A Pirate's Life For Me

Back From the Dead

I open my eyes.

I'm not too hungover, thankfully, but the headache woke me up a while back. I just haven't acted awake yet. Mostly because getting up means climbing over Jackson, who is still asleep.

Getting up also means acknowledging that the day has started, and thus that midday will soon be upon me. So, yeah, I'll stay in bed. I'd rather watch his chest rise and fall than stare down the barrel of a gun.

Is that weird?

Doesn't really matter if it's weird or not, I guess. It's my last day to live. 'Weird' can kiss my ass.

Birds chirp and anxiety twitches in response. It's morning, I know that much. But how late of a morning? God knows I don't want to show up early, but if I'm late...

I don't even want to think about what will happen if I'm late.

With a grunt, Jackson sniffs, burrowing his head deeper into his pillow, rolling from his back onto his side, facing away from me. The tangled sheets now leave enough room between us for me to wiggle out. Sadly, I take one last look at his relaxed shoulder, and sit up.

For however long I'd lain there, eyes closed, hoping for the world to open and swallow me whole, I'd debated how to tell him. Is a 'goodbye' too familiar? Colette'll probably see me off with a grin, at least behind my back. But Jackson...well, he didn't seem too pissed last night.

My face burns hot.

Ew. Last night.

Yeah, no, let's not say anything. It's easier if he's asleep.

Isn't it?

Apparently my foot isn't quite in tune with the rest of my body, because it disagrees.

Jackson sits up slowly as I nurse my injured toe on the ground, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

I ignore the tilt in my stomach and focus on testing my steps, concentrating to not stub my other toe on the ladder.

"How's your head?" he asks quietly, voice low and gravelly with sleep, echoing behind me as he creaks his way up the ladder.

I swallow hard, keep my head down as I open the door to the guest house. "Fine." It's bright out, but the sun hasn't quite cleared the tops of the trees. I've got some time. Not a lot, but enough.

He follows me quietly up to the main bar, through the back kitchen, through the swinging door to find Dec busy at his bar.

I scratch my neck awkwardly, trying to ignore my shadow. "H-hey, Dec."

Dec's work smile fades when he sees me. "Cas."

I force myself not to react. "Time?"

He glances at the door, at his customers, before waving me into his office and closing the door. "'Bout an hour 'till midday, I'd say." Jackson slips inside behind me, but Declan barely glances at him before moving to the bottle of rum on the mantle and pouring himself a shot.

I don't have to turn to feel Jackson's mouth twist. My saliva turns sour. "U-Um, thanks..."

Declan doesn't answer.

"When do you think you'll head down?" Jackson asks suddenly, moving to one of the free chairs, itching his nose, averting his eyes.

"In—In a few minutes," I manage. "Takes a while to get down there, and then...well. I don't-don't want to be late."