A Pirate's Life For Me

Shipwrecked (Without a Boat)

I jolt awake with a silent start, surprised that my eyes had even closed. The sky is still dark from what I can see through the half-opened windows. I can hear the sea from here, waves crashing against the pillars of the dock. It mimics the storms in my gut.

There's a grunt, the clatter of dishes, the stream of sunlight as it shines over the tops of the sink. I sniff, readjusting my new position, leaning back against his kitchen counter.

He comes around the corner with bleary eyes, making contact with mine before he jumps six feet and slams his fist into the wall beside him.

I wiggle my fingers, hello.

"Jesus Christ," Hugh growls, voice still gravelly from sleep and sixty plus years of chain smoking tobacco and whatever else he can find to burn. "You can't just do that."

"Sorry," I murmur, sniffing again, not really sorry at all.

He curses again as he stares balefully at the dent in his wall, turning his glare on me once he's had his fill of self-pity. Callused hands move swiftly through the kitchen, outstretched towards the knife brick pushed against the windowsill.

I don't even tense.

His fingers move past the brick to the sink, where he turns on the water and splashes some of it against his face.

"Where you been?" He asks finally, filling two mugs with water.

"Well, I was on your couch. You should lock your door better," I mutter again, gesturing at the rumpled pillow.

Hugh hangs his head low in shame, leaning against the counter. "Hell. What would you've done if the wife came down 'stead of me?"

I shrug, glance out the window at the rising sun. I've been leaning against the same spot long enough for my ass to go numb. I debate moving, but don't. "Dunno. Probably said hello and told her I was looking for you."

He sighs heavily, dumps a tea packet into one cup, sliding it across the countertop at me. I glance at it, before focusing back on him.

"Well?" He asks finally, turning to face me, gesturing wildly. "What do you want from me?"

"I'm here about a boat," I say. "And I don't want any of your shit," I add quickly, narrowing my eyes at him so he knows that I mean it.

"Oh, no, no shit for you," he mimes, drawing the corners of his mouth down far enough to distort his face. "No, you left all my shit on the carpet when you scared it out of me, like a motherfucking ghost."

I deadpan as he sticks his thumbs in his ears and wiggles his angry fingers at me.

"Fine," he explodes, slapping his mug in the sink. "Lemme get dressed."

He disappears around the corner and up the stairs.

With a half-disgusted look at my own mug, I push off of the counter and wiggle a bit in the living room, writhing feeling back into the backs of my thighs. The couch wasn't comfortable, but it's really not like I slept much anyway. All I see when I close my eyes is Jackson's face, the fear and anger locked away behind his chiseled cheeks, the disgust in Colette's eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. I hadn't gone back later. He'd already been closed up by the time I got out here, so I crashed on his couch and tried not to think about how angry the siblings were with me, not to mention Declan.

I follow Hugh silently out of his rickety shack, down the well-worn footpath to the personal dock bordering the sea. The tension leaves my shoulders as a sharp wind picks up, rolling across the waves and blowing my hair from my face. I almost smile before I remember where I'm at. This is a mission. One I can't afford to fail.