Eventually the sky grew dark and her tears we used up. She was still left with the dry sobs of pain, but her face had long since dried. Her face was blotchy, not made any better with the streaks of red caused my her fingers rubbing desperately at her tears-soaked eyes. That was where he found her, curled up on herself, eyes tightly shut. He reached out and poked her shoulder gently, and she gave a muffled shriek and edged away from him as much as possible. There was hardly enough room for two people in the crow's nest, so she didn't go very far.
"Shhh, shhh. I'm no' gonna 'urt ye," the captain murmured, sitting down next to her quivering body.
She, not having had anyone to help her, jumped at the opportunity to just be held as she cried. And, though he was a pirate, this captain seemed like an honest enough man. Slowly, and still crying, she lay her head on his knee, though kept her eyes closed. She felt his hand smooth her hair down, as if she were a kitten. She found the action rather comforting.
"It's all okay now, Jack's here."
'So now I get to know his name,' she thought, 'while I'm a sobbing mess. Helpful.'
She desperately tried to pull herself together, clinging to what shreds of dignity she had left. Shakily, she braced one arm under herself, hauling herself to a sitting position. She then leaned against the railing, which was more like collapsing as the muscles in her back simply gave in. They simply didn't have the energy to support her.
"Do ye need to talk about it?" He looked at her, but she couldn't look back.
"I need ta get o'er it. That's what I need. But somehow I know I can't jus' do that."
"By no means will ye jus' wake up tomorrow and skip abou' as ye did before. Nay, ye'll have to use it to make ye stronger. Ye survived, righ'?" Gently, oh so gently, he placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She lay her heavy head on his shoulder, staring at the red sky lighting up the sea. Even while she was on land, she had loved the sea. The salty scent of it, the food it brought forth, the crystal-clear beauty of it... She used to swim all the time before... Before she had no choice but to take the job. She may as well admit it to herself, if she were to use her past life to strengthen her.
"After all, how many a pirate can say they been... Raped?" She joked shakily. Her voice was so quiet, it was a wonder he heard her at all. But he chuckled slightly, squeezing her shoulder in a sort of side-hug. She would by all means take his advice. She would become strong, stronger than any woman alive. "Teach me ta fight," she said.
"We have a new heading, so there will be no need for ye to even see Jones," he said. "While we sail, I'll teach ye."
Every person connected with the sea knew Jones' tale, and this included Cassandra. She had heard it many a time, the heartbreaking story of how he loved the goddess Calypso, and how she never showed tail on the day she promised. She had heard how he tore his own heart out and locked it away, then how he abandoned his duty appointed by his old love and became all tentacle-y.
She had cried the first time she heard the tale. She was so fiercely loyal (a quality her mother said was to the point of weakness) that she almost hated Calypso for her betrayal. Almost.
If that was how one dealt with such painful memories and feelings out here, she might ask to be dropped at the nearest island. Unlike Jones, she was not immortal. If she cut out her heart, she would die, and she would still have to deal with her memories. Instead, she would encase her heart in protection so impenetrable one couldn't pierce it with a sword. She would scavenge up what was left of her and reform herself.
"There now, get some rest. Ye will be needing it tomorrow." Jack said. He stood up, and this time when he offered her his hand, she took it and allowed herself to be led down the ropes and across the ship to the captain's cabin.
"I couldn't..." She shakily said, though she tried to keep the tremor out of her voice.
He gave her a strange look. "You be preferin' to be sleepin' with the crew?"
She shook her head frantically, deciding one man was better than... However many were on the ship. Jack waved his arm at the open door to the cabin. "After ye, then."
He followed her in, pulling a hammock from the ceiling. His eyes offered her a choice: his bed or the hammock. She inwardly weighed each choice. The bed was his, and the hammock could be hers. She wouldn't have to wake up to the smell of man and wonder what had happened to her, sending her into another panic attack. However, the hammock was not comfortable to curl up in. One could lie on their back, maybe their side, but she preferred to sleep on her stomach, curled into a ball. Tonight, of all nights, she decided she needed comfort.
'But you also need space,' her inner voice warned.
So she took the hammock. She turned so she was on her side, her knees slightly tucked into her chest. Her face was facing in the direction of Jack as he clambered into his own bed and lay down. She hoped she could trust him. He had comforted her, given her a place to sleep, a way to escape.
As she tried to fall asleep, she wondered what would have happened if she were still in Tortuga. Her mother would be laughing at her, undoubtedly. She would say something about how that was how life worked as a woman in Tortuga. 'Ya give 'em what they'll want, or they take it from ye.' She could hear her voice, harsh from all the years of drinking. She would have to go to bed that night, without pity or a consoling word. She would have to awaken the next day to go about her job again, and, undoubtedly she would be kept up all night by the horrid images playing through her mind. The next day, something similar may happen, with her reflexes dulled by lack of sleep. She would never sleep again, and would waste away until even the men could have no fun with her.
She shuddered. She was glad to be on this ship, where she stood a chance at having a decent life. She could learn to care for herself, and until then, Jack would take care of her.
Smiling, she shut her eyes and drifted into a peaceful slumber that eventually turned into a fitful sleep. She writhed around, moaning, the hammock creaking loudly enough to rouse Jack. The poor girl had been through a bit in the last day, maybe more that he didn't know.
He stared down at her sweaty face, then carefully brushed a strand of dark hair from her eye. He then took a blanket from his own bed and draped it over her, petting her head gently until her jerky movements breathing slowly eased, but she did not wake.
Jack stood there by her side for what seemed an eternity. Each time she would drift back to her nightmare, he would return to streaking her hair until she calmed. And when she did, he would watch her for a moment before resuming his place sitting on the edge of his bed. Eventually, slumber took him as well.
