First of all, sorry for rewriting this whole thing before I barely got started. Posting the previous version of this story has taught me quite a few things though, and thus I take it as a learning experience and apologize for any inconvenience on your part. Hopefully you will agree with me that the story is better this time around.
There have not been any major changes to the first chapter - except for the end, and some minor details here and there. And Callie's personality should now be more consistent. If not, please let me know! I really hate when I write something and then discover that I have written something completely different earlier in the story.
Secondly, I am still not a native English speaker and thus mistakes probably will occur (especially with the commas!). I am in the market for a very patient beta-reader, who does not hold back on the truth, so expect it to be beta'ed later on.
Thirdly, I am always looking to improve, so feedback is greately appreciated! It would mean a lot if you took the time to write just a few sentences about your experience with the story ;)
Finally a few notes about the story:
The dates and places are there to help you (and me) to keep track of the story. The dates and most of the places are made up.
Updates will probably be slow and inconsistent. I have learnt that if I rush myself, my story tends to suffer for it, and I lose my inspiration. Sorry :(
This story will contain mentions and hints of sexual activities, swearing, violence, alcohol use/abuse and probably a lot of other things that deserve to be on a warning list. Still I don't believe it to be excessive or explicit. If you disagree please let me know and I'll consider changing the rating.
One Piece is © Eiichiro Oda, additional characters are of my own design.
As much as it hurts,
Ain't it wonderful to feel?
So go on and break your wings
Follow your heart 'til it bleeds
As we run towards the end of the dream
- End of the Dream, Evanescence
Onboard the Nocturne, south of Disko Island, The Grand Line
Jun. 5th 2407
"You're a whore Callie," Hawken chided unsympathetically as he held her long hair out of the way. "You're a bloody whore, and a drunk, and I'm tired of looking out for you."
Her hands were clinging desperately to the railing in an attempt to keep her trembling legs from collapsing beneath her, and, at the same time, preventing her otherwise unstable body from falling over board. Somehow the two opposite forces, one dragging her towards the deck and the other towards the churning sea below, managed to balance each other out and she remained on her feet.
She would have smacked him, right then and there, if not for the fact that her hands were currently preoccupied. She would even have settled for a glare in her first mate's direction, but, alas, as the morning had progressed and her intoxication gave way for the hangover, the usually pleasant rocking of the Nocturne had turned into something much more malevolent. And now, it seemed, the ship had come up with the idea to toy with what was left of the contents of her stomach and their ability to stay there.
It was a struggle to breathe between the convulsions her brain recruited to rid her body of the malign derivates of last night's drunken escapades. With the exception of her hands, her limbs were shaking uncontrollably and all sense of strength had momentarily deserted her. Tears forced their way through her tear ducts and down her cheeks as if of their own volition, a result, she knew, of the cramping in her abdomen. She felt like the most miserable creature on the planet. If only she could crawl right into a hole and die…
Her diaphragm contracted again, and she vomited over the side of the ship. The foul substance seared its way through a passage it had no right to invade and left a burning, itching sensation in its wake. She was long past the point where her stomach contained anything but stomach acid and the leftovers of the water Hawken had forced into her when they left port. Yet up it came. Up and down to the fish.
The red-headed captain dry-heaved a few more times and spit what seemed the last bit of fluid she had left in her body over the side of the ship. Her mouth tasted very much like a garbage can.
Her best friend handed her a new glass of water and she rinsed her mouth, daring to drink only a little to ease the burning in her throat. The rest followed the vomit over the railing.
Her legs finally gave way under her and she sank to the deck with a moan. Leaning her back against the balustrade she hid her face in her hands to still the headache, which pounded inside her skull, and to block out the glare of the sun. As she sat there something equally cruel to the rocking of the ship happened upon her. With a vindictiveness she should have expected, the whole world turned on her and began to swirl. It spun until everything blurred and reality became a puddle of messed up colours. She had to fight the nausea, which welled up inside her once again. Even in the darkness behind her eyelids the spinning did not stop, but without light to activate the photoreceptors in her eyes, at least the effects were a bit more endurable. Her ears were ringing and her head was a throbbing knob of agony. She felt as if it might explode at any time, spilling brain matter and broken dreams all over the boards of her ship.
"The definition of a whore, Hawken," she mumbled crossly through her hands in response to his earlier accusation, "is a woman who indulges in sexual activities for payment. Since I don't charge, the word you are looking for is 'promiscuous' or 'nymphomaniac', not 'whore'."
"We spent most of the night and the entire morning looking for you?" He scolded, not bothering to respond. She could not see his face with her eyes closed, but, if the acid in his voice was any indicator, she could imagine the expression, which marred his usually calm countenance. "And when Denn finally found you," he went on, "you were passed out in a bed beside a man with no recollection of who he was or how you got there."
"You don't have to remind me," Calico snapped irritably while daring to squint through her lashes. The light pained her though and her eyes flooded in response. She quickly closed them again. "I was there."
"Then do I have to remind you that you were still so intoxicated that you could not even stand on your own feet? Do I have to remind you she had to drag you back to the ship because you were unable to walk? What if you had run into the Marines? What if a bounty hunter had happened to find you?"
His voice rose with every word until he was practically yelling at her. She put her hands over her ears to drown out his voice, but it did not have the desired effect. She suppressed the urge to tell him not to shout at someone with a hangover. It would most likely be akin to pouring fuel on a fire, however, and she decided against it.
"You could have been captured. You could have been killed! Bloody hell, you could have killed yourself by accident, you were so drunk!"
The headache and her general hangover made her short-tempered, but she knew instinctually that a shouting match would only make it worse. She was in no mood for one of his lectures though, so with a withering glare in his direction, she stumbled to her feet and headed for her cabin on uncertain feet.
"But it doesn't matter to you, does it? You don't care if you live or die. You don't care how your behaviour affects your crew, your NAKAMA!"
If she had been able to think clearly, she would have known he would follow her all the way until she shut the door in his face. If he was angry enough, he would not even respect the door and just barge into her private quarters to continue to reprimand her as if she was some misbehaving child. But due to the pain, and the exhaustion, and the aldehydes, her brain was not functioning properly, and so she found his presence a few paces behind her completely unexpected and intensely annoying.
"Or is it that you are trying to fill the hole he left behind when he ditched? But you know what Calico? It won't work. Not like this. To lose all semblance of common sense, throw caution overboard and drink until you pass out won't make you whole. And it doesn't matter how many men you fuck, Ace is gone, and you can't…"
In the blink of an eye, she was facing her first mate, her hair fanning out in a bright red whirlwind around her head from the speed with which she had spun around. Given the state of her, it was not the smartest thing to do. Balance almost failed her, the world blurred again, and her stomach decided to try out gymnastics so she had to subdue another nausea attack. Despite her less than impressive appearance though, the look in her eyes was unmistakable. "Don't," she warned, her voice as cold as steel and as sharp as the swords she normally carried by her hip.
And for once Hawken shut his mouth.
She turned back to her original path and stumbled onwards, covering her mouth with her hand. This time, however, it was not to stall the time before she vomited on the deck, but rather to stifle the strangled sound, which tore itself from its cage behind her ribs. It hurt. It hurt to be awake, it hurt to remember, but mostly it just hurt. It hurt so fucking much that she felt like tearing out her heart just to make it stop.
She knew her best friend would reach out to her, that he was moments from apologizing. But she could not stand to hear it. She had to get away, to lock that part of her life back in its prison and go on pretending it had never happened. She staggered away from him, towards her cabin, and though he called his apology after her, she pretended not to hear.
"… but that does not mean this argument is over, Callie," was the last thing she heard her first mate say before she shut the door behind her. She noticed how much weaker his voice suddenly sounded, but at this point she was beyond caring whether he knew he had crossed the line or not. She was beyond caring what he thought of her behaviour lately or the fact that she was hurting him, her crew, her friends. The truth remained, however, that he was indisputably, unacceptably right.
Calico leaned against the closed door for a moment, and tried to regain control over her breathing apparatus. She was beginning to hyperventilate and the resulting lack of oxygen would only make her headache worse.
She knew she had scared him away. She did it with almost everyone and it was a source of continuous amazement that her crew had stuck around this long. She had thought that he had genuinely meant it when he said he loved her. He had seemed so sure. Yet somehow, he had detected what she really was and had replaced her with someone who was less of a calamity. Though, of course, he had not bothered to tell her first.
She was a bloody idiot that was what she was. She was so fucking stupid that she had not realized how much he had grown inside her before she had torn it out. And now she was left with a big, black hole inside, an emptiness so vast that even if she managed to stuff infinity in there, it would not be enough to fill it. And even if there had been some way to convince him to stay with her, some little part of him that had actually meant those words, it was too late. She had sworn she would kill him if she ever laid eyes on him again and he had run off with his tail between his legs. She had ruined every little chance there was of winning him back.
She could only imagine that he hated her, that he longed to carve out the memories of the two of them together. That he wanted to get as far away from her as possible.
And he was right to hate her. He was justified in his desire to want to get away. She was a monster. The Destroyer indeed.
Her breathing was coming in ragged gasps and far too rapidly to allow for the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide between the alveoli in her lungs and the capillaries of her circulatory system. She knew she was losing the carefully constructed control, which had been ingrained into her for as long as she could remember. She was falling apart. Hell, she had not been this messed up since she and Hawken set out as pirates. But that was not enough for captain Mihawk Calico. Oh no. She absolutely had to take everyone around her with her as she stumbled into the abyss. Even if she did not intend to do it, she knew she was forcing her misery on her crew, clogging up the airways of their friendship as she sought for an outlet for the emotions she desperately, futilely tried to bury within herself. She did not deserve any of them. Not her crew, not Hawken, not him.
Feeling lightheaded, it seemed as if she literally tore her thoughts away from that particular person and that particular incident, which had left her in this state. She inhaled deeply, sucking oxygen down into the very bottom of her lungs until her chest almost hurt from the pressure. She had not lost it completely, she realised; the ability to focus on one single task until it became her whole world. Then, she exhaled until it felt as if there was no more air in her lungs. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Breathing was all there was.
With her thoughts fixed on keeping her breathing even she staggered the remaining distance to her bed and tumbled onto the soft mattress like a ragdoll, all energy spent, all reserves momentarily exhausted.
Within moments she was already half asleep.
Thank you for reading my story :D
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