The Lady And The Pirate
Ch.9 They've Got Cabin Fever
Elizabeth was bored.
All she had was this bed to lay on and that wood planked wall to stare at until she slowly, but surely, slipped into a madness that is commonly diagnosed as 'cabin fever'. This comes about when a person, or maybe even a group of persons- especially said person- feels themselves moving backward or forward, in a very slow, crawling, pace. The air around them is very stale and motionless. The people around them seem bland and achromatic, and the once most pleasing factors around them, seem dull, savorless, and even insipid.
This ailment has claimed countless souls who are need of those loss of emotions and sentiments the most. Once drugged with this type of reverse novocaine, the only way to find real pleasure anymore, is to counteract the drug with one either more powerful, or of equal strength but reveling effects.
Elizabeth's problem, was her tendency to long for her old life. Her old life as it once was.
With Will.
Her life seemed to be muffled by this fact. His death.
His death was suffocating her.
Suffocating her from living some possibilities that could prove to her and others that she was something more than what her past enthralled. Possibilities that perchance opened scenarios, and in time, opportunities to a new life.
Her mind, at this time, is too clouded by the illusive fog of a thousand years of torment that is never discovered until, once accustomed or familiar, it is irreversible.
Cabin fever.
Her immortal adversary.
Her drug for reversal novocaine.
And the only chance for reversal was a mortal healer...
JACK'S CABIN
He paced.
The clunking of his boots against the sturdy lignified surface beneath him created a sort of slow, repeating waltz, as he did laps around his entire cabin. He would sometimes pick something off of his desk or the table on the right side of the room,- which now contained the remnants of his nefarious portrait-and begin to fiddle with it, or switch the many rings that adorned his fingers, from their original place to another, sometimes shooting out strings of curses due to the pain inflicted by too narrow of a ring on to wide a digit.
He was nervous.
It was already noon and her was still bedeviled by what to procure for Elizabeth on her birthday.
He knew she was in her room. In fact, he had only known this, since by inquisition, AnaMaria had informed him that she had insisted it more a relief that she stay there instead of be a burden to those on deck.
He couldn't have agreed more. He stopped his fervent pacing.
As he fiddled with his invalid compass, he thought of her.
No, it wasn't because she was a burden...
She was a distraction.
He resumed his pacing at the thought of this.
She did whatever was asked...nothing more, and certainly nothing less.
She was beginning to learn- and in a rather fast pace he might add- all that was required in the certain schooling, as it were, in the despicable art of piracy.
Sure, she could be a pirate, maybe a fairly good one even.
It wasn't question of ability.
It was a question of control.
Jack seemed to be losing his control whenever he was around the damn woman. She was beautiful; that couldn't be denied her.
Her hair was the lightest honey brown, that when the sun reflected it, it shined like a halo cascading around her perfectly sculpted shoulders and chest, her body lean and curvaceous enough to make a man yearn without a chance for protest . The body and spirit of a pure angel.
No, maybe it was more of the term of a devilish angel...No...
A angelic devil.
Only a devil could deceive a man his with features such as that. It was certainly no arguement that her temper was the aspiration of a devil.
The time when she had burned rum, he swore he was ready to kill her. And that night at the tavern, she had boiled his blood so hot, he believed that if she went any further, he would have had to plunge himself and her into the cool refreshing feel of the ocean. For him, to calm down. For her...to shut up.
But, when he would sometimes see her, really see her, and notice a slight smile or a funny but expressive expression, he felt his blood boil in a pleasant temperature, warming his very soul. And now, when she argued with him, it boiled not in anger...but in lust.
He shook his head furiously.
He had to stop thinking of her as a woman. Of course, it couldn't be denied she was a women, but he couldn't allow himself to feel for her this way. She was a part of his crew after all...
He stopped abruptly, and slapped a painful clap to his forehead with his hand.
Of course. How could he have been so stupid?
She wasn't a part of his crew...yet.
