A/N: Hello faithful readers! Thanks so much for sticking with me! This
chapter was one of the hardest to write of any chapter I have ever written.
I just thought I should warn you all that this chapter contain violent acts
of torture and rape, although not gratuitous. I couldn't handle it myself.
Just letting you know that I worked hard on this chapter, and I dragged a
whole new demension out of me and into my writing. I want to take this time
to thank Salienne de Lioncourt for her help and guidance through these past
chapters! I appreciate it so very much! As for all of you awesome readers,
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! You have no idea how much they mean to
me! Keep it up! Now on with the chapter, and here be the final warning, if
you're squeamish please take caution when reading this chapter. It's not my
fault if you read this and faint. I warned ye! PLEASE NO FLAMES ABOUT IT! –
Kizume
Chapter Seven – Movies Ain't Got Nothin' on Real Life
The first thing I registered was the cold. I pulled the hem of my shirt down and shivered. Someone was snickering behind me. I groaned. "Leave me alone, Ana." I grumbled, eyes still closed, and my head pillowed on my arms. The next thing I knew, I was awake, shivering and dripping wet. Renfield was grinning at me, a bucket in his hand. "Renfield, you asshole!" I grimaced, tugging the soaked fabric of Jack's shirt.
He shrugged. "You were sleepin' too soundly." He said by way of explanation. I rolled my eyes and heaved myself to my feet. I sucked in my breath at the pain that shot through my back. I remembered the toe of a boot slamming into my lower ribs and I growled. "C'mon now, we ain't got all day!"
"All day for what?" I asked curiously, anger clear in my eyes as he unlocked the cell and motioned for me to step out. I moved out and crossed my arms over my chest.
"Your job."
"Excuse me?" I asked incredulously, both eyebrows winging up. I don't have the talent to raise a single eyebrow, much to my utter and complete annoyance. "I'm not working for you." I declared angrily.
"You will." He said, not bothering to lose his temper. That was good, because I was losing mine enough for the both of us.
"Who says?" I demanded stopping on our walk up the stairs. He reached for me and hauled me the rest of the way up by the arm. I tore my arm from his grasp and hissed at him. "Try that again, mate, and you'll be missing some vital body parts, get me?" He nodded, smiling before swinging a fist and punching me in the cheek. My head spun around and I fell to the deck, hands scraping on the rough wood. I coughed a little and wiggled my jaw. Well, that smarted. I pulled myself into a sitting position and he was standing over me, his hands on his hips, his oversized head blocking out the sun. I glared.
"That's payback, lass." He grunted, nodding to two of his lackeys who hauled me off of the floor. I staggered a little as the world spun. My face felt huge, and I wondered what kind of bruise was currently growing on my jaw. At least he hadn't aimed for my eyes. I wasn't too keen on the whole raccoon look. He pursed his lips. "Know anything about fixin' the riggins'?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes."
He dragged me over to the mast threw a rope at me and nodded. "Get to it then, woman."
"Excuse me? I don't think you just called me woman, did you?" I tied the rope around me and glared at him. "I don't appreciate that."
"And you're going to 'appreciate' my fist in your face again, if you don't get moving lass." I growled, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by the rope tied around my waist and around the mast as well. He raised an eyebrow. "Do we have a problem?"
"We most certainly have a problem!" I declared. He strode up and slapped me again, and I fell against the mast. "Okay, fuckmook," I quoted my second favorite movie, Once Upon a Time in Mexico. The glare that I received told me he was not too excited about the new nickname. Like I gave a drowning rat's ass about what he liked or didn't. "That's the last time you lay your hand on me without any reprisals. I swear you try it again, I will kick your ass into next Thursday, comprende Renfield?"
The crew had gathered around us and I was too angry to realize the dangerous situation I was getting myself into. One of the crewmembers leapt over to me from my left and as I swung around to defend I felt the prick of a knife against my throat. I swallowed. "You were saying?" The captain murmured jubilantly. I gulped.
"I was saying that if you weren't such a coward, I would face you, but as it stands now, I would rather make love to a duck than waste my talents on you." I shoved the pirate with the knife to my throat and he moved away, shoving the small penknife back into his boot. The captain grimaced.
"You're spunky."
"Why, thank you." I bowed slightly and undid the knot on the rope around my waist.
"I don't like that." He motioned for a few of the pirates to come and grab me. I glared and they hesitated.
"Well, I can't help what you do or don't like." I shrugged off the hands that grabbed for me, hissing when one fisted right over a bruise. I nearly blacked out as they dragged me along.
"See if you can't...work it out of her, eh, Bart?" The ham-handed henchman grunted. I tugged and he just tightened his grip. From the look in his eyes I was terrified to know just what Renfield meant by 'working' it out of me. Something told me that it wouldn't be good.
Jack was in a tumult of indecision. His logical pirate brain told him he should turn the ship around and sail as fast as he could in the opposite direction, but his compassionate half, one rarely seen by anyone, wanted to hoist sails and hasten to her rescue.
"Captain?" Anamaria walked up slowly and glared at him. "You aren't considering what I think you're considering?" He remained silent. "Jack, you've lost your mind. Going after her is complete suicide! You've known her little more than a week! For all you know, she could be Renfield's spy. You know how many pirates would kill to have the Pearl. And after the stunt that he nearly pulled on us in Port Royal, I should like to think you'd show a bit more caution!" He watched the female pirate rage about the room. He chuckled.
"Ana." She stopped mid-tirade and glanced at him. "I won't be going after her."
"Really?" She frowned and tilted her head. "But I thought . . ."
"Thought what?" Jack asked rising from his perch on his old desk chair. His desk was in shambles. It had been a long time since the room had been cleaned, and he sighed, remembering that it wouldn't be cleaned unless he did it, not anymore.
"I thought that you and she were . . ."
"Involved?" The other pirate nodded. "No." He sighed. "Not saying I didn't try. The lass jus' wasn't interested – at the time at least."
"At the time?" He chuckled and Ana rolled her eyes. "Jack, you don't just go around seducing people you've just met." He shrugged.
"It's worked pretty well for me in the past." He sighed. "I wasn't sure what to do about her, but now, after your reaction, I realize what needs to be done."
"And that is?"
"Hoist sails." He glared at her disbelieving face. "We're going after her." He cleared his throat when she did not immediately respond. His stance and set of his face would brook no argument so her shoulders slumped and she stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Jack chuckled a little and played with a trinket in his hair. He only hoped they'd get there before Renfield's crew did too much damage.
I was past weeping. The pain had intensified to the point that I could barely move. If I did, the whip would come singing down against my back again. Have you ever been whipped? No? Neither had I up 'til that point; let me tell you, that is one experience I would gladly trade for anything else. Watching the grass grow for the rest of my life, watching only Barney until I got cataracts and went deaf. Hell, eating dog shit would have been more appealing than the feel of the forked leather whip breaking my skin.
The man behind me was chuckling softly. "Shouldn't resist, lass. Captain Renfield is good at breaking ornery prisoners."
"Oh goodie." I shot back, yelping in pain as the whip connected, right after the smart remark left my lips. I wondered what I would do, Jack wouldn't come after me. It was too much of a risk. He couldn't, so, it was up to me to get off of this ship, back to Tortuga, and hopefully hook up with the Pearl's crew again there. I yipped as he dragged me off of the table I'd been tied to, my wounds cracking open and blood dripping down my bare back to soak the seam of my pants. My head was circling somewhere above my shoulders, and I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the room in focus. Despite a valiant effort, the darkness was closing over me. That is, until the bucket of cold water hit me. I was shocked back into my bruised and battered body so quickly I gasped. The man chuckled again.
"You will speak, only when spoken to." He muttered pulling my arms up and locking my wrists in a pair of irons hanging from the ceiling.
"How about, 'no'." I growled, breathing out sharply when he slapped my face again. So far, he had avoided the face. But apparently there was a time and a place for everything. "Wow, you punch like a sissy." Okay, so I'm not so bright, and I bet you could guess what happened after that remark. Oh yeah, and what you're imagining could not have been further from the truth. The truth really is more painful than fiction. And no matter how many gory movies you've seen, feeling it is so much more . . . excruciatingly painful, because in a movie the pain wasn't real. And I can most definitely assure you; THIS pain WAS real. Too real, so real in fact I still carry the scars from it.
"Speak only when spoken to." I whispered, hunched over as far as my bonds would allow. I was past the point of modesty, not noticing or caring that I was currently bra-less, and topless being tortured by a sweaty, smelly, and possibly horny pirate. All I could feel was the blood, copious amounts of it, running down my back and my chest. I looked down at my collarbones and wondered if I should be able to actually see the bone. I was too lightheaded to think of anything else. All I wanted to do was pass out, and my ruthless torturer refused. He kept dumping cold, not to mention salty water on me. I wheezed out a breath at the second bucket tossed at me in less than ten minutes. "Got it."
He rolled up his whip and put away his knife and I prayed he would leave me be. After all, even salt water, ice-cold salt water couldn't keep me conscious if I had to endure more of it. He grunted at me and I didn't look up. Just pressed my chin to my chest and closed my eyes, falling into the blissful release of unconsciousness.
Waking up after such a beating is one of the hardest things to do. You think peeling your eyelids back after an all night study session for Calc. III is hard? Try opening your eyes and not being able to because the lashes had fused together from the salt residues on your skin! Let me tell you, it is an altogether unpleasant sensation to not be able to see, be half naked, and on a ship full of hostile, women-deprived pirates. I was not at ease at all. My arms had stretched during the night, and I was pretty sure my left shoulder had been popped out of joint. The chains of my restraints jingled as I shifted a little.
"Good morning, lass." Renfield's cheery voice met me, and I frowned but said nothing. His pleased grin was visible, even though I couldn't see a thing. "Learning swiftly I see," He murmured. I raised my head and tried my best to look fierce although I could see nothing, and I probably looked like a slab of meat that came out the wrong end of a grinder. Not an altogether fearsome countenance, I must admit. I heard the creaking of a handle and braced my self, screaming as the stinging cold of the salt water splashed against my bare skin, infiltrating my wounds and making my eyes water enough for the eyelashes to come apart. I opened them and peered into the dim light. I shivered when I saw almost the entire crew standing behind him, lewd grins on their faces.
I wondered briefly what they were gawking at. I mean it wasn't as if I was a triple D or anything. To look at me you must think that when God was handing out boobs, I was off listening to Linkin Park or something, because literally I have nothing there. A-cups are even too big for me, that's how pathetically un-female I am. I tried to cover myself anyway and yelped as the movement yanked on not only my dislocated shoulder, but also the numerous lashings on my back. They all laughed and I struggled to push the scathing remark on the tip of my tongue back to the pit of my stomach where it belonged.
Renfield leaned over and unlocked the cell door. Then he promptly turned on his heel and left, but his crew stayed. This – after this I – I really don't – it's hard to think about. I mean, you can probably guess what happened. Guess and be way off the mark. Whatever you can think up in your head, it was much – much – MUCH worse. It was so bad – and – I really can't – don't ever want to think about it again, I won't be putting it here. And, hopefully that gives you an indication as to actually how – horrible, excruciating, painful, humiliating – you pick – but the fact that I, a lewd and horribly crude person left out something from my own life story, should tell you something.
I remember crying out, more like a constant scream that no one could still. I will share this, however. Pirate's hands are rough, so rough they tear cloth. Tear it so that it is barely recognizable after their meaty paws are through with it. In the space of an hour, I was stripped of my dignity and of the one thing that had kept me sane through this whole hellish ordeal: the Essence of Jack that clung like a burr to the clothing I had been wearing. But now all I smelled was sex, and all I tasted were my tears. The pants were in a heap across the room, and I couldn't reach them, no matter how far I stretched my toes. Blood ran freely down my naked thighs, but I was numb. For the first time in my life I actually WANTED to die.
I had threatened to kill myself before, warning my mother that I would swallow her sleeping pills when she wasn't looking if she didn't get off my back. But I had never really WANTED to die. I had no desire to end my life. I had dreams, and plans and hope. But as I hung in that cell with little to no light, blood running down my body to drip off of my toes, I had no hope. There was nothing ahead of me except for pain and defilement. If someone had offered me a dagger or a cyanide pill at that moment I would have gladly accepted.
I lost track of the days I'd spent aboard Renfield's ship at about a week and a half. The beatings continued. Much less frequently, unless I acted up. And beaten, bleeding and often broken, I was still expected to work. I cooked, I cleaned, I sewed, and I mended. I did just about everything on that ship except steer and plunder. And if I didn't do it fast enough, I was raped. If I wasn't thorough enough, Renfield had me publicly flogged, naked, tied to the mizzenmast. I learned quickly, to work fast, quietly and well. And sometimes, even that wasn't enough. Some time after my first beating, I was again in that tiny cell, hanging by my wrists from the ceiling, this time, both my shoulders were dislocated and an eye was swelled shut. To this day, I still don't remember what I did to deserve the walloping I had received.
I was barely aware that someone was in the room with me until I felt a warm chest rub against my bloody one. I stiffened and whimpered, trying to get away. I thought briefly, in a moment of foolish hope, that he seemed familiar somehow. I cringed away as his hands went up, undoing my bonds and I fell limply against him, my nose again telling me I smelled something familiar. It couldn't be though. He was on the other side of the ocean! I felt a heavy weight against my shoulder and winced, but realized the coat would cover me from view. "Hang on, Chloe." A voice whispered. "We'll get you out of here, but you need to be quiet okay?" I didn't say anything; my 'training' too engrained now for me to have spoken. His arm was supporting me as he led me up the stairs. I stumbled frequently, but he was never anything but patient. Although once or twice I cringed away from him, expecting a blow, when he just reached over to tie the coat around my waist, shielding my battered body from view of the crew.
I heard their disgusted murmurs as we passed and I nearly toppled down the stairs. He scooped me up into his arms and carried me the rest of the way. I wondered what was going on. I peered over my mystery rescuer's shoulder and stared uncomprehendingly at the lights. It looked vaguely familiar. "Tortuga, love." His voice purred in my ear, and his chest rumbled against my side. My memories all flew back, and I tightened my grip, reflexively on his neck.
"Jack?" I whispered, hardly daring to hope. My voice, having such little usage on board Renfield's ship decided not to work at that moment and he never heard me speak. The single word reverberated through my conscious however and my heart gave a leap in my chest. If Jack was here, I was safe. Wasn't I?
He padded down the stairs to his cabin and I wept at the sight of the bed that he and I had shared some time ago. Everything seemed so different, and yet, everything was the same. He set me down gently, or tried to, since I was still glued to his chest, my hands gripping the hair on his head tight enough to have him wincing. He reached up and rubbed my hands reassuringly, coaxing my fingers to loosen and I finally gave in, so he could set me on the bed and scurry off to light some candles. He was back soon, my hands gripped tightly in his.
"Chloe. You're all right now lass." He reached out to stroke my hair and I cringed away, the movement stopping his hand two inches from my face. "It's all right now, I've got ye." I started shaking then. And not nice soft tremors, but bed shaking quivers that rippled up and down my body. I cried into my hands, curled away from him and I could feel his eyes on me. I felt his hand draw near and retreat more times than I cared to count. Finally he settled in bed beside me, and I turned to him pressing my swollen face into his chest and wept. After that I knew no more, except for the pale darkness that accompanies a faint.
Chapter Seven – Movies Ain't Got Nothin' on Real Life
The first thing I registered was the cold. I pulled the hem of my shirt down and shivered. Someone was snickering behind me. I groaned. "Leave me alone, Ana." I grumbled, eyes still closed, and my head pillowed on my arms. The next thing I knew, I was awake, shivering and dripping wet. Renfield was grinning at me, a bucket in his hand. "Renfield, you asshole!" I grimaced, tugging the soaked fabric of Jack's shirt.
He shrugged. "You were sleepin' too soundly." He said by way of explanation. I rolled my eyes and heaved myself to my feet. I sucked in my breath at the pain that shot through my back. I remembered the toe of a boot slamming into my lower ribs and I growled. "C'mon now, we ain't got all day!"
"All day for what?" I asked curiously, anger clear in my eyes as he unlocked the cell and motioned for me to step out. I moved out and crossed my arms over my chest.
"Your job."
"Excuse me?" I asked incredulously, both eyebrows winging up. I don't have the talent to raise a single eyebrow, much to my utter and complete annoyance. "I'm not working for you." I declared angrily.
"You will." He said, not bothering to lose his temper. That was good, because I was losing mine enough for the both of us.
"Who says?" I demanded stopping on our walk up the stairs. He reached for me and hauled me the rest of the way up by the arm. I tore my arm from his grasp and hissed at him. "Try that again, mate, and you'll be missing some vital body parts, get me?" He nodded, smiling before swinging a fist and punching me in the cheek. My head spun around and I fell to the deck, hands scraping on the rough wood. I coughed a little and wiggled my jaw. Well, that smarted. I pulled myself into a sitting position and he was standing over me, his hands on his hips, his oversized head blocking out the sun. I glared.
"That's payback, lass." He grunted, nodding to two of his lackeys who hauled me off of the floor. I staggered a little as the world spun. My face felt huge, and I wondered what kind of bruise was currently growing on my jaw. At least he hadn't aimed for my eyes. I wasn't too keen on the whole raccoon look. He pursed his lips. "Know anything about fixin' the riggins'?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yes."
He dragged me over to the mast threw a rope at me and nodded. "Get to it then, woman."
"Excuse me? I don't think you just called me woman, did you?" I tied the rope around me and glared at him. "I don't appreciate that."
"And you're going to 'appreciate' my fist in your face again, if you don't get moving lass." I growled, taking a step forward, only to be stopped by the rope tied around my waist and around the mast as well. He raised an eyebrow. "Do we have a problem?"
"We most certainly have a problem!" I declared. He strode up and slapped me again, and I fell against the mast. "Okay, fuckmook," I quoted my second favorite movie, Once Upon a Time in Mexico. The glare that I received told me he was not too excited about the new nickname. Like I gave a drowning rat's ass about what he liked or didn't. "That's the last time you lay your hand on me without any reprisals. I swear you try it again, I will kick your ass into next Thursday, comprende Renfield?"
The crew had gathered around us and I was too angry to realize the dangerous situation I was getting myself into. One of the crewmembers leapt over to me from my left and as I swung around to defend I felt the prick of a knife against my throat. I swallowed. "You were saying?" The captain murmured jubilantly. I gulped.
"I was saying that if you weren't such a coward, I would face you, but as it stands now, I would rather make love to a duck than waste my talents on you." I shoved the pirate with the knife to my throat and he moved away, shoving the small penknife back into his boot. The captain grimaced.
"You're spunky."
"Why, thank you." I bowed slightly and undid the knot on the rope around my waist.
"I don't like that." He motioned for a few of the pirates to come and grab me. I glared and they hesitated.
"Well, I can't help what you do or don't like." I shrugged off the hands that grabbed for me, hissing when one fisted right over a bruise. I nearly blacked out as they dragged me along.
"See if you can't...work it out of her, eh, Bart?" The ham-handed henchman grunted. I tugged and he just tightened his grip. From the look in his eyes I was terrified to know just what Renfield meant by 'working' it out of me. Something told me that it wouldn't be good.
Jack was in a tumult of indecision. His logical pirate brain told him he should turn the ship around and sail as fast as he could in the opposite direction, but his compassionate half, one rarely seen by anyone, wanted to hoist sails and hasten to her rescue.
"Captain?" Anamaria walked up slowly and glared at him. "You aren't considering what I think you're considering?" He remained silent. "Jack, you've lost your mind. Going after her is complete suicide! You've known her little more than a week! For all you know, she could be Renfield's spy. You know how many pirates would kill to have the Pearl. And after the stunt that he nearly pulled on us in Port Royal, I should like to think you'd show a bit more caution!" He watched the female pirate rage about the room. He chuckled.
"Ana." She stopped mid-tirade and glanced at him. "I won't be going after her."
"Really?" She frowned and tilted her head. "But I thought . . ."
"Thought what?" Jack asked rising from his perch on his old desk chair. His desk was in shambles. It had been a long time since the room had been cleaned, and he sighed, remembering that it wouldn't be cleaned unless he did it, not anymore.
"I thought that you and she were . . ."
"Involved?" The other pirate nodded. "No." He sighed. "Not saying I didn't try. The lass jus' wasn't interested – at the time at least."
"At the time?" He chuckled and Ana rolled her eyes. "Jack, you don't just go around seducing people you've just met." He shrugged.
"It's worked pretty well for me in the past." He sighed. "I wasn't sure what to do about her, but now, after your reaction, I realize what needs to be done."
"And that is?"
"Hoist sails." He glared at her disbelieving face. "We're going after her." He cleared his throat when she did not immediately respond. His stance and set of his face would brook no argument so her shoulders slumped and she stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Jack chuckled a little and played with a trinket in his hair. He only hoped they'd get there before Renfield's crew did too much damage.
I was past weeping. The pain had intensified to the point that I could barely move. If I did, the whip would come singing down against my back again. Have you ever been whipped? No? Neither had I up 'til that point; let me tell you, that is one experience I would gladly trade for anything else. Watching the grass grow for the rest of my life, watching only Barney until I got cataracts and went deaf. Hell, eating dog shit would have been more appealing than the feel of the forked leather whip breaking my skin.
The man behind me was chuckling softly. "Shouldn't resist, lass. Captain Renfield is good at breaking ornery prisoners."
"Oh goodie." I shot back, yelping in pain as the whip connected, right after the smart remark left my lips. I wondered what I would do, Jack wouldn't come after me. It was too much of a risk. He couldn't, so, it was up to me to get off of this ship, back to Tortuga, and hopefully hook up with the Pearl's crew again there. I yipped as he dragged me off of the table I'd been tied to, my wounds cracking open and blood dripping down my bare back to soak the seam of my pants. My head was circling somewhere above my shoulders, and I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the room in focus. Despite a valiant effort, the darkness was closing over me. That is, until the bucket of cold water hit me. I was shocked back into my bruised and battered body so quickly I gasped. The man chuckled again.
"You will speak, only when spoken to." He muttered pulling my arms up and locking my wrists in a pair of irons hanging from the ceiling.
"How about, 'no'." I growled, breathing out sharply when he slapped my face again. So far, he had avoided the face. But apparently there was a time and a place for everything. "Wow, you punch like a sissy." Okay, so I'm not so bright, and I bet you could guess what happened after that remark. Oh yeah, and what you're imagining could not have been further from the truth. The truth really is more painful than fiction. And no matter how many gory movies you've seen, feeling it is so much more . . . excruciatingly painful, because in a movie the pain wasn't real. And I can most definitely assure you; THIS pain WAS real. Too real, so real in fact I still carry the scars from it.
"Speak only when spoken to." I whispered, hunched over as far as my bonds would allow. I was past the point of modesty, not noticing or caring that I was currently bra-less, and topless being tortured by a sweaty, smelly, and possibly horny pirate. All I could feel was the blood, copious amounts of it, running down my back and my chest. I looked down at my collarbones and wondered if I should be able to actually see the bone. I was too lightheaded to think of anything else. All I wanted to do was pass out, and my ruthless torturer refused. He kept dumping cold, not to mention salty water on me. I wheezed out a breath at the second bucket tossed at me in less than ten minutes. "Got it."
He rolled up his whip and put away his knife and I prayed he would leave me be. After all, even salt water, ice-cold salt water couldn't keep me conscious if I had to endure more of it. He grunted at me and I didn't look up. Just pressed my chin to my chest and closed my eyes, falling into the blissful release of unconsciousness.
Waking up after such a beating is one of the hardest things to do. You think peeling your eyelids back after an all night study session for Calc. III is hard? Try opening your eyes and not being able to because the lashes had fused together from the salt residues on your skin! Let me tell you, it is an altogether unpleasant sensation to not be able to see, be half naked, and on a ship full of hostile, women-deprived pirates. I was not at ease at all. My arms had stretched during the night, and I was pretty sure my left shoulder had been popped out of joint. The chains of my restraints jingled as I shifted a little.
"Good morning, lass." Renfield's cheery voice met me, and I frowned but said nothing. His pleased grin was visible, even though I couldn't see a thing. "Learning swiftly I see," He murmured. I raised my head and tried my best to look fierce although I could see nothing, and I probably looked like a slab of meat that came out the wrong end of a grinder. Not an altogether fearsome countenance, I must admit. I heard the creaking of a handle and braced my self, screaming as the stinging cold of the salt water splashed against my bare skin, infiltrating my wounds and making my eyes water enough for the eyelashes to come apart. I opened them and peered into the dim light. I shivered when I saw almost the entire crew standing behind him, lewd grins on their faces.
I wondered briefly what they were gawking at. I mean it wasn't as if I was a triple D or anything. To look at me you must think that when God was handing out boobs, I was off listening to Linkin Park or something, because literally I have nothing there. A-cups are even too big for me, that's how pathetically un-female I am. I tried to cover myself anyway and yelped as the movement yanked on not only my dislocated shoulder, but also the numerous lashings on my back. They all laughed and I struggled to push the scathing remark on the tip of my tongue back to the pit of my stomach where it belonged.
Renfield leaned over and unlocked the cell door. Then he promptly turned on his heel and left, but his crew stayed. This – after this I – I really don't – it's hard to think about. I mean, you can probably guess what happened. Guess and be way off the mark. Whatever you can think up in your head, it was much – much – MUCH worse. It was so bad – and – I really can't – don't ever want to think about it again, I won't be putting it here. And, hopefully that gives you an indication as to actually how – horrible, excruciating, painful, humiliating – you pick – but the fact that I, a lewd and horribly crude person left out something from my own life story, should tell you something.
I remember crying out, more like a constant scream that no one could still. I will share this, however. Pirate's hands are rough, so rough they tear cloth. Tear it so that it is barely recognizable after their meaty paws are through with it. In the space of an hour, I was stripped of my dignity and of the one thing that had kept me sane through this whole hellish ordeal: the Essence of Jack that clung like a burr to the clothing I had been wearing. But now all I smelled was sex, and all I tasted were my tears. The pants were in a heap across the room, and I couldn't reach them, no matter how far I stretched my toes. Blood ran freely down my naked thighs, but I was numb. For the first time in my life I actually WANTED to die.
I had threatened to kill myself before, warning my mother that I would swallow her sleeping pills when she wasn't looking if she didn't get off my back. But I had never really WANTED to die. I had no desire to end my life. I had dreams, and plans and hope. But as I hung in that cell with little to no light, blood running down my body to drip off of my toes, I had no hope. There was nothing ahead of me except for pain and defilement. If someone had offered me a dagger or a cyanide pill at that moment I would have gladly accepted.
I lost track of the days I'd spent aboard Renfield's ship at about a week and a half. The beatings continued. Much less frequently, unless I acted up. And beaten, bleeding and often broken, I was still expected to work. I cooked, I cleaned, I sewed, and I mended. I did just about everything on that ship except steer and plunder. And if I didn't do it fast enough, I was raped. If I wasn't thorough enough, Renfield had me publicly flogged, naked, tied to the mizzenmast. I learned quickly, to work fast, quietly and well. And sometimes, even that wasn't enough. Some time after my first beating, I was again in that tiny cell, hanging by my wrists from the ceiling, this time, both my shoulders were dislocated and an eye was swelled shut. To this day, I still don't remember what I did to deserve the walloping I had received.
I was barely aware that someone was in the room with me until I felt a warm chest rub against my bloody one. I stiffened and whimpered, trying to get away. I thought briefly, in a moment of foolish hope, that he seemed familiar somehow. I cringed away as his hands went up, undoing my bonds and I fell limply against him, my nose again telling me I smelled something familiar. It couldn't be though. He was on the other side of the ocean! I felt a heavy weight against my shoulder and winced, but realized the coat would cover me from view. "Hang on, Chloe." A voice whispered. "We'll get you out of here, but you need to be quiet okay?" I didn't say anything; my 'training' too engrained now for me to have spoken. His arm was supporting me as he led me up the stairs. I stumbled frequently, but he was never anything but patient. Although once or twice I cringed away from him, expecting a blow, when he just reached over to tie the coat around my waist, shielding my battered body from view of the crew.
I heard their disgusted murmurs as we passed and I nearly toppled down the stairs. He scooped me up into his arms and carried me the rest of the way. I wondered what was going on. I peered over my mystery rescuer's shoulder and stared uncomprehendingly at the lights. It looked vaguely familiar. "Tortuga, love." His voice purred in my ear, and his chest rumbled against my side. My memories all flew back, and I tightened my grip, reflexively on his neck.
"Jack?" I whispered, hardly daring to hope. My voice, having such little usage on board Renfield's ship decided not to work at that moment and he never heard me speak. The single word reverberated through my conscious however and my heart gave a leap in my chest. If Jack was here, I was safe. Wasn't I?
He padded down the stairs to his cabin and I wept at the sight of the bed that he and I had shared some time ago. Everything seemed so different, and yet, everything was the same. He set me down gently, or tried to, since I was still glued to his chest, my hands gripping the hair on his head tight enough to have him wincing. He reached up and rubbed my hands reassuringly, coaxing my fingers to loosen and I finally gave in, so he could set me on the bed and scurry off to light some candles. He was back soon, my hands gripped tightly in his.
"Chloe. You're all right now lass." He reached out to stroke my hair and I cringed away, the movement stopping his hand two inches from my face. "It's all right now, I've got ye." I started shaking then. And not nice soft tremors, but bed shaking quivers that rippled up and down my body. I cried into my hands, curled away from him and I could feel his eyes on me. I felt his hand draw near and retreat more times than I cared to count. Finally he settled in bed beside me, and I turned to him pressing my swollen face into his chest and wept. After that I knew no more, except for the pale darkness that accompanies a faint.
