She has always known about men and women; as a child she had found one of her maid's novels. Perhaps that was when she had lost her innocence, the moment she had read, with not a little horror, what men and women did, of pleasured pain and of heat and of love…
Funny, that. She remembers every word, every scene in those novels, and never did they once mention lust. Never did they mention wanting and longing and of eventual horror at what she had done…
No, those novels had not once mentioned original sin, of satisfied needs that were forbidden… For man wants what he cannot have, and the forbidden apple never tasted so sweet…
She remembers growing up, longing, longing, longing, for something other than marriage and children and restriction. She remembers reading exploits of pirates and wishing, secretly appalled at herself, of pirates plundering and pillaging and perhaps, only a little, ravishing…
For the forbidden fruit never tasted so sweet, no?
She remembers the heat, the terrible heat, as her wet body was pressed against him… And she cannot help but to shiver involuntarily, from the remembrance of the rush of arousal that she couldn't possibly have helped…
She remembers the cold kiss of metal as it brushed ever so slightly against her temple… remembers the taste of danger and how very erotic it was… remembers the taste of relief as he swung away, up, up… She remembers thinking that he had, once again, flown towards the horizon…
She has always known about Captain Jack Sparrow; as a child she had, on her father's ships, chased pirates around the seas, hearing always his name upon everyone's lips… And she had read about his exploits and his brilliance and his looks…
Funny, that. She remembers every word, every scene in those novels, and yet she remembers most vividly the descriptions of his looks… Then again, young teenage girls want such things. She remembers thinking about love and Captain Jack Sparrow in the same sentence…
Yes, those books had mentioned lust. And yet, she remembers wanting not lust, but love. For she remembers being young, once, and holding young foolish ideals and dreams…
She remembers having dreams, and waking to find herself moaning with pleasure… Waking to find herself slick between her legs, and feeling guilty and dirty.
Then between the guilt and the feeling of being dirty, she would want to fall asleep again, just to dream again…
She remembers the compass. Does she believe that it shows you what you want? She supposes so. She knows now… knows that she was in denial and that it was a hopeless childhood dream of innocence and flowers and rings and belonging. She knows that reality is much harder than the wish, knows that what you want as a child rarely happens. Wants change, hearts change, and minds change.
She knows that she has learned, really, that what she wants is not just Captain Jack Sparrow, but to be with him.
She also knows, now, that it will never happen. No, not really, for Captain Jack Sparrow is the sea's. He is borrowed; borrowed until he tires of dear Lizzie and runs off to the sea again. No, he is free, truly free, unfettered by the binds and ties of love.
Yes, lust is more convenient, and not nearly as devastating as true love.
But she finds that she doesn't care; doesn't care that Captain Jack Sparrow will run off again as soon as she comes. She wants to sail towards the horizon, and perhaps, she will find another who interests her, and understands what commitment means. She finds that she doesn't care about whether Captain Jack Sparrow wants her any more.
She knows that he is borrowed, but her lust – or is it love? – is hers.
And with her it will stay. No, she will not give it even to him.
For she knows also that if she does, it will never come back.
A/N: Okay, then... I have a very vague idea which I think will work for this. I have decided to turn it into a small collection of mini-ficlets. Hope you like:) Please review - I LOVE feedback!