Bloodtide

Part 38

The moon hung high as we sailed across the ocean, casting a silvery glow on the restless waves. John was glued to the wheel, his eyes fixed on the horizon, the wind whipping through his hair. I busied myself in the cramped kitchen, playing around with the limited scraps we had. Despite the meager supplies, I managed to concoct a simple soup with the few vegetables left.

The aroma of the simmering broth filled the cabin, blending with the salty sea air that seeped through the cracks. I stirred the pot thoughtfully, listening to the rhythmic creaking of the ship and the occasional distant call of a seabird. Every so often, I'd glance at John, his silhouette a stoic figure against the backdrop of the night sky.

As the soup reached a rolling boil, I ladled it into two chipped bowls, hoping the warmth would bring a brief respite from the chill. I carried the bowls to the deck, where John stood unwavering at the helm.

"Soup's ready," I called out.

John turned, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He accepted the bowl, his fingers brushing against mine, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. His grip was strong, calloused from years at sea, and the fleeting touch lingered longer than it should have. "Do you know how much longer we have?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

John shrugged lightly.

I sighed, realizing this would be a lengthy trip again. My eyes wandered, betraying my attempt at annoyance. The moonlight cast a sculpted glow on his muscular frame, highlighting every line and curve of his body. His shirt clung to his chest, damp from the sea spray, and I found myself distracted by the way his muscles tensed as he ate.

"Are you even listening to me?" I snapped, more harshly than intended, trying to shake off the unwelcome distraction.

John glanced at me, his tired smile replaced by a hint of irritation. "A few days Ella."

"How long is a few days?," I retorted, my frustration mounting.

He turned fully to face me, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and something else—something that made my heart race. "The wind's been against us, and I can't control or estimate a number for you."

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, both from anger and the proximity of his body. I could smell the salt on his skin, see the stubble on his jaw, and it was infuriatingly distracting. "We can't afford to keep drifting aimlessly. We need to get to singaphore, and fast."

John's jaw clenched, his muscles flexing under the strain. "I'm not drifting aimlessly. You think I don't know how to navigate?"

I stepped closer, my anger bubbling to the surface, but my resolve wavering as my eyes traced the lines of his chest. "I'm not saying that I just don't want to be stuck in the ocean forever."

His eyes bore into mine, a storm brewing within them. "I've kept us alive this far, haven't I?"

Barely, I thought, but bit back the retort. The tension between us crackled in the air, thick and charged. Finally, I turned away, trying to rein in my temper and my errant thoughts. "Just... get us there, John. Before it's too late."

The silence that followed was heavy with unresolved anger and unspoken words, but also a simmering undercurrent of attraction that neither of us acknowledged. John stood up aggressively, his movements sharp and deliberate, leaving me alone on the lower deck. He finished his soup in a few quick gulps and headed back up to the wheel, his back a rigid line of tension.

I was pretty harsh, but just looking at his stupid attractive face made me upset. Every line of his jaw, every glint in his eye, seemed to mock my frustration. As I cleaned up, scrubbing the bowls with unnecessary force, my thoughts churned with anger and confusion.

I wish this nightmare would end now. The endless nights at sea, the constant worry about Henry, the growing tension between us—it was all too much. My hands trembled as I dried the bowls, my mind replaying our heated exchange.

Why did he have to be so infuriatingly calm, so annoyingly confident? And why did my heart race every time he was near? It was maddening, this mix of anger and attraction, like being caught in a storm with no safe harbor in sight.

As I finished tidying up, I couldn't help but glance up at the wheel. John stood there, his silhouette framed by the moonlight, his posture resolute and unwavering. Despite everything, there was a part of me that admired his strength, his determination. But admiration was a far cry from trust, and right now, trust was in short supply.

With a final sigh, I made my way to the small cot in the corner of the cabin. The ship rocked gently beneath me, the rhythm of the waves a constant reminder of our precarious situation. As I lay there, staring at the wooden ceiling, my thoughts refused to settle.

I hated how he made me feel—vulnerable, angry, and hopelessly drawn to him all at once. This journey was testing us in ways I hadn't anticipated, pushing us to our limits. I entered my cabin room and tossed around on the bed as I lay, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the cramped space.

John was insufferable. I disliked every part of him. His arrogance, his recklessness, his constant need to be in control—it all grated on my nerves. He was a thorn in my side, a constant reminder of everything I detested about this journey. Yet, despite my best efforts, he also managed to slip past my defenses in ways that infuriated me.

I turned over, punching my pillow in frustration. How could someone so despicable also have moments of unexpected kindness? It was as if he enjoyed keeping me off balance, never letting me settle into any certainty about who he really was.

His eyes, sharp and calculating, haunted my thoughts. They seemed to see through me, uncovering vulnerabilities I'd rather keep hidden. And that infuriating smile of his—it was as if he knew exactly how much he was getting under my skin and relished every moment of it.

My mind wandered back to the countless arguments we'd had, each one leaving me more frustrated than the last. His stubbornness matched my own, creating a clash that felt like it could set the ship ablaze. And yet, there was something in those heated exchanges, a spark that hinted at a deeper connection, one I wasn't ready to acknowledge.

I tried to focus on all the reasons I disliked him. His lies, his scheming, his utter disregard for the rules—each one a mark against him. He was a pirate through and through, with a heart as black as the night sea. But then, there were those moments when he'd surprise me with a rare glimpse of vulnerability, a fleeting softness that made my heart ache.

Damn him. I hated the way he made me feel. I hated that, despite everything, I couldn't get him out of my head. He was a constant, gnawing presence, a puzzle I couldn't solve. Every time I thought I had him figured out, he'd change the game, leaving me reeling.

As I lay there, the ship rocking gently beneath me, I felt the weight of our shared journey pressing down. The open sea stretched out before us, full of danger and uncertainty, much like the path between us. How could I trust someone who made me feel this way? How could I navigate these treacherous waters with a man I couldn't stand, yet couldn't stop thinking about?