"Are you being serious?"
He brazenly went ahead without her.
"Guess …" he mumbled over his shoulder doing so, already entering her bedroom without any inhibitions.
First, however, he gazed around in awe. At the end of the room, a massive wooden bench – it looked like from East Java – had been converted into a storage space for linen, but it still seemed uncomfortable.
In stark contrast to the bed in the middle of the room. It had been quite a while since he'd slept reasonably well, so this view seemed all the more heavenly to him.
Here and there were candles, lanterns, plants and curious objects, almost like Tia Dalma's in the Pantano River not so long ago.
"Didn't remember it being so nice at all."
"That's because it wasn't before your children were born here."
Insightfully, he nodded. "And where did all this come from? The trays, the jade beads? The statues?"
This time it was up to her to tease. "Guess."
"The Brethren. And … a sister." Jack regarded her with crossed arms, albeit mischievously. "The Gentlemen bring you gifts from all over the world, don't they?"
"And sister Ching. Yes."
"What's it like to be popular?"
"You wouldn't understand anyway." A little less hostile, she followed up, "Most of them hope Teague will be more sympathetic as a result, some of them are really grateful for good food."
"The way to the heart is through the stomach, no?"
"Apparently so."
"I can vouch for that, too, after all." Almost reverently he smirked. As though he was having the same déjà-vu as her.
He'd experienced the world, met a lot of people, but nothing could compare to the moment when she first eyed him in skepticism and was yet undeniably fascinated.
She knew many a trick, she was just a little young. But crazy enough to trust herself not to go insane with him.
He was hungry, but had no luck at all in his market negotiations without means of payment. (This didn't happen often, of course, but it had to be a touch of destiny.) For she had eventually offered him a forbidden fruit, in return for which he willingly carried her groceries. They had talked and talked, on the way to her place and while she cooked something for him. The way to a man's heart was indeed through the stomach … The caring gesture of not letting him starve, and everything else about her, made him over-emotional hence physical distance seemed utterly impossible, but he felt he owed her his last bit of decency for her hospitality after all.
Until she herself couldn't stand it any longer, his obviously disingenuous patience. They couldn't wait, it was far too soon, thoroughly unholy – and bloody perfect.
"Yet you also had more captivating assets." The way he looked at her, she could have sworn he was thinking of the same situation on the kitchen table at the time. "Have," he added.
"The basket, remember?" She tilted her head. "You can go now."
He winked. "Sleep, yes, an excellent idea. Can you imagine how exhausting it was to row through the Devil's Throat in a dinghy?"
Her jaw literally dropped. "In a dinghy? Jack, that's highly dangerous, how could you –"
"Not pass out from exhaustion with this wretched west wind? I can't tell you, darling. Wasn't good. So if I'm still not resurrected the day after tomorrow, be so good as to kiss me awake, will you?"
No sooner had he said it than he threw himself on her bed to stretch extensively and make sounds of purest bliss.
"This is better than … a lot of things …" he murmured as if he hadn't lain softly in years.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"At this hour, in a bed?" With but little concern, he looked up at her and shrugged. "Are you going to guess again? Remember it's far more productive if you actually join in like I did earlier …"
"Get out of my bed."
"Since when?"
"Since now."
Back then, she'd also thrown him out one time or the other. He deserved it in each case, and she couldn't help but remember one occasion especially, not too many months after they'd gotten to know each other …
"Hurry up," Tara had whispered.
"Won't be long, love."
She wanted to believe him, but by now she knew an empty promise when she heard one. The look on her face was therefore probing, which finally prompted him to vow, "Promise I'll be back soon. Two hours, no longer."
And when he still hadn't returned in the middle of the night, she'd long since weighed every possible way of hurting him back.
She hated wondering where he was.
Wondering what he was doing.
With whom …
She didn't even want to know, actually, and so she probably wouldn't ask. As long as she didn't know for sure, it wasn't so real.
Still it was painful, her friends hated him for the way he kept her entertaining his same old ways.
It couldn't be love. Love wouldn't hurt.
Downstairs she heard the front door being opened, she heard him coming upstairs, and he just had to be drunk by the way those heavy steps sounded …
She sat up on her bed, praying for patience in her mind, but yet another eternity passed before he even came in.
There he was, looking at her short of breath, apologetic.
It almost seemed as though he'd in fact hurried in the end …
"Darling, I'm tardy, I know," he said, trying his best to speak clearly. He did not quite succeed.
The lovebite on his neck, however, stuck out. It would soon be a bruise and was literally glowing, even in the dark.
She could feel this sight send chills down her spine, despite the Caribbean temperatures. In a split second, something inside her broke, and neither the best excuse nor the nicest apology could make up for it. There it was, her certainty.
"You are late," she heard herself say, her tone more dismissive than she would've thought possible at that time. "But how would you not be, you've clearly enjoyed yourself …"
She said it, her eyes never leaving his neck.
And when he followed her gaze, it was but a reflex to touch it.
"Oh, come on, love," he groaned, "that's nothing."
She shook her head. "It's not nothing …"
"You wouldn't believe me anyway …" He made it sound so casual, not realizing how hurt she was.
"Is that all you come up with?" she eventually asked, indignant by the very idea. She felt mad rage creeping up inside her. "You know what, Sparrow," she said under her breath, "you make me sick!"
He was too drunk to care, he wouldn't even try to explain himself. At least until Tara tried to leave, just away from him, she couldn't bear to be in his presence.
But he wouldn't have that either. Gently he held her back by the arm, hindering her from running away.
"Wait." His look was one of serious concern. "It's the middle of the night, Tara, where do you think you're going?"
How rarely he was worried for her …
"Away from you," she whispered, already annoyed at the tears she could feel well up.
"Listen, I just know all the world here in Tortuga, ever since I was a youth," he said rather wearily, then he gestured to his neck with a free hand. "Believe me for once when I say it was just a greeting of an old friend and nothing more."
"Your possessive guts would be hopping mad if my friends greeted me that way", she hissed. "And you know exactly why. Just admit what went down, or who, and –"
"Right afterwards I come back to you?" He could hardly see straight, but he'd shrug in wary disbelief. "Come, come, Sully, why would I even be here then, arguing with you – as we always seem to do lately."
"We argue because you're not to ever be believed! How am I supposed to trust you?"
"I told you from the beginning never to expect anything from me."
"And how cruel is that?"
He took a deep breath, glancing up to the ceiling. The shimmering harbour waters were dancing right there. "I'm so tired of apologising for the way I am. Because no matter what I do or say – you think I lie anyway."
"For good reason." Tara sighed, squirming out of his grip. "Instead of just speaking the bloody truth for once, you'd rather make me think I'm paranoid!"
She tried to leave again, and again he stopped her. But this time with words alone. Ridiculous, meaningless words.
"Darling, don't you go …"
He sounded so tired, longing was lacing his every word, and it wouldn't have mattered had she not loved him.
"I swear to you," he softly added, "that nothing happened. I just wanted to come home to you."
"Home?"
He shrugged, she could imagine he felt a bit dizzy when he glanced at her that lost. "You are … the closest thing to a home I ever wanted."
"How can you say that and go out there chasing other women?"
"Sometimes they chase me", he retorted. Meekly adding, "But ever since I know you, I'm faster … Uncatchable, like the Pearl."
"That grazing shot on your neck seems to indicate the opposite."
"Yet here I stand, willing to put up with your accusations despite hating to justify my actions …" Eventually his hands came to rest on her hips, and when she closed her eyes briefly, she felt his dry lips brushing her ear. "Call me a liar and hate me … But know that I try my best."
"That doesn't mean a thing, Sparrow," she grumbled. "When you're gone for hours and come back looking like that."
He all but sighed. "Close your eyes …"
"What?"
"Let me show you."
"No, I'll keep an eye on you."
"Fine, then …" He nevertheless lifted her chin, regarding her intently until she held her breath, only for him to proceed to breathe a kiss on the crook of her neck – right before he sucked on her skin, just for a heartbeat.
"What the hell!"
"See how fast that was?" He nodded. "Just like that."
"That wasn't necessary", she hissed, rubbing her neck.
"My words exactly!"
"And to whom, while we're at it?"
"Mercedes. She's inked this one, I've known her since forever." He motioned to the sparrow on his forearm. "Bit of a loose cannon, she is. My pain, her thrill. And that's all there is to it. So stay here," he said under his breath, his black eyes looking for lenience in hers. "Stay here with me, love, will you?"
"No. You know what? You won't. Get out."
"Nonsense –"
"No, I'm so tired of this, Jack. Sail away."
And instead of doing that, he pulled her into his arms – and she let him.
Now that she thought of it, it reminded her of how lenient she often was with him, even when he clearly didn't deserve it.
Not tonight, though. She wasn't in her mid-twenties anymore.
"Out. ¡Ahora mismo!"
"Spanish already after the second warning? Tara, why don't you just come over here right next to me and –"
"Move! Out of my bed."
Briefly he hesitated, but then he shook his head. "Pardon me, I can't possibly sleep on that bench, my back –"
"I couldn't care less about your back, Sparrow, I don't want you next to me."
He let that sink in, then decided it didn't bother him any further and there was no need to fight. "Just come here and –"
"Fine!" She grabbed one of the sheets, spread it over the wooden bench and lay down on it herself so that at least she wouldn't have to see him and his insolent face. It didn't take two heartbeats, however, before she heard him sigh from the bottom of his heart, and the very next moment she was lifted up by him and carried to the bed.
"Don't be ridiculous, like I'm going to let you sleep on this thing."
Placed in the bed, she didn't take her eyes off him as he circled the wooden frame, already making moves to lie down himself again.
"Don't even think about it!"
His searching gaze made him decide that her displeasure would fade.
But before he had made himself comfortable, she got up to move to the bench again. Nothing was fading …
"Tara," he moaned, "come back, why the hell can't we –"
"I'm not sleeping in the same bed as you! Either you get on the bench or I will."
For a moment they just stared at each other. He couldn't believe she was serious – and neither, for that matter, could she. But she wouldn't give in.
"All right," Jack finally sighed, manoeuvring her towards the bed before sitting down on the wooden bench. "Satisfied?"
"A little more than before."
"Well then. There you go."
"Thank you."
Never did that sound more ironic.
Never did he bite his tongue more.
She let herself sink into bed fully aware of it, wanting too much to feel a sense of triumph, but satisfaction at the sight of the father of her children on hard wood didn't quite come, even after quite a while of silence – much as he deserved it.
She stared at the ceiling, and his surrender – even without much subsequent grumbling and growling – was not bloody like him.
He obviously wanted her to be comfortable, even if it required him to make a sacrifice. This was so unlike him that soon she could no longer ignore the guilty conscience.
Lenient again.
"Sparrow," Tara eventually mumbled.
"Huh?"
She sat up to look at him. "I've changed my mind – come to bed …"
Ever the dramatist, he hesitated. "What if I don't want to come to bed anymore?"
"Tonto … "* Tara couldn't help but grin. "Then you don't."
She lay back down and, as was to be expected, the very next moment she heard him rise with a groan to fall into bed right next to her.
"You just can't be that cruel in the end."
"Magnanimity," she replied in self-mockery, "that's all."
"Christian neighbourly love?"
"So to speak. But that doesn't mean that we'll in any way –"
"What do you think of me?" Saintly, he assured, "Never would I take advantage of your kindness of heart."
"Oh really?"
"No, but since we are being such kind and exemplary believers …" He sat up again. "Why has your high opinion of the Church changed?"
She gulped. He knew how to change the subject abruptly, too …
"You don't need to know," she finally said. "And one more thing, Jack. If you're still snoring like you used to, you're out of this room in a heartbeat, I –"
"You better not snore like you used to, I need my beauty rest, savvy?"
She tried to hold back her laughter in vain. "I've never snored a second in my entire life!"
"I'll have to disappoint you there, love, whenever you've fallen asleep on your back –"
"With you on top of me, you mean?"
"You really bite," he chuckled, laying down beside her, annoyingly content, "but you did warn me, after all."
"You can still leave for the basket."
"I'm good." And before silence could fall, almost enraptured, he repeated, "We have children." He had done that over and over again throughout the day, as if he could believe it better like this.
"Yeah, I know."
"So do I by now. Crazy, isn't it?"
She closed her eyes, mad that even after all these years it still felt so bloody right to have him beside her. His body – probably due to his omnipresent sunstroke – radiated warmth to her even without any touch.
Until it didn't and it sounded like he was lying down on the floor. In fact, he was no longer in bed. She leaned over the edge a little and promptly looked into his sanctimonious face.
"What are you doing down there?"
"I'm afraid I need a harder surface after all."
Jack saw it clearly, her astonishment giving way to quiet concern. "You're really in pain."
He briefly narrowed his eyes with a mock-smile. Was he speaking Spanish? And even if he was – wouldn't she have to understand that?
"You've been mentioning it all day, sure," she whispered more to herself than to him.
"Does it make you happy?"
"That you're in pain?" She pursed her lips. But then she admitted, "A tiny bit, perhaps. Tiny bit …"
His troubled face promptly made her doubt it all. All her disappointment in him. The anger … So much so that she patted the bed and said, "Come here, let me look at your back."
He surveyed her in hesitation, trying to learn of her true intentions. "Are you … going to help? Or do you just want to torture me because you think I deserve it? An opinion I suppose I can't entirely deny you, but still –"
"As tempting as the latter seems, I pity you."
Bleakly, he stared up the ceiling, as though he was drifting off. "I'm really not pathetic enough for you to pity –"
"You're on the ground because your back hurts so bad. Jack, we all get older, you know, your father has an aching vertebra all the time –"
"For Heaven's sake, stop saying these incredible things, will you?"
"Do you see what it's like to have someone talk and talk?" Again she tapped the bed. "Come on, I can hardly watch it."
She complimented him back up, then made him take off his shirt and lie down. She quickly realised that the tattoo that stretched across his entire back had been joined by a few more scars over the last few years.
"What happened here?" she wanted to know, letting her finger hover over a spot she didn't yet know.
"Graze," he murmured, his face in the sheets.
She sighed and then anchored herself on his back.
"Take a few deep breaths," she ordered as she traced along his spine for bumps. Tense he was, that was probably no surprise after all the rowing, but that couldn't be all.
Be yourself, one of the phrases of the jet-black desiderata under his skin caught her eye, especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love.
She had been perpetually cynical about love ever since she had met Sparrow, but she'd never feigned affection. Loving him truly, she hadn't needed to.
Inevitably, she wondered whether he'd feigned it. But whenever he had been with her, she believed that he'd meant every word. On the other hand, right afterwards he'd usually disappear for weeks …
"Here?" she soon guessed and pressed a little harder below his shoulder blade.
The deep sound he made in response confirmed her suspicions.
The same spot would often vex Teague as well.
"Get up," she said, and also did just that herself. Then she waited for him to follow. Somewhat sceptically, he let her circle him until they were back to back. Then she wrapped her arms underneath his and said, "Don't move. Loosen up. Don't do anything."
"What exactly are you –"
She was already beginning to tilt her chest towards the floor – slowly pulling him along her back in her movement.
"Tara –"
"Shh!"
As his feet lifted off the ground for a moment and she paused, there was a dull, though clearly audible, crack in the middle of his body.
"Ahí está," she rejoiced, slowly reversing her motion until she no longer needed to hook his arms and stood in front of him again. "Better?"*
He thought about it for a moment. Bending back and forth a little, he let his shoulders wobble until he was looking at her with ridiculous dismay.
"¡Brujería!"
"Witchcraft?" Tara smirked. "No. Teague has that a lot, usually it helps. Do you think you can sleep now?"
"Probably better than ever," he replied. And he seemed so oddly grateful as he lay back down beside her.
"We have children …"
"Pipe down, Sparrow."
"So much happened today –"
"¡Cállate por fin!"*
"Yes, yes. I missed you, too."
*
Ahora mismo = Immediately
Tonto = stupid/stupid (here as a noun in the sense of stupid/stupid etc. *insert favourite*)
Ahí está = That's it
Cállate por fin = Shut up at last ^^
Dear ella, I'm really happy to read that you liked the chapter again, it's so great to know you enjoy this story :)
