21. Let’s Get Shipfaced
Let’s Get Shipfaced
Someone passes around a bottle filled with dark amber liquid. They laugh and take a swig before handing it off to the next person, hand over hand, a rhythm built on the action, just like hauling lines. I watch it across the flames as it makes its way around the fire.
So this is what pirates do for fun.
I survey the abandoned pieces of wood and sail scattered over the beach. Though the crew got much of the work done, it’s been forgotten in the sand, food and alcohol their only concerns as the moon rises ever higher. There is no sense of urgency, nothing but joy clear on their faces.
Mumbling, I take a bite of mango, my fingers sticky with the fruit as I shove it into my mouth.
I lick my fingers as I set aside the leaf I ate it off of, turning to find Silas watching me.
Half his face is hidden in shadows, half lit by the warm glow of the bonfire.
His lips part as I suck on my fingers, and I stop, realization dawning.
Clearing my throat, I move to stand, but the half-empty bottle of liquor is pressed into my hands, and Jack pulls me back down and slaps me on the shoulder warmly. I glance at Silas before I tip the bottle back numbly and take a long gulp.
It burns a path down my throat, and my eyes water at the fumes as I gasp and pass it quickly to Jack. He cackles and then easily takes a swig before handing it off to the next person. I’m one for sweet wines, ciders, and nutty pilsners. That was none of those things.
Another bottle appears, this one fuller than the last, and it doesn’t take long until it’s passed into my hands once more. I cradle it in my lap as I glance up, searching for a familiar silhouette, but Silas is nowhere to be seen.
“Hurry up!” someone calls from down the line. “Don’t take all night!”
I take a smaller swig this time before shoving the bottle clumsily into Jack’s hands. Clearing my throat, I stand, and someone steadies me as I sway.
“Easy there, mate.”
Snorting, I brush them off, shuffling through the sand and away from the fire.
Fuck, that stuff worked fast. I press my hands to my flushed face, relishing the chilly breeze that whips around me as I stumble toward the trees.
My steps are slow, my movements sluggish.
I kick up sand as I stagger to a tree and pause before leaning on a forearm against it.
Wow, I really need to pee. Blinking against the dimness, I unlace my pants.
The last time I was this drunk, I bought a plane ticket to Venice. I’d meant to go to Vienna, but I’d bought the cheapest one I could find, and it felt silly to waste it. Oh, I long for the days when my biggest problem was traveling to the wrong city. Things were so simple back then. Privileged.
I wasn’t obsessed with a handsome captain, and my job wasn’t running about a ship full of pirates. It was writing silly little stories. About a month ago, my life was just simpler. I’d been struggling in my love life, failing at it, even, but that was nothing compared to this.
Something moves in the bushes somewhere ahead of me. Frowning, I finish off and tie up my pants.
“You don’t understand,” someone hisses.
I strain to hear more, but the voices are hushed. I take a step into the dark, pressing myself along a tall, lean palm tree.
“What’s there not to understand?” And I realize it’s Charlotte. Her throaty alto is distinctive, even as a whisper. “You’re out here, running around and granting wishes, hatching a silly revenge plot after someone was stood up at the altar. What kind of pirate captain are you anyway?”
The other voice is a fraction louder as he says, “I take care of my crew.” My lips part, a soft exhale escaping as I recognize Silas.
He’s silent for a moment, and I clamp a hand over my mouth, desperate not to make a sound.
“You don’t understand,” Silas continues.
“My crew will follow me to the edge of the Earth if I ask them. Because I take care of them.”
“You didn’t take care of me,” Charlotte says.
Oh. Oh, I know that tone well. I press my hands to the tree to steady myself. My head is spinning, but I try to wash away the drunken haze, to zero in on their words, on the meaning behind them. Pulled to their voices, I take a step closer, wincing at the soft crunch under my feet.
“I tried,” Silas says. “I did my best to take care of you, Charlotte, I really did. I tried to show you a different path to your goal, to show you that things can be different. But you refused then, and you refuse now, to see reason.”
“I loved you.”
My heart thunders against my ribs as I lean in closer. I knew it. I knew I saw something there. The very way she said his name flaunted the history between them. The cut on my hand throbs in time with my pulse, and I bite down on my lip, focusing on the line of black thread along the webbing.
“I know.” Silas’s tone is resigned.
“But you didn’t love me.”
“No,” Silas says.
I don’t know why, but that word settles something in me. I feel relieved. Pressing my hands to my face, I lean back against a tree. The thin tree creaks, not nearly large enough to support my weight, and the splintering of bark slices right through the quiet.
“Who’s there?” Silas calls.
Fumbling, I slide back into the trees, one step after another, until I can see nothing beyond the brush. Squatting down, I lean on my good hand for balance and duck my head just as Silas crosses to where I was moments earlier.
“Likely just an animal,” Charlotte says, closer now.
I press my lips together to keep quiet as they both search the darkness. Finally, Silas sighs. “You’re probably right.” He retreats to the trail, and I relax in relief.
And then I feel it, the slow slide of something across my hand.
Oh, that is most definitely a snake. Not that I’ve ever held one, but the second it slithers over my fingers I freeze in place, every hair across my body standing on end.
My knees shake from the effort to keep still as the snake wriggles all dry and scaly over my skin.
“Fuck me,” I whimper.
Today is not my day. It was going so well, too.
Silas and me kissing and laughing as he held up my phone, snapping pictures and taking video.
Silas accepting this unexplainable thing I carried with me.
It had been perfect—until Charlotte and her crew showed up.
One thing after another, and my day has dissolved into a bloody hand, drunken stumbles in the dark, overhearing a conversation I was clearly not meant to hear, and a snake slithering over me.
And how big is this goddamn snake? It doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.
Maybe if I make a run for it, I’ll be fine?
Maybe, if I do it fast enough, the snake will just leave me alone?
God, I don’t know anything about snakes, either.
All I know is to avoid the slinky creatures.
Louise would know what to do with this snake.
She’s texted me photos and videos of herself picking up snakes or draping them over her shoulder with that wide, toothy grin.
She’d pick this snake up carefully, cooing at it in her baby voice before letting it slither away.
How she came to love reptilians, I’ll never understand.
With a shrill cry, I launch from the ground and swing my arm up, sending the snake soaring somewhere in the trees behind me. I dash through the brush, popping out onto the beach. Heads whip around as I stumble over the sand toward the fire before falling to my knees.
“Are you all right?” Mick asks as I press my forehead to the sand in relief.
Panting, I squint up at Mick as he looms over me. I wave my hand dismissively. “Just a snake.”
“Laszlo?”
I grimace before turning toward Silas as he makes his way back to the fire, Charlotte close at his heels.
His brow is furrowed, lips tugged down as he nears me.
Charlotte crosses around Silas and perches beside the fire with her crew.
There’s a look of smug satisfaction tugging her features as she takes a swig from the offered bottle, eyes meeting mine.
Silas stops before me. I can’t bear to meet his gaze, to see the question there. It may have started as an accident, but I betrayed his trust just now, and I feel terrible for it.
“Were you in the trees, Laszlo?”
Both crews are quietly tuned in to our conversation even as they keep to themselves.
“I had to piss,” I say with a shrug. The words feel odd coming from me, so I brush the sand from my pants and move to stand. “There was a snake, so…”
“Laszlo.”
Finally, I peer up at him. Silas doesn’t seem convinced. He stares at me, and the guilt churns in my gut. Damn me and my curiosity; I should have turned and fled the moment I knew who it was.
There is nothing worse than disappointing the one person whose opinion you care about.
And I can feel it snap something between us, feel the cold seeping into the place where it’s usually warm.
He turns to go, and I want to reach out to him, to tug him back to my side and apologize, but everyone is watching and listening.
So I stand, arms hanging at my sides, as Silas rounds the fire.
The crew surrounding Charlotte scooch away to make room for him as he settles down, thigh pressed to hers as he leans back in the sand.
With a coy smile pointed at me, Charlotte hands him the liquor, and he takes it, their fingers brushing.
I lean forward, captivated as he presses the glass to his lips and tips the bottle back. He drinks deep, gulping down more than I’ve seen anyone else drink. He swallows and tugs the glass free, lifting the empty bottle high in cheers as both crews egg him on.
Everyone except me.
This is not the Silas I know. This is not the man who pressed a cool cloth to my forehead, who cried after a storm, who punched the wall when he lost part of his crew, who is helping Astra take revenge after being abandoned at the altar.
Who saved me when he didn’t even know me.
Silas is gone, and Captain Night is in his place.
My heart squeezes as he stands on loose legs and holds out a hand for Charlotte. The seconds drag out in agonizing silence as she waits for my reaction.
Maybe nothing will come of it. Maybe she won’t—
But Charlotte smiles at me and turns to Silas, her fingers sliding into his palm.
I blink as she stands, and they dance and sway in the sand as Tarly plays a soulful song, the lyrics melding together until I hear nothing but my own ragged heartbeat.
Silas’s and Charlotte’s foreheads seek each other’s as they speak in low voices.
His hand is at her waist, hers at his shoulder.
And I am left kneeling alone in the sand to watch, the pieces of my heart buried back on our private little beach.
My fault. This is all my fault.