Chapter Three
Self Pity
Happiness was at the bottom of the bottle, James felt sure of that. Somewhere at the bottom of one of these bottles life was better. Somewhere at the bottom of these bottles was a James Norrington who wasn't wallowing in self pity. If only that James Norrington would get out of the bottle and replace the one sitting there in the filthy alley. He felt like a piece of trash thrown on the ground and stomped on.
Jack… The name was fresh on his mind. He could hardly believe it had happened. Part of him was overjoyed about it. Part of him replayed the sound of Jack calling his name over and over again. That part of him wanted to be back in that room with Jack; to be lying in that bed with him. But the other part of him was so mad he could hardly handle it. It hurt mostly because the thought of Jack Sparrow with other people. Oh yes, everyone knew Jack Sparrow was a man who "got around." Why did he have to pick James as his conquest? Life hated him.
A long swig of the beer made him warm for an instant. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. But Jack's face was in the back of his eyelids. The warm breeze swept carelessly over him. To James, it felt like Jack's finger tips, and the rushing of the waves seemed to call him "Jamesy." What had he been thinking? Had he really fallen this low? Once they had just been dreams. Now the dreams were real and James wished they had stayed in his head. Because in his head things were different. In his head he wasn't hurting. "Damn you, Jack," he hissed into the night air. "Damn you to hell. And all your crew mates. Damn Jack and Elizabeth, too, while we are at it. Damn everyone!"
Thank goodness he wasn't crying. He had lost any and all will to cry. He just wanted to wallow for a little longer.
"Honey, you look depressed."
James looked up at the woman. She had a painted face and was hardly dressed at all. He gave a short laugh. Another of Tortuga's whores. James had seen his share of those since he had come here. "Brilliant observation," he muttered, taking another drink.
"I might be able to help with that," she tossed her long dark hair and fluttered her long lashes. "What do you say, sailor? Don't coast much with old Lily."
Her hair was so much like Jack's. At first the idea of being with that whore made him totally sick. But then, after thinking for a second, it suddenly seemed the most logical thing in the world. "Alright," he said, standing up. "Lead the way."
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James sat with his feet over the edge of the bed. He did not feel any better. He felt, in fact, worse. He felt dirty. He wanted to go take a bath. He felt arms around his shoulders and kisses on his neck. But they weren't like the ones before. These were not strong enough, not rough enough.
"That was pleasant," the whore said with a big grin.
He didn't answer. He'd have given anything to take back the last hour and a half of his life. He put some coins on the bed-side table and then started to dress again.
"Leaving so soon?" The girl pouted her lips. "Come on, I'll throw in the second hour for free."
"I'd rather die." He hissed and finished dressing. He walked out of the door and smack into something hard. He looked up and was met with an extremely unwelcome sight. "Sparrow?" He hissed. "What the hell are you doing here!"
Jack's eyes went to the bed behind him. Again those dark eyes filled with pain. He didn't even answer, he just drew his sword and shoved it through James' heart. "Don't like cheating lovers, mate." James coughed and blood spilled from his lips.
James sat up in the bed, covered in cold sweat. The whore was fast a sleep. James swung his legs over the edge and drained his drink. He put money on his pillow and changed. Then he snuck out the window, just in case. Bloody dreams. He headed off to do a little more wallowing.
