Chapter: A Backwards Surrender
"I am very quiet. Let the moths and years come, they can take nothing from me, they can take nothing more. I am so alone, and so without hope that I can confront them without fear."
- All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
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Jack stayed. Completely, utterly alone, he stayed.
The ship looked like a gaunt and spectral chassis against the black sky. It was so calm on his empty, beloved vessel, even with bullets maiming her sides and splinters that imbedded themselves in his arms exploding from her damaged deck. Pain blossomed from his thigh and he vaguely registered that he was no longer standing as he kept shooting.
They'd told him he was mad to stay and guard this beautiful ship, the thing he loved second best in all the world. That, just because he thought that he had nothing left to live for, he couldn't sacrifice his life like some forgotten, once-upon-a-time-tragic martyr, that they wouldn't let him. He pulled his pistol out of his belt and threatened them with a swift demise lest they leave him to finally encounter his own. And they left, all but one.
The traitor had looked at his former captain levelly, his eyes mocking where respect and reverence had once flourished. Jack, his lovely countenance expressionless in a manner that had become notorious in the past five years, had calmly turned his back to the man he had considered a friend and faced the legion of ships that rapidly approached, his stormy eyes reflecting the host of Union Jacks that fluttered in the wind like a backwards surrender.
So now everyone was gone, and Jack, like the hero he'd never considered himself to be, pulled himself to his feet and, clinging to the mast of his downfall, continued to fire at the onslaught of red jackets and bayonets. He felt a pierce in his gut, like fire in the cold numbness, and sank to the ground.
The last he remembered was a swimming face over his prone body. The last thing he remembered was lifting his arm, rock-steady, and shooting that shimmering, fading face right between the eyes. The last thing he remembered was the red mist of a stranger's blood mixing with his own.
"Now, you bastards. Now you 'ave what you want. Take it… it doesn't matter."
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Jack woke with a start.
Tha' bloody dream.
It always shook him, and he awoke sweating as he remembered the darkest moment in his life. It frightened him—yes, contrary to popular belief, Jack Sparrow could feel fear—that he had felt so utterly dead even as he dodged bullets. His last words before falling into unconsciousness had rung true; nothing had mattered. Not his freedom, not his life, not even the woman who had stolen his soul. It had been as if his sanity had finally snapped and he was far away from anything of consequence, watching his would-be suicide from a stranger's perspective. Oh yes, it frightened him.
The dream shook him because he knew that the uncaring monster that had surfaced the night of his ruin had not died along with his freedom that night. He wondered if—when—it would choose to make its second debut.
Jack sighed and sat cross-legged on the cot, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his hot face in his palms. He was so different now, so changed from how he was before. Before his heart had died along with his jokes and cares. She had come into his life and changed him for the better, and when she left she left him to rot. To fester in the darkness of his emotions until they overwhelmed him and he was forced to expel them from his body, leaving him like… that unfamiliar being that he refused to name. That was not him. He had feelings. He cared about what happened to other people, his future, and her.
A smooth thigh brushed his own and he turned, surprised, to see the very object of his twisted love tangled in the sheets, one white breast exposed and the round curve of her buttocks obscured only partially by the gauzy material of her bedclothes. Her eyes were closed peacefully in sleep and her skin fairly glowed in the faint moonlight that shone through her window. He was in her room.
Jack's fingers tightened in his hair. He felt sick and stumbled out of the room and out on to the deck to lead over the edge of the ship, breathing the soft wind of the sea deeply as if it was the only thing keeping him from tumbling into the water. Finally, he felt his stomach calm and returned to Sophia's room and sat down on the edge of the bed. She was the reason for his misery for so long. Five years. He should be furious at her, furious because it was she who decided to leave him in the first place, furious because she had been young and naïve enough to believe in a dream.
Isn't that what you're doing now?
This was a dream. This couldn't be happening. He should be dead. He would wake up and discover he was still back at the prison that would serve as his deathbed, place of murder, and cemetery all at once, and be told to ready himself for his hanging.
He hated her passionately and loved her fiercely all at once.
These two things, he was rapidly discovering, were not very different at all in the large spectrum of life.
What fools these mortals be.
Jack let out a low, guttural groan as he sank back down into the bed, his eyes on the face of the woman beside him. He couldn't sort out the emotions swirling through his mind as he touched her shoulder, her cheek, her breast, her hair. She awoke with a smile and his eyes darkened with both passionate hate and fierce love as her eyelids flicked open, revealing the gray irises beneath.
She gazed at him silently for a moment, noting the conflict and brewing disaster in his eyes. "Jack?"
"I want to kiss you. Please… let me kiss you."
Sophia's eyes widened as she heard how raw his voice was, the danger and the edge of it, and her insides constricted when she saw the strange gleam in his eyes. Something was horribly wrong. "What? Jack, what's—"
Jack kissed her roughly, silencing her question, and abruptly moved over her to cover her with his body. She was soft and unresisting, as if she understood why he needed this, a connection with something. He grasped her shoulders hard enough to bruise, he knew, and he kissed her swollen lips with painful force, but she didn't protest. He slid one hand down her side to her leg, hooking her knee around his hips and tearing his lips from hers to gasp brokenly as he finally could feel her softness, her welcome embrace in the world that had threatened to abandon him once more. He was not gentle, nor particularly caring of her needs, and yet all throughout his terrible fall Sophia whispered.
"Shhh… Darling, it's all right. I love you. It's going to be all right. I love you."
They were silent for a long while afterwards, the only sounds their rapid breathing and the shifting of sweaty limbs. After all sound had faded into nothingness, Sophia turned to him.
"Will you tell me what happened to you, Jack?"
"I'm sorry."
Sophia looked perplexed, her brow furrowing as she propped herself on her elbow. She winced when the shifting of her legs caused the tender flesh between her thighs to twinge unpleasantly. Jack watched her quietly before his face crumpled in defeat and he cradled his head in his hands to hide his shame.
"Oh… don't be sorry, m'love. I understand why you needed… what you needed," she consoled, lifting his hands from his face to stroke the back of one broad palm reassuringly.
"No, you don't. I can't… I can't explain why, net yet. Bloody hell…" Here he paused, blinking slowly, his face drawn in tense lines. "I raped you, jus' now. I hurt you. Oh, Christ!" He pulled his hand away from her caresses. "How can you touch me? How can you stand the sight o' me?" He stumbled away from her, clumsily retrieving his discarded clothes. Sophia sat on the bed in disbelief. He was almost out the door before she regained her wits enough to right his misconception.
"Jack Sparrow, stop this nonsense this instant!" She bellowed, rising from the bed on legs that were still a mite unsteady and felt unhelpfully like jelly. Jack froze mid-step.
"I know what rape is, you dolt, and that was not it! Don't make assumptions based on what you don't comprehend. You needed something, whether it was consolation or simply the want to feel, and I love you and thus gave it to you. Willingly! That is far from rape."
Jack leaned carefully against the doorframe, lifting his face and closing his eyes. "I used you. It's not… simple." He finished lamely, unable to convert his thoughts into words that could be understood.
Sophia approached him slowly, observing the tenseness of his muscles beneath his clothes, the exhausted stance he had taken after her indignant tirade, until she was right in front of him. "I could have stopped you, Jack, with a well-placed kick and a good talking-to, but I didn't. I gave you my body to use. It was a sacrifice I was willing to take to save you from…" She shivered slightly in remembrance of the maniacal gleam in his eyes. "…yourself," she finished with a whisper. Then, as if advancing upon a skittish horse, she leaned into his thin chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her nose in the triangle of skin visible above the neck of his shirt. She could feel the tension seep from his body until he returned her embrace, clinging to her tightly. She accepted his silent apology without a word. They stayed like that for a long time, until Sophia lifted her face to his and spoke, her tone resolute,
"Now, Sparrow, you are going to tell me a story. 'How Captain Jack Sparrow Came to Be Imprisoned and Other Tales Concerning His Long Absence' would be a fitting title, I think."
"I think…if there are as many minds as there are men, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts."
- Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
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Author's Note: You know what, I'm not even going to talk about how long it has been since I have updated, because it will simply make me too depressed. I offer no excuses. Feel free to lambaste the authoress as you see fit; I deserve it.
I hope everyone is as touched by this chapter as I was. I almost cried writing the first part of it. Of course, it was about two in the morning when I did and I tend to act somewhat strangely in the wee hours of the morning. And I am rather attached to these characters, if you hadn't noticed.
Someone asked me (sorry, I can't remember who you are and I've not the energy to go and look for your review) where I get my quotes for the beginning and end of chapters, if there's a website or something. 'Fraid not. I've read every book I've used for my quotes, and use a highlighter to note passages that I find particularly affecting or meaningful (Yes, I am a dork). Most recently, Anna Karenina is my book extraordinaire. Every person should read it at least once in their lives, if you can get past the length issue (my copy is 817 pages. Hey, it's less than the 5th Harry Potter!). I'm sorry to report that there is no shortcut for finding wonderful snippets of writing.
Again, I am having problems with my usual transitional dashes (I am far to lazy to write real transitions. What did you think?), so some of them are missing. You can probably guess where.
Sad note: I am off to Costa Rica on Tuesday (the 28th) and will be gone for a month—a relatively short amount of time in comparison to my previous absence, sadly. But when I get back it is summer so I should have loads of time to write. Hopefully.
Cheers, as always, ¡y hasta Julio, mis compañeros fantásticos! Se añoraré mucho, y espero que ustedes tienen un verano excelente.
Must practice my español, you understand.
