If that pesky sadist 'time' would refuse to leave her be, then she would just have to take matters into her own hands and freeze time. She created for herself an artificial darkness, a semblance of night, shuttering the windows and ruing the few glimpses of Caribbean sunshine that dared to peek through—they reminded her of him. Her door she kept closed and locked, and she would sit, unmoving, in the plush, opulent chair by the bed, singing quietly to herself with her soon knobby knees pulled in close to her chin.
She did not heed the spiders, letting them spin their silky gossamer thread across the small vanity and amusing herself by watching the silver strands float and quiver in the air before settling upon the mirror. She did not use the mirror half as much as she used to—being vain took far too much energy, but despite her apathy, her face remained as lovely as ever, but for the circles beneath her large eyes, the way that the skin was stretched taut across her high cheekbones, and the pallid, listless look to her features.
The small pocket watch that she kept by her bed was stopped at 12:00 pm, the exact time that Jack had left her to lead an abysmal life in the port of Corpus Bellum. She remembered the words he'd used to see her off—familiar words with haunting echoes.
"You have family here to take care of you. What more could you want?" he asked carelessly.
"I want..." She faltered. What did she want? The answer came to her in a surge of sorrow and remembrance. Safety. She wanted safety. She wanted—"Will," she replied. Instantly, she knew that she was a fool.
His dark eyes hardened. "I can't give you that—he's gone. He's made his decision, and so have I, even if I am late in making it. Goodbye Elizabeth."
"Don't—" she started feebly, but he interrupted.
"I'm not sorry." His eyes were mocking, cold and unfeeling. His smile was cruel as he lifted her limp hand to his lips, brushing the soft skin of her delicate hand ever so lightly with his lips.
Elizabeth knew the script. Her eyes were stinging. "Pirate," she accused in a halfhearted whisper, her voice rasping quietly with the promise of tears to come.
He saluted her with two fingers, and the clock at the center of the square struck midnight. His smile was a small, wry, ironic one as he stepped back onto the ship, and the crew wordlessly set sail.
Elizabeth was alone.
She gasped, awaking to find her throat raw and hoarse, and her cheeks stained with salty tears. She pawed angrily at them and their trails, hating that they reminded her of the sea—and the man who belonged to it. He'd never belonged to anyone else, and never would belong to anyone else, and she hated herself for hoping that he could ever change.
Strangely, she looked to the stopped pocket watch for comfort. Possibly because she knew it would always be the same—an anchor in her life—she knew it would always report that the time was 12:00 pm, and the thought comforted her as she heaved a sigh of relief. The interminable darkness was somehow soothing as well—being able to lose herself in the lack of senses—being able to just fall through it and not care.
This was the seventh time that she had awoken from a memory such as that, and though she always resolved not to sleep the day after, she could only last for a scant few days before becoming vulnerable to sleep's insidious, dark embrace and falling once more into the writhing pit of malicious dreams that plagued her always. These dreams were what kept her wrapped up in her alternate dimension of frozen time—they were what set her to screaming in the middle of the night—they were what made her crave darkness and solitude. In her world, she could lose herself—she could forget. But hearts never forget. That tiny nugget of memory locked away in her heart unleashed itself when she dreamed.
So she froze time, hoping her heart would freeze along with it.
Maybe, in time, it would.