Promises // Charles Vane
➴ Summary: Now that he’s gone, Charles can’t keep making promises.
➴ Pairing: Charles Vane / Reader (2nd Pov).
➴ Warnings: Drinking, depression symptoms, death mention.
➴ Wordcount: 1132.
It had been a month, or two, or three. You had lost track of time. For you, night was morning and morning was night and it stopped when sleeping. Around, the world moved on, people kept falling in love and children were born. Nothing had changed for the rest of them.
For you, nothing would ever be the same. You couldn’t convince yourself to be a part of the world you lived in, no matter how hard you tried. You lived, but had died long ago.
You sat alone in a table, as far as possible from the people that looked and pitied you in silence because none of them were brave enough to approach your table. It was alright, though. It was what you wanted the most, to be left alone at last. To be ignored so no one could judge, and you could grief, and suffer, and weep as much as it was needed.
But as for now, all you did was drink. It was the second bottle and Max was looking worried from the bar, where Jack and Anne accompanied her with the same look on their faces. You didn’t notice Jack getting up from his stool and walking up to you. When he sat down and took the bottle, you looked up with a frown and sighed, preparing for another lecture.
“We haven’t talked in a while,” Jack spoke. His voice was soft and gentle, as it was expected from him. “I was wondering how’s it going?” He questioned, although it wasn’t his intention.
You grunted. “You know how, now give me the bottle back.” You tried to catch the bottle but he was faster and moved back in the chair, out of your reach. “Jack.”
You rubbed your face, it was starting to get hot. It felt like the room had shrunk and those who had been looking at you from afar had gotten closer. Their sadness, their whispers, it all felt so close you had trouble breathing. Or perhaps it was the alcohol. Whatever it was, it did not feel good. Your breaths were quick and erratic and you trembled. You had experienced a similar situation a few months back, right after the war when Idelle wanted to talk. The world had closed and trapped you inside a fire to die suffocating.
You never expected to know such pain, not after all that happened. But it was war, and when at war the unexpected must be expected. Trust was broken upon glances and even shadows were enemies under the right circumstances. Hiding, running and killing became a routine. It was impossible to escape from the consequences of being a pirate. Most people gave up, the thought of battle seemed to frighten them, and accepted the Governor and England, but James Flint couldn’t accept that, and to your despair, neither could Charles Vane.
I have to, it’s our home, he had said. You knew there was nothing that could stop him, he had set up his mind and he was going to follow Flint until them or England were dead. But it was wrong. You had a home, but it wasn’t Nassau, or an island lost in the middle of the ocean, or even a place. It had a name, a smile, and blue eyes.
And it was gone.
You heard Jack sigh and looked up, he was rubbing his face. But something seemed off, looking closer, there were noticeable tears running down.
You took his hand and smiled. “If I talk about this, that means he’s gone forever. That means there won’t be more promises, or bedtalk, or cuddles. We won’t laugh until the sun rises and make wishes upon the stars. There won’t be children, or grandchildren. No future. If I talk, if I accept it now, there’s nothing left for me. You understand?”
It was hard to explain, what was going on. You felt dead, but lived. You breathed, ate, drank and walked among the living, but no part of you was truly alive. And you knew it was hurting your friends, you knew none of them deserved to see you deteriorate to death, but what else was left to do? No passion, no love, no happiness. Just pain and a cursed existence.
“I understand,” he said. You frowned, he was upset and his voice cracked. He lost him too, of course. But it wasn’t the same. “You can’t do this,” he whispered. “You can’t drink each night to pass out, to death. You insult him, and he’d be ashamed. You come here, to drink and scream, and people look and then laugh. You think he’d want that?”
Your hand moved, not sure how. You weren’t thinking about hitting him, but it moved on its own accord. The slap made the room go silent and Anne got up from her chair and ran up to where you two were. She looked angrier than you’d ever seen her and, if you had cared at least a bit about your life, you would’ve been scared. But the cloud that darkened your days also forced you to not care whether they ended or not.
Anne reached the table, fuming. “What is wrong with you, bitch?” She roared. Jack sushed and made her sit down besides him. It took a few minutes, but the place started to move and people minded their own business.
“Did that help?” He asked as if he understood. And perhaps he did.
You hadn’t noticed, just like when he started weeping but the tears blended with his glistening skin and you had attributed it to the alcohol and the weather. But it wasn’t the rum or the sweat. What ran down your face in that moment were tears. A promise travelled with each one of them, disappearing when it hit the table, to never come back.
“No.” Nothing helped. You were going insane. “I’m scared, and I’m lost.”
“So come back ashore,” Anne spoke. You and Jack looked at her surprised. Of all the things Anne was, she had never been mistaken as a good adviser. “You’re a ship, lost in the sea. Your Captain is gone, and it hurts and we know, but the storm isn’t going to bring him back or take you to him. Is going to drown you, and you can’t let that happen. He made his choice, and he did so because he wanted you two to have a home and not have to spend your lives running in fear. Don’t make his death worthless now by become a different person than the one he loved. Come back ashore, and honour your Captain.”
Come back ashore and honour your Captain. Those words made the storm look less frightening than before. Maybe it was the time to fight back.