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A Girl, An Ocean {A Black Sails fanfic} Ch. 8

Fandom: Black Sails Rating: Teen and up audiences Warnings: Graphic violence, character death Characters: Billy Bones, Jean DuBois, protagonist OC, supporting OCs Relationships: Billy Bones/OC, Hal Gates/OC (paternal), Max/OC (friends), Jean duBois/OC (bffs), James Flint/OC (mentor) Additional tags: Original character-centric, first person POV, canon character x original character romance, self-discovery journey, kinda alternative prequel to canon, canon compliant, slow burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, tooth-rotting sweetness, cute but also sexy, angst galore, found family, Hal Gates has two children now, canon typical violence Series: Part One of Six of A Girl, An Ocean Chapters: 8/13 Summary: During Constance's first time participating in a plunder, an important lesson about the need for violence in a pirate's life is learned, with devastating consequences.

Author's note: A bittersweet chapter, this one was. Hard to write, too. Still, I hope I did okay. And apologies for the two week delay!!! They have been absolute hell and I hate everything except this fic right now.

Chapter viii.

Alas, the day had finally arrived: my first time over the side.

We spotted our prize about a month after we set out from Nassau. British colors. Large. Couldn't be at sea for long, not with Kingston so close by, which would mean that, valuables aside, it would be full of fresh supplies we could use for ourselves, allowing us more time on the hunt, more prizes and better pay when we finally decided to return. A lucky strike, indeed.

However, I would be lying if I didn't say I wasn't struck by fear when Mr. Gates came up to me and the other new recruits to tell us it was time for us to show what we were made of. He explained our strategy like this:

“Contrary to what you might have been told, the most desirable outcome for a pirate crew isn't subjugation by force. It is surrender by intimidation. The stories about bloodthirsty pirates you may have heard are all based on truth, but they have also been carefully crafted and embellished to instill as much fear into our prey as possible. This is on purpose, so that when we raise our colors, the prize crew will be so thoroughly frightened of dying that surrender becomes their only option. Not so epic as you thought it was, aye?”

Most of us managed a chuckle and I even dared to feel some relief, precocious a reaction as it might have been. Gates continued his speech.

“So, here's what we will do: we will raise a British flag so that they won't be alarmed too soon and run away, and once we are close enough, we'll strike the British flag and raise our banner. Most likely, they will raise the white flag of surrender, let us board peacefully and give us run of the ship in exchange for their safety and the guarantee that we will let them leave unharmed. However, given the size of this ship, there is a chance they might put up a fight. In that case, we will move to the alternative plan: outright slaughter until they give up to prevent more deaths.”

I exchanged an anxious look with Jean, who stood at my side. He had also been ordered to participate in the attack and I noticed his face was much paler than usual, almost the same shade as his blond hair. Even so, he tried to reassure me with a smile, though it was tremulous and barely reached his eyes.

“Now, I know what you're all thinking.” Gates observed our expressions of trepidation. ““I've never killed a man in my life. What if I choke? What if I don't have it in me?” And to that, all the advise I can offer you is this: when you find yourselves on the other side of the abyss, you will have to fight for your lives, because if you don't, you will die. Make no mistake, people. In any plunder, there's always a chance that the worst comes to pass and you see yourselves in a situation where it's either kill or be killed. And I, for one, would like to see every one of your faces at mess tonight, so do me a favor and fight. I know taking a man's life isn't an easy matter, especially when it's your first time, nor should it be. But in this line of business, it's a necessary evil. If any of you find yourselves struggling to come to terms with it after it's all over, you can always come to me. Alright? I mean that. There is nothing you might do on that ship there that I probably haven't done myself, so I will never judge you. Come see me if you wish to talk about your experience and we will figure it out together.”

I and the other recruits nodded in understanding.

“Pay attention to your orders. They will come either from the captain, myself or the boatswain. Remember your training, stay calm and save your shots for targets close by. Survival instinct is a powerful thing, so if you get into trouble, trust yourselves to find a way to get out of it because in that mess, it's every man for himself. Any questions?”

No one spoke up, though I noticed poor Will Robins was looking rather green. I couldn't blame him – I was feeling rather queasy myself.

“Then good luck and try not to die.” Mr. Gates gave the nearest recruit a pat on the back and walked away to see to preparations.

Jean and I went into the hold to choose our weapons. Ever since my lessons in gunfight had begun, I'd started carrying an old flintlock on my belt at all times to get used to its weight and practice reaching for it in case I needed it. Most of the time it was loaded, but thank heavens I had never had to use it. Not until that day. Given that it was quite worn and more prone to misfiring, I inspected the other pistols and selected a better one, just in case.

While I cleaned and loaded it, Jean sharpened the edge of his cutlass. Neither of us had said anything, yet. Too scared to face what we were to confront in an hour or two. Still, I could sense he was eager to bring up the subject; he was just raising the courage to actually open his mouth. Since I was almost too frightened to even think about it, I didn't mind waiting.

When he was satisfied with how sharp the blade felt under his thumb, he sheathed it and glanced at me.

“Nervous?” He jested.

I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Y-yeah...”

His frail smile fell away. “Me, too. I've been in plenty of fights before, but I never actually killed anyone. I wonder what it feels like...”

“I would rather I never found out, to be honest,” I confessed with a sigh.

“Then you should have chosen a different job,” he chuckled.

I knew he didn't really mean it; he was just trying to pacify us both. I snorted and shook my head. “Silly me.”

Jean sat back and looked up at the open hatch. We could hear the veterans run back and forth while preparing the guns. They laughed and joked with each other like it was a normal day, like the idea of killing or dying didn't bother them one bit. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to feel jealous of their grit or horrified at their callousness.

“We're never going to be the same after today, are we?” He mused.

At the sword rack, I weighted each blade in my hands to try and find one suitable to me. The one I practiced with had a dull blade and was useless. As I stared down at a cutlass that was neither too light nor too heavy for my hand, I felt my whole upper body slump.

“No...” I mumbled. “I suppose we won't.”

“Promise me something?” Jean said in this vague, dispirited tone that made me turn to him with a frown.

“What?”

He hung his head and rolled one of his silver rings around his fingers. “After it's done... And assuming we are both still alive by then... Promise you won't see me different. That this vile act of ending a human life won't change the nature of our friendship, even if it changes us as people. Let's promise we won't judge or resent each other for it... Alright?”

This time, my smile was genuine. I buckled the cutlass to my hip, walked toward him, then held out my right hand. Jean looked down at it, grinned with relief and took it, giving it a firm shake.

“I promise I will still adore you after you become a cold blooded murderer,” I told him.

In return, he laughed from the bottom of his heart. “And I promise you will still be my best friend after you turn into a savage pirate.”

He got up and pulled me into a warm hug so that we could hold onto each other for a good long minute, taking comfort in our bond, finding courage in our friendship, seeking solace in knowing that, whatever happened, we would always have each other to rely on. He really had become like a brother to me, in the short time I knew him.

“God watch over and protect you from harm, Jean duBois,” I muttered against his shoulder.

“You too, Constance Tilly,” he replied quietly. “And if I don't make it, you can have my stash of cannabis leaf. It's hidden in the paprika can in the galley.”

I burst into laughter. “And no one has ever found it?? How is that possible?”

Jean parted from my embrace and rubbed one of his eyes with a chuckle. “Randall detests the smell of paprika, so he never touches that can. And since he's the cook... Neither did anyone else.”

“Incredible.”

“Oui... Don't tell anyone about it. Gates would have my head, Billy would sock me in the mouth and everyone else would try to steal it.”

I had to look away and pretend something had gotten into my eyes. It was hard to convince myself that all would be well, that somehow the two of us would survive to see our next adventure. I was far more scared than I let on; I didn't want him to worry about me. But... Seeing him snuff and shake his head gave me the impression he was just as frightened.

“Fuck no,” I said once I was sure there was no trace of water works on my face. “That stash is ours. I'm not letting anyone near it for as long as I live.”

“You said it.” He took a deep breath, let it out in a long exhale and rolled back his shoulders with a smile. “Meet you at the highcastle tonight? So we can look at the stars and talk about what it was like?”

I nodded. “I'll be there.”

“Good. Now... Let's go, before they accuse us of trying to hide and hang us by the toes from the bowsprit for the sharks.”

Together, sufficiently armed and mostly ready to face death, we climbed the hatch into the gundeck.

***

At four bells – roughly ten in the morning – we came about our prey and raised the black flag. My crew waited with baited breath to see how the other would respond. Somehow, the silence that permeated the Walrus' deck was more unnerving than if the men had been hollering. With my cross clutched tight in my hand, I prayed that the prize crew would surrender, so that no one needed to die and neither I nor Jean had to put ourselves at risk.

Unfortunately, luck was not on our side that day.

Fat as she was, the ship had no hope to outpace us at such a short distance, which left her only one choice: to fight. When Sayeed announced she was coming around and opening the port holes on the leeward side, Billy ordered the gun crews to stand at the ready.

Jean and I stood out of the way, up on the surface deck, to observe and learn as they loaded the cannons, fired them, then loaded them again at astonishing speed. Our prize had more guns than we did, but soon it became clear her crew had little idea of how to use them to their advantage. Under Flint's command, we stayed out of their range, used the winds to come around, aimed for the masts and the rigging using chain shot. The Walrus was simply too fast for her to keep up and a lot of her shots ended up wasted as a consequence.

“Merchants have no fucking clue how to fight,” Gates had cackled.

Sooner than I had anticipated, we were side by side with our prey, under fire from pistols, muskets and blunderbusses. Hand grenades were tossed over to disperse the sailors we fought against, even as we were getting shot at.

But the part that struck me most was the posturing. I remembered the day the Delilah had been attacked by these men, their wild howls, the stomping, the roars. Most of them wore some kind of warpaint, like Billy, who'd smeared tar across his face, chest and arms. He had seemed so frightening to me, the first time I'd seen him. Now, however... Now, he reminded me of the handsome barbarian from a novel I had read years ago, one who kidnapped a princess and then fell in love with her.

My body's reaction to seeing him march around the ship like that was much different than it had been that first time. Blushing fiercely, I could hardly believe myself for having lustful thoughts about Billy Bones when I was about to join an assault where people would die. What an idiot I was.

Sat against the rails, flintlock held tight in both hands, I tried to make sense of the confusion around me – the bodies running back and forth, the cacophony of screams, cannon fire, pistols going off and grenades exploding, the growing cloud of acrid smoke that made me tear up, and the sound of my own heart pounding in my ears.

Long fingers grasped at my right arm just as I felt a shudder going through the ship. I turned with a slack mouth while struggling to breath from the fumes, and barely distinguished Jean's smiling face through the haze of tears. He was trying to tell me something, but my hearing was shot to hell and there was too much noise around us. All I did was nod absently in response.

Then he let go of my arm, stood up and got on the rails before jumping over along with the rest of the vanguard. That was probably what he was trying to say. This was it, the moment of truth.

I, too, stumbled up to my feet and took a peek over the railings. When I didn't immediately get a bullet to the forehead, I took a deep breath, hacked right after and also got on the rails.

The distance between the two ships seemed impossibly far. There was no way I could make it across. Hesitant and afraid, I looked at my crewmates to watch how they did it. Most of them weren't getting over the railings in a single leap, either; instead, they hurled themselves over and grabbed onto nets hanging from the prey ship's side. I don't know when they had been deployed, but that didn't matter much, only that they were there.

A kick of panic rattled my stomach when I looked down at the slit of ocean between the two hulls, several feet below me. The others had warned me not to fall in the water during an attack because I would probably get crushed instantly. However, in that moment, I was more worried about getting shot. I knew that if I stood there motionless for much longer, that was exactly what was going to happen. So, I shut my eyes tight and willed my nerves to settle.

If I don't move now, I will die, I told myself. Jump for the nets. Trust yourself to survive. You can do this. You can do this!

As my palms sweated and my teeth chattered, I remembered how scared I had been to fight Cutthroat Fred, how my body came alive the moment I realized it wouldn't fail me regardless of how weak I felt. I had survived this far. Surely, if God willed it, I would survive this, too. I had it in me all along, I knew this, now. All I had to do was jump.

I shot my eyes open, clipped my pistol to my belt.

“I can do this,” I said to no one. “I can do this.”

Jump!

I swung back my arms, kicked my feet and I flew.

The hull of the ship hit my front like a wagon full of bricks rolling downhill. For an instant, I saw nothing but black and felt nothing apart from the blood running down my chin. When I came awake from the blackout, I shook my head and looked up.

My hands were hooked tight to the nets. I had made it!

Laughter rose from deep in my belly, racking my lungs, filling me with courage. I seized it with everything I had and started climbing. I was still frightened. I still dreaded the moment I would be forced to end a man's life to preserve my own. But I had successfully jumped to the other side and that was cause for celebration, thank you very much.

At last, I reached the rails and hauled myself over. Everywhere I looked, I saw bodies clashing, swords flashing, blood spilling. It was all out slaughter, just like Gates said. I took a step forward and slipped on something spongy, something that squelched beneath my boots as I battled to stay upright. A little voice in my head told me it was best if I didn't look to see what it was. Instead, I pulled out my pistol and charged.

The first man that came in my direction was old, at least sixty, with a thick gray beard and balding hair, but beneath the wrinkled skin of his arms, the hard, wiry muscle was still quite firm. He held a bloodied dagger in his hand, which he raised above his head with a fearsome cry as he ran forward with murder in his eyes. I lifted my gun, finger locked onto the trigger and... I froze.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't. There was no forgiveness for killing another man, no penance. He was only a sailor obeying orders, trying to get by in an pitiless world, same as I. What right did I have to--

His head exploded in a cloud of crimson. I screamed while his lifeless body dropped at my feet, eyes rolling back in his skull, empty. The dagger was still clutched in his fist.

With quick, panicked breaths, I stared at the ghastly hole on his temple. A pool of blood formed slowly around his head. I scurried back from it, nearly throwing myself over the rails when my lower back clashed with it. I couldn't stop staring. It had happened so fast.

However, there was no time to fret over my first experience seeing a dead body, for soon enough, another sailor was in my sights, this one much closer. By the time I saw him, he was already on me, cutlass pointed at my belly. He would have gotten me, if I hadn't stepped aside at the last minute. Even then, I felt his blade scrape on my leather vest.

The blade might have been avoided, but his heavy body still fell on top of mine. His free hand found my throat and squeezed. His grip was relentless, like a fucking vice, so strong that I was certain he would crush my wind pipe. It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony of not being able to breathe. As I gasped for air that wouldn't come, I struggled to maneuver the pistol. At the same time, he fought to get the tip of his cutlass in the tight space between our bodies. Black dots were beginning to swim in my vision, but I could still see well enough to reach out with my left hand and grab his wrist. I wasn't strong enough to hold him back, but I could still throw off his aim by simply pushing his arm around, which bought me time. I knew I wouldn't last much longer, though. I could barely make out his features. My head felt dangerously light. My body was growing weaker by the second. I was going to die. Then, I thought about Jean standing alone at the highcastle later that night to mourn me. My flintlock found his side. I pulled the trigger.

The sailor's shriek blended with the blast of the pistol, but all I remember was the relief I felt when my lungs filled up with precious air and gun smoke. On my knees with one arm around the rails, I hacked and coughed, massaged my throbbing throat. That was too damn close.

When I recovered and my vision returned to normal, I turned to see my opponent holding to his side, which oozed blood like a fountain. He was still very much alive, however. Through gritted teeth, he raised his pained eyes at me, took a deep breath and swung his cutlass.

In one wide swoop, I unsheathed my own blade and blocked his attack, just as I had done so many times during training. Honestly, I could hardly believe I'd done it, but the fact was that the man's cutlass had effectively been pushed aside instead of cutting me down. I stared at my weapon in awe, then chided myself for getting distracted and pushed up to my feet, ready to fight.

But the other was bleeding too heavily. He hunched over as he struggled to stay upright. His breath was shallow, I could hear how it whistled with each inhale. Even so, he brought up his cutlass and even managed to stumble a couple of steps toward me, before he simply fell and never got up again.

I stood there a moment, just... looking. Assimilating what I had just done. It was vile, despicable, grotesque... evil. So, then... why did I feel nothing?

That realization snapped me out of what I could only describe as shock, and a wave of nausea rose from my gut. The ironic part wasn't that I was tormented by the act of killing in itself, though. It was that I was disturbed over the fact that it didn't horrify me as much as it ought to.

"I'm sorry," I whispered shakily. Out of habit or maybe because I could feel His scrutiny over me, my fingers found my cross and held it tight. "Lord, forgive me... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...!"" But the battle wasn't won, yet. I had to keep going. Somehow, I had to shake it off and fight. If I didn't, I would either get killed or one of my crewmen would die. Later, I would find Jean and we would talk it all over. Right now, I had to fight.

Through the blur of running bodies and the deafening ruckus, one thing caught my attention. Or rather, someone.

By the main mast, Billy was going toe-to-toe with a man much larger than him. In terms of height, they were evenly matched, but his adversary had twice the width and, as I watched in horror while Billy received one, two, three punches to the gut followed by a headbutt, twice the strength.

The man grabbed him by the neck with one hand, lifted him into the air like he weighted nothing and threw him on the blood stained floor, which he hit with a loud bang! His cutlass skidded away from his reach and for a frightening moment, he didn't move.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Billy was the largest man I had seen before today. He was as sturdy as an oak and as imposing as a mountain. He had climbed an entire ship with no support lines to rescue me. He was strong as an ox and relentless as the north wind.

But in the end, Billy Bones was just a man - and he could die as easily as any other.

Despite the heavy blow, he was still alive; I could see him blinking quickly to dispell the stars that no doubt were floating in his vision, but he bled profusely from his forehead.

Standing over him, that monster of a man raised his sword with an animal snarl, ready to bury it in Billy's chest.

I tossed my empty pistol and cutlass aside. My feet flew of their own free will. I forgot I was only 154 centimeters tall and a woman. I forgot I was barely a month into the pirate life. As I pulled out my hunting knife, I forgot how weak I was in comparison to the beast about to kill my friend. And even if all these things had been present in my mind, it didn't matter. Billy was in danger and I had to save him, whatever the cost.

I leaped onto the man's back and drove my blade into his chest.

The man bellowed at the top of his lungs while he staggered away from Billy. Using the blade stuck in his chest, I hauled myself up to get a better grip around his shoulders. My fingers grasped tight to his shirt, legs hugging his sides like he was a very big horse. All so I wouldn't fall off, all so I could keep his attention on me rather than on Billy. I wrenched the knife out of his chest only to bury it in again, and again, and again.

Blood gushed out in arching strings with each stroke of mine. The man screamed louder. I was screaming too; with fear, with rage, with a single intent in mind: kill, kill, kill.

Then, a fat hand was on my hair and pulled so hard I thought my scalp was going to come right off. In a flash, I was vaulted over the man and hit the ground hard enough to cut my breathing.

Through the pain on my back and head, I looked up and rolled to the side, just in time to avoid getting my head crushed by a giant foot. I tried to stand up, even though I didn't have a weapon (my knife was still lodged in his chest) but slipped on all the blood coating the wood boards and fell on my back once more.

Helpless, with adrenaline rushing through my veins, I shuffled backwards in an attempt to get away from my attacker. He followed after me, hate burning bright in his eyes, white shirt stained red from all the gashes I'd inflicted on him. He lifted his sword--

Billy surged in front of me and buried his blade to the hilt into the man's belly.

There was a moment when the giant sailor seemed... confused. He glanced down at the cutlass in his gut, then at Billy and down at his belly again.

Teeth bared and his face twisted into a snarl, Billy gave the cutlass a violent tug that cut the other's stomach open. When he pulled out, masses of pink flesh spilled onto the deck. They reminded me of skinned eels.

My own gut lurched as I brought a hand to it, like I'd been the one who had just been disemboweled. I'd never seen a more grotesque vision in my life.

The man dropped his sword and fell to his knees, face pale and still confused as he looked at his own intestines. Taking advantage of his hunched position, Billy swung down with a final blow and lopped his head clean off.

Blood spurted out everywhere. It covered every inch of my skin, got in my eyes, in my mouth. I convulsed at that iron taste on my tongue and thought I would vomit right there. Even with eyes shut tight, I couldn't get the image of guts spilling out and heads flying out of my mind. They would haunt my nightmares in the weeks that followed. Sometimes, years later, I still dream about it.

Someone shook my shoulder, called my name. I opened my eyes.

Billy was crouched in front of me, face also stained red with blood. I could see his hand on my shoulder, but it was like being touched by a ghost. I could barely feel it. He was saying something, but I couldn't make it out through the thrum of my pulse in my ears.

"W... What.?" I babbled.

"Get up." He sprung to his feet and extended a hand. "It's not over yet."

No, it wasn't. Around us, the battle raged on. A lot of dead sailors littered the deck, but I didn't linger on their faces too much for fear of recognizing someone. Instead, I took Billy's hand and let him pull me to my feet.

"You're doing great," he told me with a firm pat on my back. "Go get 'em."

And he was gone.

I barely had time to process what had just happened when yet another sailor lunged at me, sword in hand. God, when would it end??

Gasping, I side-stepped to avoid the blade, reached for mine--

Gone!

That's right, I had dropped it in my rush to save Billy. All I had on me was the old pistol. As I stumbled backward, I pulled it out, aimed it and squeezed the trigger, but I was too slow. My new opponent knocked it out of my hand with a swing of his sword. When he lunged again, he missed my side by mere inches.

No cutlass, no pistols, not even a knife. I had to find something, fast! There were plenty of discarded flintlocks and muskets on the deck, probably empty. I searched, searched, as he came closer and closer.

There! My cutlass! It was only a few steps behind the man attacking me. If I could just get past him...

I forced myself to stay still despite all instincts yelling at me to run. I watched him carefully, waited. Then, when he lifted his sword to strike, I dove forward, pushed him out of the way and grabbed my cutlass. I turned around and got in position.

We circled around like dogs, evaluating each other, trying to find an opening. The sailor was young, not much older than I was, and he stared at me with such spite, such blind hatred, I was taken aback. Around and around we went, he with his sword, I with my cutlass. He mock attacked to test my defenses, but I deflected. I recalled Billy's lessons in search of anything that might give me an edge, no matter how small.

Wait for your enemy to come to you. Wear out his patience. Let him attack in frustration, that's when the mistakes happen. And then, exploit those mistakes.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted a cluster of barrels I could use as a barrier. The young sailor had the weapon and physical advantage over me, which meant I had to play smart. He hitched his breath, swung. My reflexes responded automatically by guiding me toward the barrels. Separated by several objects, it was much harder for him to hit me.

Our fight became a game of chicken as we danced back and forth in search for a way to get close before the other could. After several minutes of this, he roared in frustration and clambered atop the barrels to get to me faster. They rocked around precariously under his weight. Empty. They were empty.

There was the mistake I needed to exploit. With a sharp inhale, I kicked the barrels with all my strength to make them and my adversary topple.

Unfortunately, there was a slight snag in my calculations. The plan was to make him fall at my feet and take him out fast by stabbing him in the throat, or the heart, or the liver, except he didn't fall at my feet - he fell on top of me.

So low to the ground, his sword was cumbersome, but that didn't discourage him. He tossed it aside and resorted to his fists instead, which he used to punch my jaw and cheek with devastating blows.

Blackness swam in my vision as I realized I was close to fainting. If that happened, I was as good as dead. Unable to see a thing, desperate to survive, I curled my free hand into a claw and attempted to scratch in hopes of hitting his eyes. A sickly satisfaction swelled in me when I heard him yelp and felt hot blood under my fingernails.

My vision returned. The young sailor had deep gashes across his cheek and over the bridge of his nose, but sadly, his eyes were fine.

He back-handed my face. I let out a shrill cry. He froze in place.

Disbelief colored his bloodied features as his gaze traveled from my eyes to my chest. Through my sweat and blood soaked blouse, the shape of my breasts was clear as day. His stare met mine once more.

"What the fuck...?" He breathed out. "A woman?"

I guess I was the first female pirate he had ever met. Unfortunately for him, I would also be his last, for while he was busy wrapping his head around the fact women pirates existed, I clutched my cutlass tight and stuck it in his neck.

He made a wet choking noise while his throat filled with blood, then sputtered from his mouth. His eyes were round as plates. Shock and terror mingled in them before they turned glassy.

A moment passed where we just sat like that: him going limp on top of me, I lying on my back with half my blade in his neck. Then, at last, his lifeless body dropped heavily on top of me. The last thing I remember before I passed out was the cannon smoke clearing from the skies so I could see a hint of pastel blue before everything went black.

*** When I came to, I was still on the ground and all was quiet. The weight of the sailor's frigid body was crushing me, making it difficult to breathe. My cutlass was still in his neck. With a grunt, I pulled it out, took a moment to completely recover my senses and rolled the corpse off of me. God, my face hurt...

Slowly, I pushed up on my elbows, then sat and waited for my rattled brain to stop sloshing like a fishbowl. Once the world stopped spinning, the weight of what I had done struck me. I had to keep my eyes closed, too afraid to open them since I knew what I would see when I did. Sooner or later, however, I would have to face my sin.

Reluctantly, I peeled back my eyelids and forced myself to look at the body of the young man. His face was bloated and turning blue, which created a stark contrast with the deep ruby of his blood. He lied on his back, unnaturally still, eyes glazed over and void of life as he stared into the sky. He was dead... and I had killed him.

"Constance?"

As I struggled to control the panic threatening to burst out of my chest, I turned to whomever had called me - Joshua. He was checking out my ghastly figure, covered in blood and bruises, with a toothy grin. In his hand, he held his shark teeth mouth piece that he used to scare his prey.

"Fucking hell, you look like you've been through the ringer," he laughed, then helped me get up. “Are you hurt?”

“No...” I peered at the body of my very first victim and shuddered. Best to focus on Joshua's smiling face instead. "Did we win?"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Would I be here talking to you if we hadn't?"

All right, fair.

We walked to the stern of the ship, where our prize crew was cuffed and subdued by our brothers. He said: "Saw what you did to that bloke who was going at Billy. That was impressive, woman. I didn't know you had it in you."

A flashback of that fight flooded my mind. Billy on the ground. The giant of a man about to kill him. Me latching onto his back like one of those fish that suction themselves onto sharks and stabbing away.

I swallowed hard. "Aye... Me neither."

"He's alive because of you, y'know?"

Was it just me or did I note a hint of pride in his tone? Well... At least it helped me feel a little better. "He's alright, then?"

"He's fine. Suffered a blow to his pretty face, but apart from that, he's still in one piece."

Thank God for that. "And you? Logan, Muldoon, Folsom?"

"All alive and kicking."

"And Jean?"

Here, Joshua staggered. His smile faltered, then disappeared completely. He wouldn't look me in the eye as he muttered: "I haven't seen him, yet. I'm sure he's around, somewhere."

An uncomfortable weight, cold like as a block of ice, dropped in my stomach. What wasn't he telling me? Before I could ask, he shrugged and turned away.

"Anyway, I better get back to work. And you should go see Howell, make sure you don't have any serious injuries."

After he was gone, I took a look around the deck. Most of the dead had been moved to either side of the ship, prize crew on the starboard, our men on the larboard. All of them had been covered with white sheets, so I must have been out for quite some time. I counted at least five of ours among the fallen. As I approached their bodies, I found Billy and Dooley standing by them, talking quietly.

When he saw me approaching, Dooley tapped Billy on the arm with this look on his face. Apprehension, I realized. Billy turned and his skin leeched of all color. He rushed up to block my path.

"Jesus," he chuckled, though it didn't sound right. Rather, it was forced, more of a choke than and actual laugh. "I was starting to think you had gone overboard or something."

"Who died?" I asked. Demanded, really.

In an instant, Billy dropped all pretense and slumped his shoulders. "Maybe you should sit down."

"Why...?" My voice trembled as I studied his expression. Regretful, eyes heavy with sorrow whilst he guided me to a nearby crate and made me sit on it. "Who died, Billy?"

It was a moot question. Somehow, I already knew. I just needed him to confirm it, even if, simultaneously, I wasn't ready for it.

Billy pressed his lips into a hard line, then slid his tongue over them. At last, he forced himself to look at me and said: "Will Robbins. Lewis. Dick McAllistair. Brian Hicks..."

He paused for a long minute. Then, voice thick and raspy with grief: "And Jean duBois."

The minute that name left his mouth, my soul shattered into a thousand pieces. My mouth fell open with shock as I glanced at the sheets covering our dead. No. No, it couldn't be true. It was a mistake, it had to be.

But as I lingered on the one closest to me, I noticed he wore the exact same shoes Jean had bought the last time we were in Nassau. They were pale blue and had a gold buckle shaped like a rose vine. He had been mocked endlessly for his sissy shoes, but loved them so much, he could care less what the others thought about them.

I'm a pirate, he'd told them, and that means I can wear whatever I fucking please. Anyone who has a problem with that can fight me on it. See if I don't break your nose with my sissy shoes.

Without realizing it, I was on my feet. Billy went to grab my arm.

"Constance, you don't need to--"

I snapped out of his hold. "Let go of my arm, Billy Bones!"

He didn't try to stop me a second time. When I got to the sheets – the burial shrouds - covering our dead, I hesitated. I didn't want to believe it. Some childish part of me still hoped it was, indeed, a mistake. Or a joke. One in very poor taste, but just a joke.

I waited, prayed that, any minute now, that body would sit up, pull down the sheets and yell "Sike!" right before I kicked him in the mouth for the scare.

But nothing happened. No one sat up. The sheets didn't move except to ripple in the breeze.

I knelt down, brought my hands up to grab the makeshift burial shroud. Stopped. And then pulled it back.

Lying the on the floor boards, skin an ashen gray and lips deathly blue, was my friend Jean duBois.

I let out a high pitched gasp and recoiled in horror, shielded my eyes from the sight with my hands. My body shook under the weight of nausea and this painful, agonizing sense that some part of me having been violently ripped away. Without any chance to stop them, the tears fell freely down my face. My breath got caught in my throat, locked tight within my lungs.

Jean was dead... Jean was dead. I had killed a man and I had saved Billy's life, but I couldn't save Jean's and now he was dead. Jean duBois had been my first true friend aboard the Walrus, and he was dead.

A hand settled on my shoulder and squeezed in an attempt to comfort me.

"I'm sorry, Constance." Billy's voice was grave and weak as he gathered me into his chest and enveloped me in his arms to let me weep on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

***

At sunset, after tending the wounded and washing up, long after we cut our prey loose and prepared our dead for the journey into Death, we held a funeral at sea.

While I sewed Jean's shroud shut, I fought constantly to hold back the sobs that writhed in me. I was at the very front of his plank as we carried him and committed his body to his watery grave, like all proper sailors deserved.

On a ship, there is no way to preserve a corpse long enough to bury it on land. In such close quarters, pestilence takes hold fast, dooming us all to join our fallen brothers. We were months away from Nassau, so this was the best way - the only way - to dispose of bodies.

Although simple, the ceremony was solemn and proper. Flint read a few passages from the bible to prepare the souls of our friends to enter the afterlife and, hopefully, have all sins forgiven so they would be accepted into the kingdom of heaven. Folsom played a mournful melody to accompany the bodies as they were plunged into the sea, as if to offer them some form of comfort and reassurance in their mysterious voyage. The sound was so sorrowful, so full of tragedy and profound sadness, I had to sneak away below decks to be alone before it was over.

That night, I stood at the highcastle facing the aft while leaning on the railing. In my hands, I slowly spun Jean's smoking pipe and recalled my first day on the Walrus, how we shared it, laughed and joked about how he'd make a real pirate out of me with booze and tobacco.

It was Jean who first made me feel welcome and accepted on that ship, even before Gates and Billy, and the thought brought new tears that I didn't bother to contain. My eyes were beginning to hurt; I had barely managed to stop crying long enough to interact with anyone since the funeral. At this point, I was too exhausted to try.

Careful footsteps climbed the stairs to the highcastle and approached deliberately slow, hesitant. God, there was no privacy on a ship at all, was there? With the sleeve of my frock, I dabbed at my cheeks to dry the waterworks, though it was a futile effort. My eyes were so swollen, my cheeks and nose so hot and red, only a blind man wouldn't see I had been crying.

As whoever was coming stopped by my right side, I turned my head away so my hair would form a curtain to shield me from their stare. A plate of bread and cheese, as well as a cup of ale, was set on the railing by my arm.

"Thought you might be hungry," said Billy Bones.

I glanced down at his offering. I hadn't joined the crew for dinner, since my stomach was too tight to ingest even a drink of water, let alone Randall's cooking. I shuffled away from the plate a notch.

"Not really... But thank you."

"You should eat something." He insisted, calm but firmly. "Recover your strength."

I didn't answer. Didn't have the energy to argue.

Billy let out a heavy breath through the nose, put the plate and cup aside in defeat and just stood there, waiting for something.

For me to speak, I supposed. A part of me wanted to. Jean had been a good friend to me and he deserved to have someone speak well of him. He deserved to be mourned. His death had been untimely and unjust, so... Someone should make sure he would not be forgotten.

" ... We were both supposed to make it," I rasped. "After the attack, we planned on meeting here to tell each other about what had happened. Our fights, our struggles, the near-misses and... how it felt to kill for the first time. We were both so nervous over that. We didn't know what to expect, only that it wouldn't feel good. We were going to feel so tainted and rotten when it was done and thinking about coming here to share the experience with each other honestly, without judgement, that's what helped us jump over.”

A hard lump in my throat kept me from finishing, so I had to stop and press my palms to my eyes, take a few deep breaths to get the sobs under control. “But now I'm here... and he's not. One of us dying wasn't part of the plan."

For a brief instant, Billy remained silent. Then: "You could talk to me. If I'm here to listen right now, it's because of you. You saved my life out there." A pause, followed by a breathy laugh. "I guess that makes us even, doesn't it?"

I had to smile at that one. Indeed we were. And here I thought I could never hope to repay him for saving me on the beach.

"I know I'm not Jean,” he added. “But if you need someone to talk to about what happened, I'm here for you. Always, for whatever you need to confess. I wouldn't judge you, either."

I chewed my lip and considered the offer. This wasn't what I had planned, but so far, Billy hadn't given me any reason not to put my faith in him. He certainly had years of experience to speak of and probably killed more men in those years than I had fingers. More than boatswain, I considered him a friend, one I cherished dearly.

In the end... I decided the need to talk to someone was too strong to ignore.

"Before I helped you, I was attacked by this sailor..."

I told him the abbreviated account of the two fights I had survived, up until the ultimate moment when everything changed for me.

"... So, he scrambled over the barrels, and that's when I saw they were empty and kicked them to make him fall. The problem was that he fell on me. We struggled for a bit, he got a couple of good blows on my face--" I touched the black and purple bruises on my jaw. "And I almost clawed his eyes out. Then he back-handed me, I screamed and I guess that's when he realized I was a woman? He was so dumbfounded by it, he stopped fighting. Then... I shoved my cutlass in his neck.”

Whilst staring at my hands, washed clean, yet forever stained, I frowned and continued in a quieter tone: “I didn't even think about it, it just... happened. Like someone else was controlling my hand or something. Anyway... he collapsed on top of me, I passed out, and when I woke up, it was over."

A disturbing, horrifying thought popped into my mind, then. I shut my eyes tight and took in a shuddered breath. "If only... maybe if I hadn't passed out, I could have kept fighting. Maybe I would have found Jean and... And I could have saved him, too."

"Hey." Billy's voice was firm, almost stern, yet at the same time, gentle and empathetic. "Don't do that to yourself. His death was not your fault. These things just... happen. Who knows, maybe it was... It was his time to go and nothing you could or couldn't do would have changed anything, anyway. It's not for us mortals to decide who gets to live."

My mouth twisted into a scowl. "But we can decide who dies?"

An uncomfortable silence fell between us. I glanced at Billy to see him shift positions so he was resting his hands on the railing, arms outstretched to hold him up as he bent over, fingers dribbling on the wood. He looked so obviously conflicted, I regretted snapping.

Rather than answering my question, he changed the subject instead. "Tell me how it felt. Taking someone's life. Tell me about it."

I brought up a hand to scratch at my cheek and wash away the salty tracks left by my tears. When I spoke, my voice was so quiet it bordered on a whisper. "As bad as I had imagined it... I didn't enjoy it. I keep seeing the light going out in their eyes, their bodies dropping like flies. Their faces all gray and lifeless... I hated it."

He hummed. "Would you be surprised if I told you you're not alone in that feeling?"

My head whipped around so fast my neck almost snapped.

Billy nodded. "Yeah. Sure, there are some of us who probably enjoy the killing more than they should, but they're a minority. Most of the crew... They do it because it's part of the life of piracy. In every attack, someone always has to die. That's why we try so hard to intimidate a ship into submission first. That's what the black banner is for, or why Joshua wears his shark teeth prop, or why I go out there in war paint. It's all a ruse to terrify whoever we're attacking into surrender. And when that doesn't work, we mount an assault so aggressive and costly in human lives that within minutes, it's over. It's the best we can do to spare as many lives as possible, theirs and ours. But most of us, we don't enjoy killing, no matter what you may have heard."

As the sea wind blew at my hair and the ship creaked and groaned while plowing the waves, I turned those words over in my mind and found a new appreciation for my crew mates. Oh, they would rather be strung up by their toes from the t'gallant yard before admitting they gave a shit about whether or not people died in an attack. Even so, it was a relief to know they shared in my anxieties. Which led me to the next logical question in the queue: "Then how do you live with it? How do you keep going knowing you've ended lives and will have to do so again? How do you keep it from tearing you apart...?"

"In my experience, there are two ways." He stuck out a finger. "Option one: you learn to like it. You allow yourself to be corrupted by the pleasure of killing, let it change you irrevocably and risk becoming a monster by snuffing out the guilt it leaves you with."

He grimaced."I don't recommend option one. Option two: you become indifferent to it, meaning you don't think about it too much, or at all. You accept it as a necessary evil, keep in mind that if you don't kill whoever you're fighting, he'll probably kill you, and move on without looking back. I think that's how most of us do it."

"And you?" I asked, more than a little curious. "Is that how you do it?" "Yeah." He replied with a half-shrug. "Does it work?"

It was an innocent question for which I was genuinely looking for an answer to. I expected him to do so with equal casualty, but his face twisted into bitterness, maybe a bit of... Anger? Not at me, per say... At himself.

A heartbeat later than antecipated, Billy said: "Yes."

He said no more and I thought he was going to leave it at that, unwilling to go any further in his thoughts - which would have been fine. I was intrigued and wanted to hear more, but I would respect his privacy if he so desired because I liked him. A lot. More so than it was safe, perhaps. I mean, I had risked my life to save his, for crying out loud. Sure, he'd done the same for me first, but that was just who Billy was. He would do the same for anyone else and there was nothing more to it. I was no more special to him than any other member of this crew, that was the cold, hard truth.

That put an extra wet blanket of dejection on my already droopy mood.

But then, he added:

"Look... this life, it doesn't lend itself to poetry and pretty lyrics. There's nothing grand and epic about it. It's harsh, brutal and ugly, and then, somewhere in the future, a scribe makes it epic with gilded words and embellishment, but that doesn't make it any more so. Becoming a pirate can happen to anybody... but it's not for everyone."

I studied his face through my hair as it whipped about in the breeze. He was deep in thought, eyes set stubbornly the horizon, hands firmly clamped on the railing.

The question was at the tip of my tongue, begging to be posed. I so wanted to know more about him. He already knew so much about me, right? Surreptitiously, I pulled my hair over my left shoulder and held it there to keep it still. My fingers brushed through the waves as I asked:

"How did you become a pirate?"

His shoulders tensed up and he refused to look at me. I could see the way he bit at the inside of his cheek as he weighted whether he should tell me the story or keep it a secret. Maybe it was too personal for him to be comfortable sharing. Maybe it was just too painful.

I was about to tell him it was alright if he would rather not talk about it when he began the tale.

"I was a boy in Kensington when I joined my parents' political cause. They were levelers – political activists - protesting the practice of press gangs snatching men and boys from the docks or the street to forcefully enlist them into the navy. Willing seamen for the warships were in short supply during the war with Spain. My parents saw first hand the emotional toll it took on their neighbors when their boys disappeared without a trace, rarely to receive a letter months later revealing what had happened to them. Many of those boys were friends of mine, so it didn't take much convincing for me to aid my parents in spreading anti-impressment propaganda."

My innards went cold from that revelation. "I didn't know such a practice existed," I admitted in a weak breath. "That is awful..."

Billy's voice was soft and sympathetic to my ignorance. "I wouldn't expect you to. When I first saw you, you struck me as median to high class. You wouldn't be told about it. Anyway, one day in winter, I was out distributing pamphlets, like any other day. It was snowing heavily, so... when they finally came to snatch me up, I didn't see them coming. I fought with everything I had. I kicked. I bit. Tried to scream." His tone dropped to something so low and grave, my ears almost didn't catch the last part. "But I was just a kid."

I remembered that one time in Nassau, after the careening incident, when he sat with me and told me he had once been small and scrawny. I could scarcely imagine it, back then. Now, surprisingly, it wasn't so hard. In my mind, I pictured a little blond boy with big blue eyes, happily contributing to a cause that he knew in his child heart was good and fair, believing he was safe right before he was ripped away from his family.

"Three years I spent in the navy," he continued in a haunted tone. "I was beaten, starved, denied rest and a wage, so over-worked I was sure I wouldn't last long. I missed my parents and... And I thought about how they must have felt when I didn't come home, deducing what had happened to me."

He faced away from me then, mouth pressed firmly shut. In the weak lantern light, I saw the briefest, slightest shudder run through his shoulders. His hands balled into fists on the railing, so tight the knuckles paled out.

Seeing him like this, vulnerable and so near to breaking with that open wound in his heart exposed for me, I too had to turn away and bring a hand to my lips to contain a wayward sob. Maybe if I weren't in such a raw head space already, I could have held back my own emotions better. As it were, the mere thought of the despair his mother and father must have felt was too much to bear.

What a horrible thing it must have been for them, to frantically search for their sweet little boy, likely feeling guilty for putting him in such a position, blaming themselves for all of it. And Billy, all the while, being tortured and forced to serve a nation that couldn't give two fucks if he lived or died, constantly looking back at what he had been taken away from. My heart ached so much for him I thought it might shatter.

After taking a few minutes to pull himself together, he sniffed and finished his story:

"Then, one day, our ship was attacked by pirates. We should have won the day - our vessel was larger, with more guns and the superior number of man power. And yet, we lost. After all... the Walrus is a fearsome ship." He smiled weakly. "And her captain is a master strategist. Flint knew exactly how to out maneuver us, exactly how to play against our weaknesses. The battle that followed the boarding was short lived. When they found me and the other boys victim of impressment, they freed us and offered us a choice: either we join, or we would be sent back to the navy with a badly damaged ship, its valuables lost and likely cruel punishment, possibly execution for desertion. I decided there was no better chance at freedom than that, so I joined. And here I have been ever since."

I pulled in a shaky breath, wiped away at my face. God, how embarrassing. I fought to make my voice even and managed it, but by very little.

"Billy, I... I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like. I'm so sorry..."

But he shook his head with a smile void of any joy, gaze fixed on the sea rather than me.

"Nah. Don't be. I don't regret my decision to be a pirate. Do I wish things had been different, sometimes? Of course I do. Do I wish my parents didn't have to feel in their own skin what their neighbors suffered? I do, obviously. The thing is... I can't change the past and I can't go home. Not anymore. So I try not to dwell on it too much. I have Gates, our men, you..." A glance my way as his smile gained some of its usual light. "I have my freedom. I don't go hungry and the Walrus is my home, now. What more could I want?"

As glad as I was to be included in his list of people he cherished, my thoughts stumped on that particular affirmation about not being able to return home anymore. Encouraged by his openness, I dared to ask:

"Why can't you go back? Wouldn't your parents want to know what happened to you? Or see you again...?"

"I'm sure they would, on the one hand. On the other, though..." He thumped a fist on the wooded railing and grew grim once more. "If they knew what became of me, they would have to face the fact that their son is now a thief and a murderer, happily living in the company of other thieves and murderers, and that for all the joy they would feel in seeing me alive, their little boy is long gone. Perhaps it's more merciful to let them think I'm dead."

Somehow, I didn't believe that. I couldn't believe that. Billy's parents weren't like mine, absent and frivolous, caring only about engorging their fortune, even if it came at the cost of all their six daughters' happiness. His parents had cared about him and the injustices of the world they inhabited, had been brave enough to fight against them. I couldn't believe they would disown him for being a pirate. And to think he believed so... I couldn't allow that.

"Or perhaps they might have felt proud of the man you became," I chanced.

At last, he looked at me, forehead bunched in confusion. I stared him right in the eyes, fearless and stubborn in my opinion. I leaned over so he could hear me well:

"You're not just a thief and a murderer. You have a good heart and a strong sense of what's right and wrong. Plus, you found a way to free yourself, not just from the navy, but from the whole fucking system that is comfortable doing such things as forcing children to become soldiers. And now, you make a living preying upon that same system, slowly leeching its lifeblood with every raid. More than a pirate, you are kind, brave and selfless. You're smart, and hard-working and honorable despite your profession, and there isn't a single man on this crew who would waste a second stepping up to defend you, if needed. Or woman, by the way."

Confusion gave way to surprise, as his eyes widened and his lips parted, and then to something other I couldn't quite describe. All I could tell was that it was something warm, something... Grateful. He had to look down and away from me again, but not before I saw how his eyes shone with so much appreciation.

Heat flushed onto my cheeks from a variety of emotions, from embarrassment over my loaded words, to anger at him, for not seeing how precious he was.

I played around with Jean's pipe and softened my voice. "And if they couldn't see any of those qualities, then I would make them. I would stand up for you and... I would make them see you."

There were no more words to trade for a drawn out while. I waited with baited breath for any reaction on his part, fiddled with the pipe some more, until my hands shook so much I became fearful I might drop it into the ocean and loose it. I had planned to throw it anyway so Jean could take it with him to the other side, but I wanted to do it with purpose and dignity. I set it down and leaned over, mimicking Billy's pose as I looked at the stars.

Then... something rough and a little chilly touched my fingers, making me snap my chin down. What I saw kicked my heart into full speed against my throat, so hard and fast I could hear it hammer in my ears: Billy's hand was touching mine.

His fingers shyly intertwined in mine, as if asking for permission. I didn't dare take a glance at his face; I might have fainted if I did. Instead, I spread them apart to allow him to take a full hold of my hand. He enveloped it with his own, squeezed just so.

Regardless of how it pounded, my heart settled in contentment. I felt my whole body sag with relief, like all my life, something had been missing and finally, I had found it. Without fear or shame, I gripped his fingers in return and thumbed over his knuckles, feeling more right, more at home than I ever could have imagined possible.

"I appreciate that you think so highly of me," he murmured.

I looked up to meet his gaze. There was that strange, sad smile again.

"It means more than you know. But... I couldn't face them, after all these years. I'm... I'm afraid. Of their rejection or their pride. I don't know what I would do or even say if I ever saw them again. I suppose I'm not as brave as you think."

I allowed myself a small smile as well. "You are the bravest man I know, Billy. In the months since I've joined this crew, I learned that being brave is not the same as being fearless. You need to be afraid in order to be brave. Otherwise, you're just insane."

Without letting go of my hand, he laughed and shook his head. Then, he offered me a half-smirk that had my stomach doing a flip.

"You're pretty brave yourself,” he said. “I must admit the sight of you taking on that ogre for me was... inspiring."

I couldn't find it in me to laugh. The image of him on the ground, helpless despite his tremendous strength and skill, was still too vivid for me to find any amusement in it. Unwittingly, I tightened my grip on his hand. "He was going to kill you. I couldn't let that happen. I just... I just couldn't."

Another moment of silence, until I felt him bring up my hand. Shaking me to my very core yet again, Billy Bones pressed his lips to my knuckles.

It was quick, hardly took more than a second, but my body vibrated like the struck chord of a guitar and my skin simmered with a warmth that had nothing to do with embarrassment or timidity.

"Thank you, Constance. For saving my life and for your words."

His cheeks had gained a rose color as well, even if it was hard to discern in the dark. He held my gaze and I couldn't look away, or rather, didn't want to. Our hands remained entwined while our arms practically pressed together, which was fine by me.

I wanted to step into his embrace so badly, was so tempted to rest my head on his shoulder, but... in the end, I didn't have the guts. So, I relished in the feeling of his fingers around mine.

"Any time..." I breathed.

We stood together like that on the highcastle, connected in body and spirit, two souls made into one. I thought about Billy's story and about my own, which sounded ridiculous in comparison.

"God... you must think me so brattish."

He blinked at me, lost on my meaning. "Beg pardon?"

"For how I joined the crew. I left behind a life of comfort and stability out of little more than an impulse, but you... You were all but dragged into it. Next to you, I feel so foolish and reckless. Stupid, even."

"Everyone has their reasons to join the account," he assured me. "It's not a contest."

I huffed a laugh. "I know, it's just... Seems silly. I like this life much better, in any case. Even if it is harsh, brutal and ugly."

He snorted at my turn of his own words. "It's got its upsides."

"Aye..." I ran my thumb over the calluses and scars covering his fingers. "It does, indeed."

I was still full of sorrow over losing Jean, but with Billy there, the pain was a little more bearable. I considered my friend's smoking pipe in my hand and decided I wouldn't throw it in the ocean after all. I would keep it instead, to honor his memory. Every time I pulled it out to smoke, I would remember our time together, short as it was.

Sorry, Jean, I thought while stuffing it in my pocket. You're just gonna have to find yourself a new one.

Somehow, I knew he would be glad for me to have it. Especially if I used it to smoke from his stash of weed in the paprika can.

With that thought in mind, I closed my eyes and silently prayed to God to accept him into heaven, and to please be merciful enough to let me see him again one last time before passing judgement on my soul when I died.

#alternative prequel

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#alternative prequel