guilt in her heart over what she had done.
"I just...there's nothing I can say that will take away how horribly impulsive it was...but in that moment, I felt so much...emotion, so much anger, that I had to find a way to let it out, to...I don't even know if I was really targeting you, I was just targeting...I didn't think far enough ahead, or beyond, to wonder about the consequences could barely think about what I was doing at all. I slept in the booth, for a little while. After the cop drove away. Don't remember falling asleep there, just remember waking up early in the morning.
"I didn't feel angry anymore, not sure if it was because I wasn't angry, or if I had just exhausted my capacity to feel, but I made my way back to the motel, and slept some more, kind of half-sleeping, drifting in and out with the hope that maybe you would be back each time I woke up.
"It hadn't even occurred to me that you were gone, that everything was permanent, far more permanent than I could process. Then when you didn't come back, I actually went back to take the car, and drove it back, got my shit, and drove back to the place in London that we normally use as a safe house, that abandoned house, in the hope that you would go there too. Stayed there for two weeks, just hiding, moving from one room to another, day after day, fighting a maelstrom of emotions sometimes, sometimes not feeling at all…
"It was that Sunday, at the end of the second week, that I started to be afraid, afraid that you really were gone, and then everything came back, the motel, the fight, everything, only this time, I saw how wrong everything was, and a million 'if only I hadn't said that' flooded me, so much regret, so much...but even through seeing everything as it was, even through all of that, I still battled with whether you cared, because of what you had said, battled with whether you…
"I thought about trying to find you, really thought about it, but every time, the only thing I felt was fear, fear that you would only send me away, that you would hammer another nail into the coffin by acting like you didn't want me if I showed up, the fear consumed me, blinded me to reason, to any other thoughts. I was just so shattered by everything, I felt so small, so powerless…"
The emotion threaded through her throat rendered her speechless for a moment, and all she could do was glance up at him as though seeing his face would return her mental fortitude.
"I didn't take any jobs for a year," she continued, trying to control the wobble in her voice. "I just kind of moved around from place to place, fighting my own mind, trying to...stop feeling and trying to keep feeling at the same time, it was like the only thing that could keep me alive was no longer within my grasp, and I had entered some kind of emergency power state, where my mind only half worked, a slave to anxiety, paranoia, and so many things that I can't even put a name to…
"I had a strange...moment of clarity a year afterward, where I was able to gather my thoughts enough to have something coherent to put down on paper. Hang on a moment, I have pictures of it on my phone."
It was gloomy, a dull gray mood that seemed to permeate everything around her. Even the seagulls pecking at the ground in front of her didn't look like they were enjoying themselves. Having just checked her watch, she knew it was only two in the afternoon, but the atmosphere around her made it feel closer to evening, precarious and unknown.
There was a slight bite to the wind, just a slight chill that only bothered her if it found just the right angle to slip under her windbreaker, and she had lost count of how many times she had unconsciously pulled the jacket tighter around her body, just like she had lost count of how many times she had nearly dumped her notebook and pencil on the concrete from forgetting that it was in her lap.
She wasn't even sure why she had brought it out here because the motivation to write in it was slipping away and coming back with the same consistency as the sun through the thick blanket of gray clouds above her. She wasn't sure why she was where she was, Copenhagen, either, wasn't sure why she was awake, certainly wasn't sure why she...well, such depressing thoughts didn't hold much weight to her anymore, as common as they were.
There was a coffee shop across the street, and it was most likely warm in there, and no doubt she could head over right now and sip down a steaming cup of dark roast, but she had trudged all the way out to this damn pier, overlooking the Nordhavn basin, and dammit she was going to stay here out of pure stubbornness, or lack of caring, but she wasn't really sure which it was.
The ocean here was vastly different to the crystal turquoise waters of the Caribbean. There, the water almost invited you to come in, made you feel peaceful inside, but here, the dark choppy water of the Baltic Sea gave you a sense of foreboding, where if you stared at it for too long, something might draw you into the depths.
Briefly she wondered how the notebook would look as it sunk, how long it would take for it to be invisible to her eyes, and then banished the thought, remembering that she had told herself as she stepped out the motel that she was staying in that she was going to write this fucking letter whether her mind, hand, or mood liked it or not.
But the entire time she had been sitting there on the bench, diving through the question mark that the last year had been, all she could do was stare out into the world, tracing the horizon line with her eyes. Being quite frank with herself, she was teetering on the line, had been teetering on the line for the entire year, between a full mental breakdown and a completely flippant attitude about everything as a coping mechanism for how fucked her life was. She rarely cared about her appearance anymore, only pausing for a moment to drag a brush through her hair and make sure she actually had clothes on. Really, she just lacked the focus and effort to put much thought into anything she did lately, so trying to remember everything that her brain was doing its damndest to forget, and failing miserably, leaving everything a cross between a partially destroyed tape and going back in time to view the memories as though they were happening at present…
Trying to remember all of that and summarize it in her mind was proving to be a far greater challenge than she had thought, and she couldn't decide if that was the source of her slumping forward nearly falling asleep, or if it was just the gloom wearing on her. Probably the former, she figured.
Taking a deep breath of chilly air, nearly coughing as it stung a section of her throat into a maddening tickle, she pressed the pen to the notebook, getting as far as scribbling a jagged trail on the first line. Glaring at for longer than probably necessary, she didn't turn the page to start anew, just skipped down to the next line with an attitude to just let come what may come.
Jack,
It's been a year. Wow, what a great way to start a letter, stating something that is blatantly obvious just by looking at a calendar. Probably the only obvious thing right now in the world, my world anyway, in any case. It really has been a year though, hasn't it? Strange, I can't decide if it has flown by or if I just didn't notice how slow it was passing. A year, 365 days, a much bigger number in hours, even bigger in minutes, and astronomical in seconds.
I am sitting here trying to write...this, trying to figure out WHAT to write, really, and since I can't think of anything, I'll just describe where I am. Somewhere that you never liked, Copenhagen. Then again, you were never built for anywhere cold, always making sure to remind me of the fact every five minutes when we were somewhere cold. More specifically, I am sitting on a bench that surely needs a little bit of repair (it leans down too far on one side, and it wobbles), on the Langelinie Pier. Interesting fact, it's home to the Little Mermaid statue. You know, the fairytale written by Hans Christen Andersen? Apparently, it has been the victim of vandalization. Poor thing.
Before this, I was in Dublin enjoying some of their excellent beer, and before that, I was in a little town in Transylvania contemplating whether I wanted to try and break into Bran Castle (apparently known as Dracula's Castle, but I don't think that Vlad the Impaler really lived there). I decided against it in the end, as I was too underwhelmed by the thought of doing it alone. Before that...
Ah, you probably don't care where I have been anyways since there is nothing terribly exciting about my travels as of late. Haven't taken any jobs, haven't even tried looking for any, haven't stolen anything at all actually. Lacked motivation, I guess, for anything besides eating, sleeping, and, well...I wonder if it is a symptom of immortality...sudden lulls in the will to live.
Is that a terribly depressing thing to say? Not exactly surprising for me to write something depressing, since I haven't been sleeping well for...I wish I could say just a few days, but really for the last year (it really has been a year!), I can't remember the last time I got a full night's sleep. I always wake up, sometimes just once, sometimes several times, and I feel the sheets, just paw around, I don't even know why anymore, but at first it was to see if you might be there, sleeping next to me. Now I think it is just a habit, like a reflex. I have been having strange dreams too, all like...of the past, of us, of the Pearl, of...a lot of things.
A bit torturous, thinking of us while awake and dreaming of us while asleep, but I don't know if you would know anything about that with the way you left. You know, I should probably scribble that out, reading it over just as I wrote it, but I'm not going to, as this letter has been taking on a stream of consciousness style anyway, and sometimes angry little thoughts like that enter my consciousness, out of the blue, like a dolphin suddenly breaching the water.
Look at me, trying to write like a poet, rather fitting since poetry is just putting rather awful human stories into nice pretty frames, using nice pretty words. Though, I think even the greatest poet would find it a challenge to fancy up me calling the police on you. What do you think? Should I resurrect John Keats and stick the challenge to him? Perhaps he could make what you said to me sound nice too, but I doubt it.
I...I should scribble that out too, because in the last year, I have...come to the conclusion that you were just angry, that you certainly didn't mean any of it, and...well of course you didn't mean any of it you tosser, at least, I bloody hope you didn't. But...it's been a year, and you haven't been around, so maybe...even if you didn't REALLY mean what you said, maybe you meant to make it sound like you wanted to leave me...because that's what it sounded like. And the look in your eyes when you...when I told you...it still haunts me, still the one thing that drives me to get drunk every other night.
But even besides all of that, what I did to you, calling the police, that must have been enough to drive you away, huh? Another betrayal, borne out of a stupid silly angry impulse that I regretted the second I woke up in that piece of shit smelly telephone booth. But I couldn't bear for you to yell at me again...see, I had never heard your yelling directed at me before, not that you ever yelled much to begin with, but...it traumatized me, I think. Every time anyone raises a voice around me...not that I am saddling you with the accusation that you have damaged me, I don't...think that...it's just all so confusing, isn't it?
It all comes back to one thing though...why couldn't I have just told you to begin with? Looking back, it really wasn't that big of a secret, wasn't that...big of a deal, not nearly as big of a deal as I made it out to be. I should have just told you.
Then, I am reminded of why I didn't, and reminded of the root thing behind that, behind...well, a lot of things. And I figure that saying it blatantly is the best way. No use being afraid of it now. I didn't tell you because I was so bloody afraid of finally crossing the line from not knowing to the confirmation that you weren't in love with me that I ran in every other direction besides that one.
I guess there is a confession hidden within that. I'm in love with you, Jack, still am, sitting here on an ocean pier in Copenhagen with my silly little notebook and silly pen, a year later, after the worst fight we have ever had, I am still bloody in love with you, you damn blackguard, infuriating man, pirate. You must find me pathetic, being so damn sad over you, being so...weak, but I honestly don't give a damn. The world can go to the devil if it defines this as being weak.
I fucking miss the shit out of you, dammit. I miss...and now I just got the treatment in my head of a projector possessed by Satan, too many images, too many things to miss, but I'll try to list them here. I miss the way your hair felt in my hands, the way you would chuckle, your different chuckles...I miss the way you would whisper at me when you lay inches away from me in bed...the way you would pull me close to you early in the morning...I miss the way you still look at the ocean, the way you still talk about ships…(remember that one time you were admiring that aircraft carrier and I suggested we steal it, and you looked at me like I was crazy?), I miss the way you grumbled about the cold, the way you seemed right at home in scorching hot weather, your smile, whether it be that damnable smirk of yours or the beautiful genuine smile you gave me when...I miss your touch, I miss making love to you, I miss touching you...I really miss making love to you...haven't had anyone else since...I think I might lose my mind. Touching myself isn't anywhere near the same, even if I think about you, which I do…
I miss the way you would always whisper to me about how 'fucking idiotic' men that you didn't like were...usually when we were in bars or somewhere populated. I miss you trying to scare me at every opportunity, mostly when we are in dark silent places, I miss the way you held me like you were trying to protect me from everything bad in the world, I miss how you would hold me after making love, how you would cradle me and keep kissing me, like you were worshipping me…
Is that a long enough list? Is that enough to make you come back? To understand how much I miss you, how much I love you? I...don't bloody know what else to say, and this letter is unraveling rather quickly, isn't it? A preview of what I have to look forward to without you I suppose...my world unraveling string by string until there is nothing left...not even that little piece of lint left behind in a shirt pocket. But...you don't want me back do you? Not after what I did, after...after the Kraken, I always knew that you wouldn't put up with another betrayal, but I bloody fucking went and did it anyway, called the cops on you, and I didn't even really want to do it, had I just thought about it for one fucking second I would have run up to you and clung to you until you got tired of being nearly squeezed to death….
I have been waiting for you to come back, I have been waiting for you to...but you never did. I t's been a year and nothing. I was never one to...intrude on you unless you allowed it, so I won't do that this time. I...I'm not going to chase you like...only because I fear that would drive you away even further than I already have...being followed around by someone who is incapable of letting go...you never seemed like you wanted any attachment to anything besides your ship anyways.
I will leave you alone for as long as I can, you personally I mean, I'm sure I will gravitate to every possible reminder of you on this earth for the rest of my life.
I love you, love you so fucking much that I think it might even crush the regard I have for myself, and I am not even ashamed to admit that. But I understand now that I may have been living with a terribly cruel false hope that you returned the feeling. Silly me right?
Your forever love,
Lizzie Elizabeth
A few of the words had been steadily bleeding away into something unintelligible with the teardrops that were falling, but it didn't matter because she wasn't going to send it, had no clue where to send it to, and even if she did, wouldn't do it anyway because she would be too terrified to read the reply. Of course, she had known that when she started writing but had become so wrapped up in just the idea of talking to him that she had…
Slapping the notebook closed in frustration, dragging a hand across her face to wipe the tears away, she weighed the options between drowning herself in the ocean, and drowning herself in a cup of coffee, only choosing the coffee out of pure survival instinct alone.
She had often wondered what his reaction would be if he ever read that letter, and her theories had changed as more years had passed, but nothing could have prepared her for the way his hand trembled, the way his breathing came faster, the way he was still looking at the phone, but not really looking at it. It reminded her of the way military wives and mothers held the letters telling them that their spouses or children were deceased.
"Do you-" and he threw the phone down onto the bed, covering his face with his hands, rubbing them up and down in frantic motions, a long heaving breath escaping out between his fingers.
"...Funny, isn't it, surviving bullets and knives, only to be done in by a letter," was what he finally chose to say behind his hands after almost five minutes of silence, then continuing before she had a chance to get a word in, looking at her this time. "That...that, if that had ever been sent to me, if I had seen that, at any point in the last four decades before Mumbai, darling, I would have invented teleporting to come back to you, if I managed to live through reading it, that is. The only reason I lived through it now is that you're here with me."
It was all said in a low cracked whisper, like he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to speak, but went ahead anyway, and it took her a moment to collect her thoughts as well.
"...I wrote more, they were shorter, but I did write more. In that notebook, in fact. But they were damaged along with the photos, except for this one. That's mostly why I took a picture of it eventually, was afraid of it getting damaged or losing it. They were one of the few things keeping me sane, I think, writing them. Kind of like I was talking to you, and maybe somewhere in my head I harbored a hope that I would one day send them to you."
He smiled a little bit, but it wasn't a happy smile, nor was it really a sad smile, more a smile that was taking the place of a million emotions simmering just below the surface; a masking smile. "And to think, I spent all those years thinking...that you didn't want me back."
Her eyes followed his movement when he grabbed the phone again, scrolling up and down as though he was searching for something. When he apparently didn't find it, he deactivated the screen and set the phone down. "I hope you realize that everything you say in there about me not wanting-"
"Of course I realize that now at least, now that I have stopped being an idiot, now that you have stopped being an idiot," she said, smiling softly at him. "But back then, my personal torture didn't stop at letters. Oh no, I graduated to something much more potent than simply talking about you and to you with ink. The first time, when I had finally started taking jobs again, six or seven years later I think, I was in Jamaica, not stealing anything physical, just gathering information for someone."
The job was over, she had reported the information, nothing was keeping her here now.
At least, that's what she liked to tell herself, had been telling herself the entire week she had been in Jamaica. She had avoided coming here for exactly the reason that she was having such a hard time staying away from, made more difficult by the fact that she knew it was vacant, knew that he wasn't there.
Some days, she could semi-successfully block him out, until she would see the most precise shade of red, or the dark shade of kohl, or hear a song that he had liked, or even glance at the ocean, or get a look of a rum bottle, or find an assortment of men's rings in a shop…
There were a million reminders littered everywhere, all triggering an automatic response of him, inside of her head, followed by everything she remembered about him, followed by everything she didn't want to remember about them, and it left her feeling sapped of energy every time.
It was like she was standing on a mountain of things, higher than Everest, things that she just kept burying, and eventually, her foot was going to slip and she was going to go careening down the edge of it, catching every sharp jagged rock on the way down until she lay dead at the bottom, killed by her own mind.
But it wasn't for that reason that she had avoided going there, to his cabin on the beach, no, it was for an entirely different reason, almost. If she stepped foot in there, she would feel something akin to euphoria, being that close to him, and it would last for a glorious minute, or several minutes, or maybe even several hours, but eventually her mind would succumb to the harsh reality that it was only a cabin, filled with ordinary things, not him, because it was only him that could truly cure her ailment, not inanimate objects.
Sometimes her mind refused to listen to even the most reasonable excuses, never mind the not so reasonable ones, because the thrill of opening the door, of revisiting it, it was intoxicating to her, almost like somewhere inside, she wanted to spiral downwards in a storm of nostalgia, love that was starting to border on pain, even mixing with it, and memories, so many memories in that damn cabin.
So, the fact that she was currently trudging down the sandy path to the place came as no surprise to her, even as she chided herself for doing it. Even as it came into view, a handsome little cabin, with black wood and big windows and a charming little porch, with a lovely staircase that wound down to the beach, which itself had some lovely rock formations, a little cave, and a hidden lagoon, she knew that she was only going to end up hurting herself, regardless of how good it felt at first.
Though that was how love almost always worked, wasn't it?
When she arrived on the step just before the door, she raised her hand to pick at her mouth, looking around as though she was trying to find a last-ditch excuse not to go in. Finding nothing, she lurched forwards, twisting the doorknob, shock shooting up her spine when it yielded to her without resistance. Had he left it unlocked?
That mystery was rendered utterly insignificant when she crossed the threshold, and then just stood there, at a loss for a moment.
He had been here, very recently, and had apparently left in a hurry, because he had left some things behind. She could just picture him rushing around, shoving a few things in a bag, jamming his pistol into the back of his trousers, making sure to grab his cigarettes…
Except those were on the little table next to the couch. Very much in a hurry then…
There was a bottle of Captain Morgan sitting on the kitchen counter, and normal people might have a few tumblers sitting next to it, but Jack had never changed his ways with rum, always drinking it straight. He also had a pair of trousers thrown next to the couch, some cash of various currencies sitting on one of the cushions, and curiously, a camera hanging on the door to the little pantry.
Walking over to the fridge, she opened it to peer inside, finding only an unopened case of beer, an expired pack of lunch meat, a loaf of bread, and some mustard, ketchup, and barbecue sauce.
Never did she think that seeing his normal sandwich ingredients would make her feel emotional, but here she was, tears stinging at her eyes, making her feel like an idiot all over again.
In the bathroom, she found a razor, an empty pill bottle without a prescription tag on it, and some shaving cream. What sort of pills was he taking?
Finally, she arrived at the bedroom, her true destination in this cabin, if she was being honest with herself. Opening the door, she was hit with a blast of nostalgia, remembering that due to the lack of windows except for the small one in the right corner, this room had always been darker than the rest of the cabin. Standing there in the middle, she glanced back to the door, before reaching out to push it closed, cementing her decision right then and there.
Stripping out of her clothes and laying them in a little pile next to the bed, she wasted no time climbing in, enjoying the feel of the deep red satin sheets against her skin, and then made a noise of overwhelming relief, of finally reuniting with something, with...this was the closest to him that she had gotten...since.
She tried to bury herself as far into the bed as she could get, smushing her face into the pillow and taking a deep breath, feeling both silly and not caring if she was being silly when she felt giddy at the smell of him there, everywhere in the bed actually, a mix of cologne, rum, and his own spicy scent, and following the giddiness was a spike of sorrow, felt so acutely that it stole her breath, because the torture of being this close, being surrounded by the markers of his presence, yet being so reminded of his absence, was suddenly excruciating, and she dug her fingers into the mattress in a desperate attempt to release the tension.
Images intruded of the way he would push her hands into the bed as he assumed just the perfect amount of control over her, thrusting into her body with hard, deep strokes, before slowing to gentle languid movements as he would lean down to pepper her neck with soft kisses...sometimes when he was feeling impatient he would just bend her over the foot of the bed and slide inside from behind, bringing her to a frenzied fever pitch climax, his release never far behind.
Just the thought of the way that they had made love in this bed made her feel like she had climaxed in the present, made her body prickle with heat, made her feel heavy and sated, and her eyes slipped closed, her hand finding its way down to the blanket to pull it over her, and in her last moments of consciousness before she fell asleep, she pretended that he was here, holding her, snuggling against her, giving her center one last caress before sleep took them, just like it was claiming her now, the first somewhat peaceful sleep she had in a long time.
While she had been telling him about the cabin, the bit about the bed reminded her that she was currently sitting in a bed, and decided that she would rather be laying in a bed, and that is exactly what she had done, stretching out gratefully. Jack was propped up on his elbow next to her, playing with a piece of her hair just as she finished the story.
"So that's why I felt like something was out of place when I came back a week later. I smelled something different in the bed, the covers were much different than I had left them, and...I guess I didn't think much of it, I was a bit tired at the time…"
She smiled up at him. "I think I wished in the back of my mind that you would know that I was there, even deeper I probably wished that you would come back while I was still there. I only stayed that night though, then left the next morning. Out of curiosity, what was that empty bottle of pills?"
Her hair slithered off his finger as he sighed deeply. "It was Vicodin, actually. Didn't take it very often, so I wouldn't say I was addicted. The bottle you saw lasted me like four months. Once in a while, I would get these terrible headaches, not really sure why. That was the only thing that worked on them. Tried ibuprofen, aspirin, Tylenol...don't worry, I'm not House."
The image of him walking around with a cane made her giggle, but sometimes he did have the same sarcasm as the brusque doctor. "Never said you were. Anyways, I left the next morning, and I considered leaving something behind, something for you to...I don't even know...I kind of felt like I was betraying you again by leaving...it was just a really hollow feeling like I had indulged in something too much and was reaping the consequences. But do I regret sleeping the night there? Not really...it was the first decent sleep I had gotten in a while.
"Over the years, I kept with my idea of not wanting to intrude on you, not wanting to bother you, perhaps it was a form of self-pity, or respect for you, or just stupidity, I don't really know. I like to tell myself that it was because I was too strong to feel dependent on you coming back, but really I think it was that I didn't want to admit that I was barely surviving without you. Like I said, I kept writing letters until they all got destroyed with the pictures, then I gave that up. Thankfully you decided to keep leading me to all of your effects, even though I didn't know it was you at the time.
"Besides the cabin and the letters, I would have probably faded away without that stuff, without some piece of you. I actually did try to look you up as soon as computers got advanced enough, hell, I tried before that but it was such a pointless endeavor that I quit immediately. I looked on all of the social media websites, because what if, but of course, you weren't there, I did some digging to figure out your phone number, not that I would have called or texted had I actually found it.
"Towards the end, I really did decide to try and forget you, a completely wrong and ridiculous plan, because I knew then that it was going to make being inevitably reminded of you that much worse, or better perhaps, but when I say that I thought the last thing you were going to do was appear when you did, I really mean it. When I saw you in that hotel room, I was in such a shock, so thoroughly poleaxed, that I had no idea how to act. So, I reverted back to what was safe, bantering with you, ignoring everything bad that I possibly could, pretending like nothing had happened…
"I think I immediately became afraid that I was going to lose you again, that you were going to slip through my fingers like some kind of rare unicorn, so I just...tried to make everything seem as normal as possible, as though I was holding my breath and if I exhaled you would vanish, even though there was a storm going on inside of my head, like everything that I had put away, every thought, every memory, every...it all came back at the same time, but it was like I was watching it from afar, rather than being in the middle of it, which is the only reason that I was able to ignore it for the time being.
"That was until we got to your house, and everything started to feel too personal, too...close to be ignored, especially when Chris told me about Wakefield, and what you said...
'She really knows how to break a man's heart.'
"When you told me that 'your girl' was just an expression, I became so monumentally frustrated with myself, with you, with everything, that all I wanted to do was shut it out, just shut everything off, hence the nap. I barely slept during that nap, by the way, my brain didn't let me. I just kept going around and around in circles-"
He finally cut her off. "I was trying to ignore all of it too, as I already explained to you, but the second I saw you sitting there looking like someone had died, I knew that something was going to happen, whether we were going to separate again, fight, talk, something. Everything felt so...intimidating, all the memories, everything I hadn't told you yet…" his voice trailed off as he let the silence do the talking instead.
Everything had felt intimidating. But now that they were at the tail end, now that everything was laid on the table that mattered, there was only one thing left that she had to say.
"...Um, I have come to a conclusion, I think. This may sound cheesy, or whatever, but that's fine. Clearly, if we can sit here, and talk about all of this stuff, despite everything that's happened, despite all of the obstacles, despite our stubbornness, our insecurities...all of that, if we can still sit here, or lay here, rather, and look at each other the way we are now, do this," she leaned up to kiss him, "sleep together, tell stories, smile, laugh, cry, I think we are meant to endure."
She accepted his tender kiss, and the next one, sighing when he threaded his left hand into her hair, dropping it down to disappear under her shirt, splaying across her stomach. "I think you might just be right," he whispered with a sparkle of mischief. "I also think that I am in danger of falling asleep on your shoulder."
It was only then that she realized how light she felt, a feeling that she wasn't accustomed to, being unburdened, and all she could do was relax into the bed and revel in it, the contentment. "You can sleep on my shoulder all you want, I don't mind."
And after she leaned over to turn the lamp off, he did exactly that, stretching his body out along the length of hers, snuggling into the bend of her shoulder and neck.
They were both asleep almost at the same time, safe for the moment in the cocoon of themselves, shut out from reality for the next eight hours.
- 20
- 21
- 22
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Scythe's Song