How My Perfect Life Was Inverted
Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Spot Of Violence
Pearl was huddled under the covers, trembling when I'd finally given up on the impossible task of cleaning the Pearl's cutlery, and for the past seven minutes or so she had flatly refused to resurface.
"Please?" I tried again, tugging lightly at the sheet. Pearl immediately squeaked, pulling the sheet tighter about her. I assumed that she shook her head.
"Pearl…" I whined.
"I'm not moving," she insisted stubbornly. "I'm staying right here, and you can't—Si-Si!" she yelped as I ripped the bed sheet off of her completely. She scrambled up, further crumpling her cotton nightdress, and made a lunge at the blanket, tugging insistently on a corner. She seemed paler than usual, and her eyes were faintly glazed. I was so shocked at her appearance that I immediately released the coverlet, and she instantaneously proceeded to cocoon herself in the material.
"Pearl?" I asked cautiously as the child continued to wrap herself up. I saw a tired blue eye peeking curiously out from the cotton shell. Reaching out, I pushed the fabric away from her face, so that part of her disarrayed hair was leaping out unbounded from the makeshift cloak. She looked sleepily up at me, her head tilted to the side in a questioning manner.
"Have you been sleeping well?"
She shook her head, a yawn seemingly too large for her little body escaping.
"Why not?"
She flushed and lowered her eyes, muttering something incomprehensible as she burrowed further into the cloth.
"Huh?"
"…Spiders," she whispered, sitting back down on the bed.
"What do you mean?"
"There were spiders in Papa's cabin, and I… and—and—and…" She murmured something inaudible once again.
"You're scared of them?" I guessed.
"Well, they're not right!" Pearl burst out. "It's wrong for something with such a small and scrawny body to have such long and skinny legs!"
And yet Cindy Crawford, Tyra Banks, Naomi Campbell, and numerous others had somehow achieved it.
"Was that what took you so long?" I asked sympathetically, and she nodded dolefully.
"I saw a little baby spider in there, and I tried to squish it, but it was very fast and got to the top of the bookcase. So I tried climbing up it, and that didn't work, so I got Papa's chair and climbed on that instead and then tried hiking up the books, and that was going fine until everything fell down, and then I was nearly squished…" she related to me gloomily. "And then I saw a whole nest of ugly spiders, and they started moving about, so I ran away from them, but the door was stuck and I couldn't open it, and then that was when the whole renovation happened…"
Realisation dawned on me. "So that was why you messed up Jack's cabin," I scolded. "To simultaneously murder and escape the spiders."
She lowered her eyes. "I didn't mean to…" she bleated. "But they were scuttling about everywhere, and…"
"I know, honey, I know," I soothed, smoothing out her hair with one outstretched hand. "No one's holding arachnophobia against you… Except maybe for Jack, but he still loves you…"
She shrugged—or at least, it looked like she was raising her shoulders a little—and slumped back down, a little bundled ball curled up on the mattress.
With a small smile, I sat beside her, kicking off my shoes and unlacing the stay I'd been wearing before untying my garters and lazily rolling the stockings down a little before kicking them off. I yawned when I'd finished undressing, surprised at how tired I was; it was still quite early in the day, but then again, I had been assigned tiring—if monotonous—tasks, many of which I'd carried out on an empty—or rather, emptied—stomach. So, following Pearl's example, I too collapsed on the mattress, only without a protective cocoon of a blanket, or a blanket for that matter.
Looking at her, I attempted to pull the cover away from her yet again, only to be rewarded with a grunt and a kick. Scowling, I tried again, only to receive a very similar response. I soon learned my lesson.
I closed my eyes, turning away from her, and stared out at the dark sky framed in the small porthole. It was strange, watching the rain falling so heavily through the small oval, as though it was a moving picture rather than a window. Even as I watched, the clouds seemed to part, a glowing fork of lightning descending into the sea. I shuddered, praying that the stormy night Jack had promised wouldn't be a violent one.
How very wrong I was: I was completely unaware as to the full extent of the cruelties the night would bring.
Within the next hour, what had started out as a few bolts of lightning and drum rolls of thunder had turned into a howling tempest. Pearl appeared to be asleep, but I couldn't help but notice how she seemed to curl up further and roll towards me. I completely identified with her fear; tropical monsoons were destructive enough on land, if my memories of half-interestedly observing the news were any indication to go by, but on a wooden ship in full sail at sea? Even I knew that was suicide.
The Pearl soon began to rock, and I groaned; my seasickness was bad enough without the added momentum of the violent waves. I curled up on the mattress, my arms wrapped tightly about my stomach, as if this would somehow keep my vomit at bay.
It worked, actually—for five minutes or so. Then I just had to crawl to my sick bucket and hurl. Straightening, I coughed, wiping at my mouth with a shaking hand. Why was I so weak? No one else seemed to be affected by seasickness quite like I was. It wasn't meant to last very long, was it? Only a few weeks or so… I should've gotten over it by now…
Sighing, I staggered back to the bed, flinging an arm about the cocooned Pearl.
I think I passed out not too long after reaching the mattress.
hr
I wasn't really certain of what had happened next, or, indeed, when it had happened—it could have several hours after I had passed out, but it felt like a few minutes… So I apologise now if what follows is a little… rushed… But in my defence, I was half-asleep for most of it…
Anyway:
The only thing I was aware of was a hand attempting to smother me. I was only half-awake, as I'd said, and was not entirely certain if it was dream or reality—it felt like a nightmare, so perhaps that was why I didn't struggle at first…
Something warm and indescribably heavy was on top of me, something strong—but no, it wasn't something: more like someone.
Pearl's screams were what snatched me back to reality.
The feel of foul-tasting lips upon my own was what snapped my eyes open.
That was when I began resisting, but it was too late—he had me pinned down with the weight of his body, his lips keeping my own silent, one hand pinning my arms high above my head whilst the other was lazily unbuttoning my shift.
He was enjoying it. He enjoyed watching, hearing, feeling me thrash in fear.
The screaming had stopped now. The screaming had stopped quite a while ago, actually.
I thought of Pearl with a feeling of dread—didn't he care that a child was near? Didn't he worry about being watched, about being caught? It was evident that he—whoever he was—hadn't planned this thoroughly.
But she'd stopped screaming. Had something happened to her? Were there others? My thrashing increased as I tried to turn my head, tried to catch a glimpse of—of something.
I felt nausea creeping up my throat as I fought desperately for air—his rough, fetid kiss hadn't yet stopped, and his body was steadily crushing all the oxygen from my lungs. Perhaps he'd meant to suffocate me first; perhaps he'll wait for me to pass out yet again, or he'll wait until I was dead before he'd…
How long had he been kissing me? It had felt like an eternity of him lying atop of me, as though this one revolting kiss was all I had ever known.
With a surge of hatred, I bit down on his invasive tongue, gratified upon hearing a scream of agony rip from his throat.
He ripped his mouth from mine with a curse, backhanding my face and placing his palm over my mouth before I'd had the chance to gulp a much-needed breathe of air, relentless in his task of suffocation. Even whilst I continued to choke, my coughing and gagging stifled as they were, a part of me registered that he was still fully clothed, and I was, for the briefest of moments, glad at the thought.
I continued to thrash against him, although my struggles were growing weaker. I knew it, he knew it. I felt a jolt of fear course through me as I felt his knee forcing my legs apart—
And suddenly, there was clamour of sounds, of the door slamming open, the splintering of wood, a roar of furious voices, and then he was torn away from me, torn off of me. I heard his voice cursing, heard him kicking, struggling, thrashing, as he tried to free himself from his captors. I gasped for air, coughing, sputtering as I attempted to spit the taste of his putrid mouth out. I tasted something bitter on my lips: blood. Whether it was his or mine, I couldn't tell, but either way, the feeling of disgust was exactly the same.
Someone was pressing a handkerchief to my bleeding mouth, the other arm behind my head supporting my skull as I continued to retch, tilting my neck slightly so that I could breathe more easily.
Weakly, I pushed myself up, wiping the tears from my face, my body shuddering. I looked towards the small group of men that had assembled in the cabin, recognising Doyle struggling between the Hispanic man that had been one of the three spying on Jack and myself earlier, and two others that were yelling at him to shut up. I didn't recognise their faces, but I recognised their Irish voices: Connelly and Donovan, the two men I had released from the brig only this morning…
Was it this morning? It seemed longer than that… Then again, with the attack of the French ship, the revelation of Jack's newfound celibacy, and now this rape attempt, this had been a rather busy and exhausting day. A great contrast to the tedious monotony I had been experiencing for weeks on end.
"You think it's jus' me, Sparrow!" Doyle was yelling furiously; blearily, I glanced around, unable to find the first man on my to-do (or rather, to-rape if you want to get technical) list. "Think she's safe now, yer own pers'nal little whore? All o' the crew are considering forcing her—they're not havin' it, Sparrow, knowing you take your pleasure from between 'er legs whilst they 'ave to wait until the next port! Hell, even that black harlot you insist on keeping aboard wants her, 'ave you seen how she's been looking at your strumpet? I even 'eard Donovan here sayin' how he'll like to—"
"Captain," one of them panted, the younger of the two Irishmen with brown hair and large innocent eyes, presumably Donovan, seeing how it was he that had interrupted Doyle at that particular point in his tirade, "what are we going to do—you know, to him?"
Jack's voice answered from beside me, making me jump—when did he get there? Then I remembered the handkerchief, which had by now disappeared, although the fingers splayed on my skull remained.
"The Code clearly states that in the event of—what's the term used? The exact quote being: 'Any man offering to meddle with a prudent woman'—" A ripple of offence coursed through me amidst my confusion—I was not a prude "—'without her consent shall suffer present death.'"
And before I even had a chance to allow his flippant words sink in, I heard it: I heard a pistol shot ring out in the small cabin, causing the hand supporting my head to shudder, and then an eerie silence. It seemed that even the storm had stopped for that one single moment, before a clap of thunder echoed in the room, and the waves began to rock the Pearl once more.
Even through my confused state, I sensed the wrongness of it all—of Jack shooting a man in cold blood, that is. It just wasn't… It just… It didn't make sense. It didn't seem like him at all.
But then I remembered my first night on the Black Pearl so long ago, when he had just returned from avenging his Pearl. But it was different then, because Pearl was his daughter, and he loved her unconditionally, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. That night was the night that Jack had slaughtered every man and woman that had had a hand in the rape of his daughter.
The rape of his daughter…
There was a link in there somewhere, but I was too tired, too scared, too shocked to find it.
But was that how he did it? Did he just walk into the Garter and calmly shoot every single perpetrator that had laid a hand on his little girl, caring just as much about their deaths as he did about Doyle's? it just made him seem so… so… Well, 'cold' seemed too weak, too general a word…
I was shivering now, from fear, yes, but it wasn't wholly of Doyle and his failed intentions. I knew then that I was scared of Jack as well, unfounded though it may be.
"Throw him overboard, quick now," Jack dismissed offhandedly, as though he hadn't taken the life of a former crewmember after all. "I don't want his blood spilled in me daughter's cabin."
I shivered again at his indifference as the three men hurriedly began to pull Doyle's lifeless form to the door, his feet dragging uselessly across the floor, an expression of slack-jawed surprise now permanently etched on his features.
Jack's fingers of his free hand—the one that had fired the pistol, I realised—were on my jaw line as soon as the door had closed, using both of his hands to gently force me to look sleepily up at him. "Did he succeed?" he asked me quietly. "I mean, did he…?"
I shook my head, pulling my unbuttoned shift together. Jack's hand stopped me though, his eyes concentrated on a point between my breasts. "Did he use a knife to cut you here?" he asked abruptly.
Startled, I looked down to see a long thin line glistening with blood along my skin. "He must've done it when I was asleep," I murmured to myself, shivering at the disturbing image of Doyle looming over me with a blade in hand. I was surprised to find myself resisting the urge to ask him to kiss it better; surprised that I had thought of asking him to do so in the first place. That would've been a little… inappropriate…
And that was when I realised that I wasn't as scared of Jack as I'd first thought, not really—just unsettled at witnessing firsthand what he was capable of. Now, don't misunderstand me, I'd never liked Doyle, and that certainly hadn't changed, and a part of my mind was telling me rather smugly that Jack had shot Doyle on my behalf, but… Well, he'd done it so calmly, as if he'd done it many times before. It would've been less unsettling had Jack shown a bit of anger, or remorse, or hell, even annoyance, so I could simply write it off as a crime of passion, but… He was so collected, so calculated…
I was snapped out of musings by two small words:
"I see." And with that, he pulled the slip off of my shoulders, apparently with little to no shame.
At first, I was uncertain as to why he was undressing me, but then I realised that the material was wet from where he'd touched me. Jack was fully dressed, but he was completely drenched from being out on the deck for most of the night, braving nature's wrath.
He turned away from me, strolling to the trunk that Pearl had hidden out in whilst her namesake was under attack, pulling another shift out from it.
I recognised it as one of the many pieces of clothing I had collected during my stay at the Garter. One of the perks of being a prostitute there was that you got a lot of pretty clothes, all of which were free of charge. But what made this particular shift stand out in my mind was the fact that it was black silk, with ebony lace on the sleeves and its low décolletage. Its design was very probably the closest thing to lingerie in this century, and I wondered if Jack had deliberately picked it out.
Seeing as how he glanced from it to me and back again, clearing his throat uncomfortably and hastily dropping it back into the chest, probably not.
He returned with a plain cotton shift in white completely devoid of lace trimming, holding it out to me and helping me slip my arms into the sleeves.
"You'll be alright," he whispered to me as he watched me buttoning up the dress.
"How did you know what was happening?" I asked him quietly in return.
"Pearl came running up to the deck crying her sweet little heart out 'bout you, apparently as soon as she was pushed aside by that dead bastard. She's with Gibbs now," he added thoughtfully. I couldn't help but notice his hand slipping into my own. I tightened my grip on his fingers, making him start; apparently, the hand had done so of its own accord.
"Was what he was saying true?" I asked quietly. "About the others… thinking…"
"Of course it was," he said, rather bluntly. "You see, this was why I was so angry with Pearl when I'd found out that you were here. You're much too beautiful to be kept aboard a pirate ship—it's why I never offered to bring Beth onboard: the temptation's just too strong, and Sierra, darling, the crew are only human… Except for me, as I am a greater being and therefore unaffected by you women's enticing allure."
I snorted. "No, you're not."
"Well, I am higher than most. I have control of my animal instincts."
"No, you don't."
"Must you always be so contradictory?" he asked, exasperated with my quiet obstinacy. Then he smiled at me. "I can see you're perfectly fine," he said, making as though to leave.
I tightened my grip on his hand. He tried to pull the kidnapped appendage out of the vice, glancing curiously down his arm.
"Sierra, it appears as if your fingers have an extreme liking for my own."
I yanked hard, forcing him to crouch back down.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say it was deliberate…" he continued conversationally, looking into my eyes.
"Can't you stay with me?" I pleaded. I was feeling just as Pearl had felt: I didn't want to be alone.
His response was to look nervously at the door, and I rolled my eyes. "No, not like that," I sighed.
He still hesitated, looking at me suspiciously, and I was overcome with the violent urge to hit him for his idiocy.
"You don't trust me, do you? Even though you're stronger than I am and I've stopped throwing myself at you, you still—"
"Alright, I'll stay!" he said quickly, realising that I was growing slightly hysterical. Well, I was completely entitled to do so; I was the woman that was nearly raped, after all. Still, he had agreed to my request with suspicious ease…
He walked over to the desk, draping his drenched coat over the back of the chair and placing his hat on top. His sword was placed on the table, along with his belt and holster. With one hand on the chair to keep his balance, he pulled first one boot off, then the other, and was preparing to return to the mattress when I stopped him with a:
"Surely you're not thinking of coming to bed dressed like that, are you?"
He looked down at his shirt, sash, and breeches, clearly confused. "I always go to bed dressed like this," he said in bewilderment.
"But you're wet," I whined.
He just looked at me, uncertain of what to make of my immaturity. "So?"
"I'll get a cold," I pouted. "As if a confusion of identity, knife wounds, attempted rape, seasickness, slave labour, sexual frustration, sponge baths—sponge baths, Jack! There's no bathing water here—and overall psychological trauma wasn't bad enough, you want to give me a cold as well?"
"It's all about you, isn't it?" he snapped at me.
My patience shattered. "Look, have some sympathy for me, okay? You have no idea how it feels to have almost been raped—"
He snorted rather loudly. "Oh yes, I somehow think I do!"
"Oh, get over it," I dismissed. "That was just a kiss—I mean really raped, with the other person on top of you trying to get your clothes off—"
"I'd like to take this opportunity to point out a certain incident of not too long ago that involved you, me, a well-placed tackle and the floor—"
"I got off of you straight away! And of my own accord!"
"No, it wasn't until Dickinson had yelled—"
"I was helping you up when that lunatic came running 'round the corner screaming about witches—" I was cut off by a sneeze, an incident which I turned to my own advantage using the following method.
"Fine," I snarled at him. "Come to bed wet."
"Thank you, I think I will." Ah, poor naïve Jack: he thought he'd won.
"I mean, seeing how I'm already sneezing, and what with the seasickness depriving me of much-needed nutrients and all and therefore leaving me with an ineffective immune system, I'll probably end up dying if you come to bed wet. Dying, Jack," I repeated for emphasis whilst he gave me a very apprehensive look. "And it'll all be just because you were overcome with the sudden urge to protect your temporary virginity or chastity or whatever, which for some reason requires you to wear clothes that are drenched with cold rainwater, which would therefore lead to the whole dying event, and then you'll end up as the one having to watch over Pearl all the time—"
What was left of his clothing flew off in record time.
"Don't ever manipulate me again," he warned as he climbed under the covers beside me.
I smiled, pulling closer to Jack, wondering if it'll be entirely inappropriate if I was to wrap my arms around him. I decided I'd rather not risk it, and merely laid there watching him through heavy-lidded eyes.
He turned to face me, his hand resting chastely on my shoulder as he looked down at me in concern. "You're still bleeding," he stated bluntly, reaching out towards the scratch before stopping, clearly thinking better of it.
"They're shallow, they don't hurt…" I trailed off, looking up at him through a haze. I was still uncertain as to what, exactly, had happened: whatever had happened, it had happened much too fast, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. But not, I noticed with a suppressed smirk, light-headed enough to be incapable of the manipulation required to get the man to strip. My only regret was that he was so eager to get under the bedcovers as swiftly as he did…
…Did I really just say that?
"Jack?" I asked quietly. He nodded once, indicating his attention.
"Exactly what just—What just—" I may have been yawning at this point, but my dominant drowsiness didn't necessarily mean that I wasn't somewhat alert to the emotions that seemed to have tensed up his body… I wasn't exactly tired enough to have been unaware of his body either, come to think of it…
"Don't worry," he soothed, a finger on my lips. "You're safe now, alright? I'm here."
I nodded tiredly, my eyes closing, although a part of me realised that he seemed to be more affected by Doyle's ill-executed attack than I, the victim, was. It was strange, that; almost as though Jack had been the one that was nearly ravished by Doyle…
Now wasn't that a disturbing image?
But it didn't really make sense, all the same, this concern. Personally, I was more occupied with the cold method with which Jack had disposed of all future threats—at least as far as Doyle went—with such unquestionable finality than the reasoning behind it…
But I did find myself wondering if Jack had done it for Pearl, though. I didn't mean that he did it merely to protect Pearl from unnecessary grief: perhaps he was so swift with his decision because I reminded him of her, a little; people had mentioned a few times that we looked alike. And, whilst I hadn't been raped, she had. It would explain his indifference, if subconsciously he was thinking of protecting his own daughter.
I yawned once more, nuzzling further into Jack's shoulder. Before I had drifted off to sleep, I thought I felt him kiss me.
Of course, I could have just mistaken the wonderful dream I had that night with the fuzzy reality, so this intimate action very probably never occurred. I remembered the dream better than the night, strangely enough: in my half-languid state Jack had slipped an arm about my shoulder, kissing me gently awake at first, and then…
I'm a nymphomaniac. What do you think I dreamt happened?
-x!x-
AN: I know this one was a little rushed at the beginning, but I didn't really want to risk losing more reviewers, which just shows how badly I have my priorities arranged…
VagrantCandy: Now that you've put it like that, it is a little hypocritical, isn't it? I was thinking that it was all to do with that "everybody has equal shares" arrangement. What caused it was partly jealousy, partly a pirate's union equal rights thing, and partly Father Dickinson…
Anne la Jordanie: Maybe you should just steal other people's internet connections instead, like I occasionally do. Or browse during a particularly boring ICT lesson at school. Glad to hear about that; it helps plants grow if you talk to them, you know. Keep on hugging those trees! Maybe you should just tell whoever you want to read this fic to just log on to the site; it saves time, effort, and the environment. Then everybody wins. I see I'm not alone in thinking that Sierra could have a fling with Flavio, then: imagine the trauma it'll cause to both Jack AND Sierra. Only a real man can get away with seducing a perfectly straight woman whilst clad in petticoats; he must radiate a masculine aura or something. Or use that Lynx deodorant with the half-pornographic advertising campaign. Your idea with the prostitution is interesting, to say the least, but I've come up with a way of getting him in sooner. I guess that it's been done before, but it's effective…
Kitty-Kat26: I'm glad to hear that you've finished your school certificate—I don't know what that is, having only been in two English-speaking countries in total and experiencing only one of the education systems, but it sounds long and laborious. I have to agree with your choice of Jack over Gibbs and Cotton; I mean yeah, so they're sexier in a more, um, OBVIOUS way, but there's just something about Jack which I can't quite pin down… What was Jack's embarrassing problem, may I ask? It sounds funny, and I like funny. Perhaps we both came up with the idea of Jack's mood swings because it fits in with his unpredictable nature or something. Sienna Miller? Well, since she's a blonde, I hadn't really thought of her, but I guess the general face shape might be right for Sierra. It's hard to compare what I've got in my head to a celebrity, as she doesn't look like anybody I'd recognise; I'd offer to draw a sketch, but I'm not exactly what would be called artistic. We'll see what Google comes up with…
Meggie Dodge: First of
all, I'd like to thank you for your honest and balanced review. I
don't get those very often, so it's quite refreshing when I do.
Yes, I did do a little research when writing "Gentlemen and
Rakes"—the key word there being "little"—but as the movie
itself wasn't confined to one specific time period, I was a little
uncertain as to when to set it; for example, if it was set in Port
Royal, it'll have to be around the 1660's, yet Gov. Swann's
costume was later than that, and Elizabeth and Norrington's
clothing were simply mid-eighteenth century at the least. Needless to
say, I got frustrated, and simply decided to abandon making it
historically accurate. Then I decided to simply abandon IT, as for
all of the plotlines I wanted to get down, and even with the time
jumps, it was moving too slow for me.
Anyway, what I'm trying to
say is that I don't hold it against you for abandoning GAR on
account of all of its anachronisms; that was probably the same reason
I got so frustrated with it, although I'll be lying if I said I was
an expert on ANY time period. I find "Perfect Life" easier to
write for that exact reason; the protagonist would probably have the
same views and reactions as any one of us randomly tossed into the
past. Besides, it meant less research for me, as she probably
wouldn't know what half of what she sees were, which means I can
get away with describing most objects and not actually naming them.
"Incapacity" will probably be the more appropriate of the two
terms you chose, as I was wrote her with the intention of showing
that she simply didn't understand. Come to think of it, this fic is
quite inaccurate within itself, at least as far as the characters are
concerned. Father Dickinson isn't exactly what you'd call
realistic. Then again, it's based on a Disney movie; what can you
do?
Anamaria was quite a challenge to write; making your original
characters likeable is one thing, but attempting to keep a
little-seen canon character IN character is quite another. I thought
that aloe vera was pushing it a little, but what I got from the two
times she chose to slap Jack as opposed to say, breaking his nose
with a well-placed punch, which she appears to be more than capable
of, was that she was actually somewhat feminine beneath her pirate
bravado. But then again, I do have a habit of reading a little too
deeply into what are very probably insignificant actions. Anyway, as
I said, thanks for your review!
