15. Not So Shore of Myself
Not So Shore of Myself
It’s a hot day aboard the ship, the sun blaring down on us, unforgiving.
But belowdecks is worse, a sweltering enclosed space that’s absorbed all the heat from the upper deck.
Standing side by side with Pip is more miserable than scrubbing the deck on my hands and knees, and I wipe my forearm over my face, mopping up sweat.
“Don’ get it into the food,” Pip says. “’Nough salt as it is.”
“Sorry.”
I try to focus on what I’m doing, but I’m already thinking of him.
Captain Night hasn’t spoken to me in two days now, and it is pure torture. All I can think about is that kiss, the way he held me, the way he straddled my hips and pushed me back onto the bed, leaving a trail of kisses over my neck and collarbone.
Despite my insistence that this isn’t for long and one way or another, I’ll get that jacket and go, I have no desire to return home.
Mere days ago, I was strategizing how to get that jacket off him and make a run for his cabin.
But the more this crew lets me in and the more I interact with Captain Night, the more I want to stay, to see if this is a life I could have, one full of laughter and freedom.
I feel like I belong here, like I could stay here with them. With him.
My thoughts are swallowed up by him; whether I’m pulling the lines or scrubbing the deck, I’m recalling his touch and his words, and that odd mix of hurt, joy, and understanding I always find in his expression.
And what I wouldn’t give to be back in that room with him.
He won’t talk to me, let alone look at me, but I miss the quiet of his presence, the kindness in his touch as he kissed and cared for me.
Every time I catch his eye from the helm or across the mess, he’s quick to look away, as though nothing happened between us.
That kiss certainly didn’t feel like nothing. I can’t think about anything else. It’s the first thing I think of when I wake and the last thing I think of when I lie down to sleep.
But maybe he doesn’t feel the same. Maybe for him, it was just a lark.
A way to let off steam. Just my luck to be thrust aboard the one ship in the Golden Age of Piracy with the only person in the world—and time, for that matter—who may finally have what I’ve spent my whole life wanting, only to realize that he doesn’t want me like that.
He’s a very confusing man.
It reminds me of my twenties, of the burst of emails, texts, and calls from my family and friends when my personal essay about coming out—the one that I trusted Julian with and never intended to publish—was awarded a grant and featured in a prominent literary journal because he submitted it behind my back.
So many people were congratulating me, and trolls online were calling me horrifying names, and my friends, those who knew that I never meant to publish it, that it was a way to write out my feelings before swallowing them whole once more, are the only ones who asked if I was okay.
The way my heart sank, the sense of betrayal, of being led astray after feeling safe, after being willing to trust him.
How do I know I can trust Silas? Trust him with all of me? How do I know he won’t turn around and ruin me, just like Julian did?
“Off daydreamin’ again, are we?” Pip asks.
I clear my throat. “No. Just … thinking.”
“About?”
“Things.” I squint at him. “You know, you’re a very nosy man.”
Snorting, Pip disappears around the corner, reappearing with a small basket of eggs.
“What are you doing with those?” I ask, frowning.
Using a wire ladle, Pip gently drops the eggs in. “Rather, what are we doin’ with these. I like to poach my eggs with the broth. Add in a bit of lime for taste and beatin’ off the scurvy.”
I stare down at the pile of limes before me. Does Pip consider this many limes to be “a bit”? Although I know nothing about scurvy, the muscles in my jaw ache from the thought of this much lime juice.
“Won’t the eggs taste a bit … odd with lime?”
“Hasn’t failed me yet.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Been doin’ this for years now. Trust me.”
Those words threaten to pull me down again, but I grip my knife tighter, pushing the memory away.
With a sigh, I slice open the limes and begin squeezing them over the pot.
My fingers ache with the movements, the lime juice stinging my open cuts, but I don’t stop until I’ve gone through the “small” pile he’s brought me.
Seriously, how many limes do you need to fight off scurvy?
When the cabbage and carrots are cut, I clean up my station and nod to Pip as I hurry out, dying to escape the heat of the mess and Pip’s scrutiny. Laughing, I step over Sir at the base of the steps, splayed out with his belly up, content with the pressing heat.
I have something of a routine now, which is refreshing after being pulled in every direction.
And it helps keep my mind off things—namely kissing Captain Night.
When I wake in the early mornings, I help prep breakfast with Pip.
We first serve it to the night crew, already working, and slowly stagger it as the day crew wakes and joins us on the deck.
Pip and I wash the dishes, and he packs up the food for later as I head to rigging to help the new master rigger, Huxley, or Hux for short.
Hux is a strange little man. Even as I sidle up next to him under the midday sun, he puffs out his chest and narrows his eyes like he is the most important man aboard this ship.
And though he puts on a brave, confident face, it would seem he knows little about sailing, and even less about rigging.
“I don’t think that’s how…” I trail off as he fights against the lines.
I stop what I’m doing to watch him. My god, even I would make a better master rigger than he.
Where I tug, my actions swift and targeted, he puts his all into it until his face is beet red and the veins along his neck and forehead pop.
He grinds his teeth, and I swear, even over the sound of the crew and the splash of the waves, I can hear it.
Hux curses under his breath, his wrist caught up in a rope. I’m not even sure what he is trying to do, but whatever it is, it’s not turning out as he planned. I reach out as though to help him, but he waves me away and grumbles to himself.
Turning away, I spot Mick across the deck. He’s speaking low to Jack, their faces wearing matching concern. Jack nods before hopping up the stairs toward the helm and Clancy. Rolling my eyes and tying off my line, I cross to Mick, weaving through the crew before coming to a stop in front of him.
Mick ignores me for a long moment, but when I don’t leave, he sighs, leaning back against the railing. His eyes go to Hux over my shoulder.
“What is it?” Mick asks with a raised brow.
“You know what it is, Mick. Hux doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Mick smiles and crosses his arms over his chest. “And you do? Has our Laszlo moved up in the world?”
“No, not particularly, but it’s not going well.” I motion to Hux by the foremast. “I mean, just look at him!”
Hux is still dangling from the rope, muttering to himself as he tries to undo a series of knots. Really, you’d think anyone else on this ship would be more qualified, but it seems there are even worse pirates aboard She Deceitful than me.
Suddenly Eddie pops up behind Mick, and I jolt back. “Sorry,” he says.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack!” I chide. I press a hand to my chest, my pulse beating frantically.
Eddie and Mick frown. “A what?” they say in unison.
Oh. Oh.
Oh, fuck, I’m not a doctor, and I know nothing about the origins of the term. When did they coin the term “heart attack”? Did people know what a heart attack was before they coined the term? The space-time continuum must be fraying as we speak.
I wave my hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it.”
With a frown, Eddie holds up his hands in surrender. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re having some difficulties with Hux in rigging?”
“Well, yes.”
“Would you say that—”
“Don’t do it,” Mick says, eyes narrowing.
“—he’s leaving you hanging?”
“Eddie,” Mick says, groaning.
“It wasn’t that terrible,” Eddie protests.
“It was pretty bad,” I admit.
I pat Eddie’s shoulder as Mick turns and disappears belowdecks, shaking his head. Eddie’s shoulders slump in defeat.
“It’s hard to keep up good jokes,” he says, scuffing his shoes on the deck, hands plunging into his pockets. “I don’t have a lot of source material, you know, and only you and Captain laugh at them.”
“Yeah, it would seem so…” I say, trailing off. Before I can stop myself, I’m leaning around Eddie to search the quarterdeck for Captain Night, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Are you looking for Captain Night?” Eddie asks, watching me carefully.
How did he know? I wince and scratch my head. “Well, yeah, but it’s not important.”
“Saw him go down to his cabin not long ago.”
To go or not to go. Smiling as if he knows I’m pining over our captain, Eddie tilts his head at me before he crosses the deck to rigging.
Even from where I’m standing, I hear muttered curses as Eddie helps fish Hux out of the lines and fills in for me in my usual place.
I don’t deserve this crew or their warm welcome.
Their patience and kindness as they teach me how to sail.
My eyes go to the stairs.
And I don’t deserve him. How many times have I thought about betraying him?
About reaching for his blue coat to teleport home?
It’s the last thing on my mind nowadays.
That kiss changed everything for me. And I thought we could move past it, that we could become something more, but he’s shut me out entirely, and I feel lost. The first time I’ve truly allowed myself to open up to someone romantically in nearly a decade, and I’ve been shunned.