nowhere

He shifts, grasps my arm. I manage not to react. Maybe he will just keep on snoring.

I never really knew what I wanted in life. Never really wanted anything, perhaps. But of course I did not want this. Not this kind of endless death, not this grave, this pointless jail, grates of a cabin I will probably end up dying in. Did I really need to lose to understand?

He is awake. He grumbles my name. And I would smile at the stupid words, if I was alive enough. Yeah, I’m at ‘his Will’, completely. I used to hope it was just that. Maybe I was not really ‘his’, after all. But I’m no longer sure about whom I do belong to. It could be anybody. But it’s probably him.

He manages to snake between my legs. Half asleep, he just drops his head on my chest. He holds me with limp arms as he presses his morning hard-on against me.


He grunts. He shifts. He finds the hole, and forces in.


His beard is scratching lightly on my nipples. I try to focus. It is a singular feeling. I wonder if it could be called pleasure. I wonder if it could become pleasure. I’m not sure.


I can feel him stop, and harden further. I can feel him rotate his hips, screwing deeper into me.


He pulses. He pushes until his balls are crushed against my ass. He keeps pushing, turning his hips upright with each thrust.


He’s half awake, now. He pulls back.


The head of his cock teases at my opening. When he pushes back in, I hear his groan. He does it again.

I can feel the waves outside, smashing against the wooden keel. I’m not sure whether I’m experiencing their smell, their sound, their movement. Maybe I’m just imagining it all.


I wonder if tomorrow will rain. I wonder why I care.

He keeps pushing in and pulling out. His hips move slowly. He grunts.


He’s hard and he pushes. It should hurt.

Once it was pleasure. While you held me tight. While your beard scratched and your cock pushed and your lips met mine and your tongue worshipped me. Your hands ended up on my cock and we were running, breathless and useless, one into the other. We would end up screaming, kissing, coming, our bodies shaken by spasms. We would lay there afterwards, cuddling and whispering. We wanted it.


I think it was called love.

He keeps thrusting. The speed has slightly increased, now. I can tell by his moans that he’s about to come. It’s always easier, in the morning.

There is nothing to be done, no people to be saved. There would be me, actually. But there is nobody remembering me anymore. Nobody trying to find me. Not this time.


I wonder how long have I been here. I decide that I don’t want to know.

My member remains limp. It just lies there, and moves as my body is rocked back and forth.


He doesn’t care. He never does. I suppose I’m lucky.


He’s pushing harder now. He pulses. He shudders. His hips spasm once, twice, he groans. And then I’m wet.


He stays inside. I can feel something trickling down my crevice. It’s hot and sticky. Just as always.

Slaves are little, useless, meaningless creatures. Especially if they’re not beautiful. I suppose I am, but it makes no difference. There is no one ready to fall in love with me and save me. Maybe there has never been.


I remember how it was. I remember. I remember what I’ve felt and heard and seen.


I remember when I saw you drown.


I remember the ropes, the waves. And I remember your eyes. I remember your hat sailing away from the ship. I remember when I imagined your gun hit the sea bed.


You stared at me. And kept staring as you walked the plank and kept staring as you fell and kept staring as you went down. And then your eyes disappeared in the deep water and I could no longer see you.


I don’t remember what you said to me before. I don’t remember your last words. I kept crying.


I wish I could forget it all. Maybe I’ve already begun. I will try.

He lets go of me. He pulls out. His hands have left marks on my hips.

I’m nowhere. I’m going nowhere. There is nowhere left to hide, here.


Maybe one day I’ll manage to fade away, hidden in some dark corner. Maybe I’ll be able to forget my own existence. Maybe one day he will decide that he desires me no more. Maybe I will get so ugly that he will allow me to die, or maybe he will just kill me.


And as I drown in my little pool of nothingness, I will search for your eyes, Jack. There, in the deep. Or maybe I won’t, who knows. But by now, you’re all I remember.

He lies next to me. He doesn’t try to hold me. And I stare in the mid-light, imagining the waves, as Barbossa drifts back to his sleep.