A/N: I can't describe how emo I am. Although this movie was AMAZING! But still. I have to write about the angst, no? There is always hope, right?
Disclaimer: Disney? Gore Verbinski? Yadda yadda.
You stare into your mug. You stare into it and you see the flickering candle light from the ancient hut. You stare and you can't blink because you are watching the light.
And then the lady who you don't know passes by the flickering flame, and it putters out. Smoke curls up into the roof, vanishing. You see this all in the liquid in your mug, and you feel a fresh wave of tears heating your eyes.
You don't see Will's tense glance darting toward you at every moment; you don't see the pirates, those stupid—blundering fools—drinking deeply from their mugs, too shocked to speak. You don't see the lady with the dreads watching all of you with her eyes that know too much. She watches you for a particularly long time.
You try to hold in the tears, but you can feel them pouring and you know you must look like a mess. Dirty and sweaty and a red, swelling face to boot. You think it's strange how you can still worry about your looks at a time like this.
He is gone.
You killed him.
Why? Why did you do it? To save your own skin? To protect your own body? Why did you do something so selfish? So extreme? You think of what you did and you know, deep in your heart, that you are a pirate now and it disgusts you. What happened to you? What kind of monster are you?
And the tears start pouring and you try to hold them in, but nothing can stop them. And you try to drink from your mug but all you see is the dark candle in the reflection and you have to close your eyes.
You remember his lips on yours, that warm, heated feeling you never had with Will. It had been full of raw, heating passion and you had loved it, even with the knowledge of dread in your stomach. And you locked him up and it had been so difficult, so impossible to pull away. Your lips were meant to stay with his, your breath meant to mingle with his. But you had pulled away. You ran like the coward you are, and you shudder, blinking hard and fast as the tears splash onto the rotten wooden floor.
How could you do it? Not only did you condemn him to death, but also you ruined his ship. His ship that he loved more than any woman, more than any rum or pistol or other pirate. He loved it like a child, like a lover, like himself. It was a part of him and you hadn't even left that behind. It was your entire fault, and Jack Sparrow had died because of you.
And you try to think of what his last moments would have been. Terror? Pride? Honor? You pray it was the last, and you hope all the way to heaven he died doing the right thing. Because if he didn't, you feel like your heart will crumble and there will not be anything, not even that glimmer of hope that Jack was a good man, to keep it stable.
And a quiet sob escapes your throat, but no one notices. Not even Will. Because everyone is lost in their own void of horror and darkness and silence. But yours is the worst, because only you know the truth. Only you know what you did to him, and it eats at you and you feel like the candle inside of you, that candle that kept you alive, has been put out.