Hi there,
this story was initially inspired by James Morrison's 'Broken Strings' feat. Nelly Furtado way back in the 2010s – and I'd say in this particular chapter that really shows …
Anyway, I hope you have fun!
xx Dalia
"He's no good." Almost eight years ago, Kate made herself even more comfortable on the Faithful Bride's old wooden stairs of the second floor despite the bitter truth she voiced. "Clearly."
Kate's look met hers, with all the sorrow and compassion that Tara didn't even want to see.
"I'll always be there for you." Kate nodded to emphasise it. "Unlike that insane lunatic …"
"And you know I love you, don't you?"
Kate gave her a wink. "Of course I do, who wouldn't. But Sully, pretty please – get rid of him."
She knew her best friend only tried to comfort her with motivation, but it all felt like a dead end.
"I've tried to," Tara eventually claimed, "but when I shut the door, he finds himself a window."
"Wasn't he clear enough tonight, though? The way you just told me. What are you waiting for? He said he didn't love you, darling! To say he can't give you what you need, that's just that. It results in it. Because if he wanted to try, he would."
Tara could feel her eyes well up again, but why even cry for a man that didn't care …
"Oh no, I didn't mean to make you –" Kate fell silent when she saw Tara's tears. "Come on," she hushed, already hugging her tightly to her, "don't you do that for such an egoist …"
The guest rooms behind them were not yet taken, but that would change during the course of the evening. It was Tortuga, after all.
The sound of laughter from the tavern below kept reaching them, and each time Tara was reminded that Sparrow was down there, too. Somehow he was always thriving when she got to her lowest point.
Who was she to him? A pastime, a merit of a harbour?
How could it be just that when he'd talk to her for hours after each voyage? When he couldn't get enough of her, when his embrace just felt bloody right …
Heaven on earth when he wanted it to be. He could be charming and attentive and make her laugh, he could make her happy. But he didn't consistently want to …
Slightly drunk or maddeningly jealous he'd go ruin it ever so often, bloody free as he just had to be.
"You've never been so quiet. In general, I mean." Kate gave her a sad smile. "I don't know you like that, Sully. Ever since you met him, I feel like you've lost your voice. That's not good."
His white lies were what made her question herself so much. And the way he just left her without a warning, as though it wasn't even worth telling her. The way he'd get mad because she rightfully questioned him. How she felt the need to appease him even though it ought to be the other way around.
"It's the constant back and forth," Tara heard herself say. "I'm just … tired." Little did she know she wasn't only tired, but pregnant with his children. "He keeps telling me how I'm his closest thing to a home, then he barely looks at me and is gone again just to crawl back eventually …"
"He doesn't know what he wants," Kate summarized. "He can't be trusted."
"I know," Tara sighed. "But our good days are perfect …"
"But few, and the many bad days break you. I see that." Kate sighed. "He's just a pirate –"
"But he doesn't act like one when he's with me." Tara slowly shook her head. "He's a good man at heart. He just … keeps forgetting that himself quite frequently, I think."
"And you want to spend your best years of life reminding him? Sully! He pulls you back whenever you're about to leave. He can't go out of his way to appreciate you, but then again, nobody else may love you. That's just crazy."
"I so wanted this to work."
"But it doesn't. He won't change."
"He never lied about that."
"Don't talk like him. It's his fault. Not yours."
And still she knew that as soon as she saw him again – practically inevitable in the same tavern – her stomach would turn as though she was the one to blame.
"What are you asking me?" His cold gaze kept haunting her, he wouldn't even let her take his hand. His mood could swing so suddenly, and that was supposed to be her fault.
"Just let me know when you'll set sail again, how are you upset when that's all I'm –"
"I'm not upset, you are. Constantly so, Tara, whenever I'm around for more than two weeks you start acting as though I was human's wrong for doing what I always do."
"Then do it differently, has that ever occurred to you? Tell me your plans, cut the constant cheating and –"
"I haven't touched another woman in months, Tara, you're a handful all on your own, trust me."
"You claim that! You say it, but you say so much all the time, all while I see with my own eyes how you –"
"How I what, what is there to see? Me still talking to women?"
"Whenever I talk to men, you treat me like human's wrong!"
"No, I'm just so tired of our mess, Tara, this is precisely why I need to get away all the time!"
"It's not! And you know it. You need this. You crave our mess, it's only ever too much for you when I try to trust you, when you know that I care –"
"I'm not having that conversation tonight."
"Why the hell not?"
"It's just not that deep." He took a breath, frowning as though she was the crazy one. Maybe she was. Maybe they both were crazy … "Here now, listen. I never claimed to be right for you. I'm not what you need, but I never wanted to be right for anyone but myself, and I don't need anyone to need me. I won't ever be around before sundown, I loathe staying in one place for more than a week, I need movement! I need you to hate me. Because see, I can't handle your love. Can we get that into your pretty head for good or can we not?
Who did he even think he was …
"I'm done crying," she suddenly announced. "I need another man."
"Yes!" Kate immediately cheered. "Good!"
"A better man."
"A much better man, yes, that's more like you!"
"Now."
"Now?" Kate was puzzled. "What do you mean by that, now?"
"To be sure Sparrow's aware what he's going to miss, I need another, much better man right now. I'll organize one."
"What? No! Wait!"
But it was too late. Tara was already on her way down, quite manic at that.
"Oh, come on," Kate whispered to herself, massaging her temples, "not the lousy games again, what did I do …"
He couldn't truly listen to Gibbs' old navy tales. He'd heard the stories all before, but it wasn't even for that reason.
Rather for Tara.
The very Tara he'd bitterly disappointed yet again. The woman that made him come back for more and still had to thoroughly doubt him each time. He gave her every reason to and told her to her face it wasn't so.
Tough luck it was how he hated the thought of her being touched by another man.
She knew how to play dirty just like him, how to mess with a head – he taught her, after all.
His indifference caused the worst pain he could ever inflict on her, he was aware of that. But right now, she badly challenged that indifference.
He kept watching her in the dim light of the tavern, daring as he'd met her. She'd been much too lenient to him as of lately, she was too kind in the light of his possessive nature, and so frustrated because of him.
Fury, on the other hand, always suited her hellishly well.
The way she sat at the counter, laughing with a man she didn't even know, made him realise once more he cared.
A great deal at that …
"Captain, are you listening?"
"Always," he lied, more to himself than to Gibbs, not taking his eyes off Tara and the far too talkative man.
That stranger kept laughing, now and then he'd wink in such an awful good mood – and Tara actually seemed to enjoy it. She seemed to be alive again, while with him she'd held her breath as of lately.
And yet he couldn't stand to witness it.
"Here, rum." A massive waitress placed some jugs on the table and disappeared just as quickly as she'd come out of the blue.
She kept saying he'd drink too much.
Did he, though?
And why would she care?
Because he'd be reckless. Tardy. Rough.
That's why.
Because he'd just claim to her face that he couldn't be bothered enough to give anything back to her when she was the one person on earth that actually made him happy.
He loved to be loved by her. He hated to admit that to himself because of those wretched dependencies and the gratitude it created in him, but hell – he loved the way she took care of him, the way she saw to it he'd eat, not drink, stay alive … That pure magic of a home he never had any chances of getting used to.
But in return? He'd lie and shoot for her, of that he was sure. He'd fly to world's end again just to feel her touch on his skin.
But what he simply couldn't do, and wouldn't do, was change himself to be the kind of reliable man she deserved.
He had no idea how.
And it simply wasn't who he wanted to be.
"Such a humble, young man." Jack frowned while looking over to her and her target.
"Come again?" Gibbs had no idea what he was talking about, but he sensed that Jack wouldn't clear up the confusion for him.
"Enjoy Tortuga, mate."
And with that, he got up and strived to do the same again.
She didn't even notice him approaching, not until the man she was talking to seemed somewhat puzzled.
"Can we help you?" he asked and subsequently made her turn around as well.
"She's just using you, son. Call it a day."
"How dare you?" She was so mad she didn't even raise her voice.
Odd … "So calm again? Darling, are you intoxicated?"
It took all her religious discipline not to slap him. "No, I keep witnessing the most questionable effects of alcohol through you. It's quite repelling."
"Well, I am drunk most of the time, still we're magnetic. Maybe we simply shouldn't take it all so very seriously, aye?"
She frowned. "If we were both as self-destructive and careless as you, who'd come to patch your wounds up?"
"I always get by, love, always did, always will."
"With and without me, sure. You don't need me." Yet she shook her head. "By telling yourself nothing you'd ever want could be of serious nature, you lie to yourself. You crave a bit of that stability you've never had, but in your pride, it's just not who you wish to see yourself as. It's painful to watch a clever man so lost."
She was much too right about it all. But he just said, "You're free to turn a blind eye, then."
"Oh, you make me sick!"
She had no idea yet how true that statement would actually turn out to be …
"And you expect this boy of all people to remedy that?" He turned to the very man, both eyebrows raised. "That's what I call high expectations."
Tara frowned, "You made sure I don't have expectations anymore."
"I feel I should leave now," the man Tara had been talking to mumbled.
"Great intuition, lad, highly impressive."
"Shut up, Sparrow!" With a much softer glance, she turned to the young stranger. "I wish you nothing but success in the West."
"Aye, may the West be all you wish it to be," Jack saintly added.
The man smiled in quite visible embarrassment – and off he went.
"Done toying with my jealously?" In all seriousness Sparrow asked that question. "You proved your point, Sully."
"I thoroughly doubt that."
"I know I owe you heaven while giving you hell instead. I just …" It wasn't often that he didn't know what to say. And for a moment there, she believed they might make it work if only he saw and voiced his truth for once.
She clung to his lips, longing, praying even, for him to find the right words, to open up and communicate with her – just so she could scratch up the shattered pieces of what they were once meant to be to take heart to put them back together.
He saw it in her eyes, all that rightful expectation.
Potentially, he could tell her the truth. Likely that would've been the best option. To tell her he indeed had deep feelings for her, but simply didn't know how to trick his bloody head into a form of commitment he'd practically already signed up for by coming back to her all the time. As long as they had no label, it wouldn't vex him – even though their dynamic remained the very same, with or without a definition. But of course she needed one.
So either the truth, or he lied to her face once again just to make sure she'd stay close. So she'd keep tolerating his behaviour, aware of the truth anyway while becoming more and more unhappy wasting her time on him.
How pointless and messed up it all was.
He couldn't cough up his truth, because he'd never done that, but neither could he tell her more lies.
So he brought them back to where they'd started that night, with his same old supposed indifference when he only just repeated, "Well, you proved your point."
And as it was to be expected, it was the careless attitude voiced in but few words that broke her heart for good again. The lack of trying and his pride as a mere disguise for those deeply rooted fears of having something to lose. Without that honesty, it simply was no use.
"I proved my point, well … What even for." In the midst of a crowd of people she felt more lonely than ever in his presence. "What's it good for when we'll never get it right."
And this time, she truly believed that they wouldn't.
She got up to get away. Out into the warmth of a Caribbean night where the ocean's waves could be heard from afar already.
That would always be left of paradise, even in a stronghold of piracy.
"Out and about all alone, missy?"
Gruff voices of drunk men came along with Tortuga, and they all sounded so alike.
Yet again, not quite. Sparrow was indeed drunk a lot, but he never sounded threatening – only like a bad idea inviting itself in …
She swiftly walked on, thinking it could still be paradise if only stranded men wouldn't whistle after every female creature for merely existing. But that wasn't even the worst. Their attempts to constantly touch –
"Keep your dirty hands to yourself, good sir, will you," she heard the voice of bad ideas shoo a man away from her while quickly catching up.
"You can't just walk away at night and –"
"As though you cared."
"I obviously do, here I am –"
"Until you aren't anymore. What about those nights?" She came to a halt at one of the tiny docks, with boxes of all sizes piled up behind them. Chaos in order.
She went ahead until she saw the water in between the boxes again. Staring at the smooth surface she heard his staggering steps right behind her. She heard his frustration as well, the way he let a harsh breath out …
"Come, come now, did you expect me to just let you go like that?"
"I don't know what I expect anymore. But now that you're here, maybe it's easier to part ways for good if we don't have to scream the reasons for it in a loud tavern."
He heard how sober she was, and he somewhat knew she'd already made her decision to follow through with it this time.
"Heavens, I hate that with a passion," he heard himself groan.
"What precisely?"
"This part right here, going through reasons, ending up worse than even before … I've always skipped this. I wanted to skip it with you each time, the tide just took me back to you and eventually I knew even if I'd want to run away, I'd soon love to return. And you let me."
"And why's that? To hell with it, Sparrow. I gave you everything, and I loved to, you know that. I let you do whatever you had to, just so you'd at least be back." She turned around to face him, he was to see the pain he caused. "But it's too exhausting by now. I'm not like this, I'm not angry all the time, I'm not sad or –"
"You were grieving when I met you."
"I mourned my father, yes. And in a way, the chaos that is you helped with that, but while you keep moving, constantly in all your flamboyance, while you see it all, do it all – I'm here. I'm just here."
Her tired frown finally caused him to meekly nod.
Of course he got it …
"I wait, Jack. For you. For you to return in whatever mood you're in, to play along because you mean the world to me. But I simply don't mean enough to you to keep doing that. I've never been so passive, and I won't allow myself to be any longer. I also need to move."
"I do have a ship."
"You move away from me for a reason. It's not just that you need the ocean. Spiritually, you don't let me get to you."
She let that sink in, and his silence spoke volumes.
"I thought if we gave it time, if I gave you time – because you've so obviously never seen steady love before, and it's hard for a man like you – I thought we could become something that's worth it. But we're only moving in circles. I gave you more nights than I can count, and still most of my days are lonely. You're not enough. I'm not enough. I'm not a ship, I'm no freedom. I'd only be an anchor."
"You have no idea how much I wanted you as an anchor." There he went again, pouring useless hope into her heart like he only did when he knew he was about to lose her. "You've always been more than enough, Tara, you have it all. All I ever wanted. But in my life, whenever I truly wanted something, I didn't quite deserve it."
"You could live up to anything. You just don't want to."
He slowly shook his head. "We bloody well know things can never be that simple."
"No, you make them complicated because that's all you've ever known."
"Probably a sign," he said.
"Probably." It broke her to proceed, but this had to end. "Te quiero de verdad, pero vaya con dios. Let me forget you."
"I don't want to do that." He whispered it, it seemed almost childish to him to even do so, still he'd said it. Why it felt so safe to be honest now, when it was too late to matter anyway, he would have to dissect afterwards.
Or just bury along with those strange feelings of guilt and longing and hope and regret – indeed the latter seemed easier.
"But you also don't want to do what it takes to make us work. Can't you see that it's ultimately not only my expectations that break us, but yours also? We both can't live that way."
The devastated smile he gave her now made her cry for good, and she hated him even more for it.
So much hate in her heart that she simply had to tiptoe – to let him kiss her goodbye. He held her tightly, his lips longing for hers more than ever since once again, through the mechanism that had defined his life for as long as he could remember, nothing too good was ever to last for him. He was craving badly to see her smile throughout her lifetime, have her shout at him, hear her laughter and make her moan so her nails left traces down his spine. It crossed his mind how oddly right it would be for her to carry his children, beautiful and clever they would certainly be. But who the hell should be cursed with a father that couldn't ever care enough to be around? No, he'd hardly be better than Teague, it just wasn't in his blood to break a cycle.
So none of that would find a place in this lifetime, or so he thought. Not if he ever wanted Tara to truly be happy.
"Sail away," she eventually whispered, crying into his shirt while he kept hugging her to himself. "And take care, don't die. But don't come back this time."
And for about seven years, he wouldn't.
Not because he'd actually intended to do what she'd asked him, but because he had no idea where he even had to go to ignore her will.
