A Pirate's Life For Me

Splitting Up Is Never A Good Idea

I exit the bathroom to the cooler guesthouse, chills rising on my arms as my bare feet pad against the floor.

On the dining table, there's a plate, and on the plate, a pile of scrambled eggs. Half a smile pulls at my mouth as I pass by, moving into the living room, where I can hear their voices.

My smile disappears.

Colette sits, frozen, on the couch, a ratty suitcase held open and half-filled in her lap, face turned fearfully toward me, mouth hanging open in a silent 'O' as the boy tosses in another pile of folded clothing.

They're packing?

"What are you doing?"

Jackson turns at my question, head the only thing facing me as I stand in the doorway of the living room, feet rooted in place. There is no smile in his stance, nothing gracing the lines of his face. In this light, his hair is dark, almost black. And for a moment, I can't see anything in his eyes at all. They're dead.

He turns away without a word and drops another folded shirt into the case.

"Jackson," I say, voice unsteady as fear rises in my stomach. "What are you doing?"

"Packing" is the response. His voice is even. Confident. Self-assured.

"Mr. Declan gave us the clothes," Colette adds quietly, eyes flickering between mine like she'll find an answer in my face. Apparently she doesn't find it, because she drops my gaze.

"Packing?" I repeat. It doesn't quite seem real. "You're—why? Why do you—"

"Because we're leaving," Jackson says in a sigh, voice slightly irritated, like he's speaking to a child, and I can't help but shrink away from him, from the coldness of his tone. It shouldn't hurt. I don't even know him. He's an asshole.

"Leaving?"

"What are you, a parrot?" He finally explodes, spinning sharply to face me, eyes boring into mine through my tiny flinch. A smile does pull at his face then, but not the kind one he'd shown me in the bathroom. A sneer. Bending down, he mocks me. "But then, I suppose that'd be appropriate, wouldn't it? You being a pirate and all."

I can only blink at the sudden barrage of hostility.

"But—"

"And come on, it's not like you really care either way, anyway. If some Guard member came in here right now, you can't tell me with a straight face that you wouldn't try to save yourself."

I'd save you, too.

"Let's face it, Caspian," Jackson laughs at me, nodding his head as he mocks my name, sneer only growing as he watches me take a step back as he says it. "You really only care about us for your honor."

My jaw snaps closed, but Jackson's already lost interest in me, dumping more clothes into the case before stuffing a water jug inside and zipping it up. Colette stands, avoiding my eyes, carrying the case in front of her as Jackson moves across the room to grab the worn sweater I'd seen many a time in Declan's dresser. Why is it here? Why is Jackson taking it with him?

"Did-Did Declan say something to you?" It comes out as a whisper, but neither seem to have heard me. "My honor—he said something, didn't he?"

"No," Jackson snarls, back to me, angrily moving his hands in front of him. "Your lousy pirate friend didn't say diddly squat, except of course that he'd be working us to the bone so you could get your pay."