Open Your Eyes

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Pirates of the Caribbean' or anything from that film.

Summary: You/Jack. You find yourself wanting a change after a betrayal someone unexpected ends up changing more than you expected. Very bad at summaries. One-shot, to start off anyway.

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Open Your Eyes

'I can’t do it. I can’t. I need to get out of here.' The tongue is slimy against your neck, prodding your skin, and your stomach rolls. Hands grip your hips harshly and you can already feel the bruises. Your fingernails feel as if they’ll tear off any second, not being conditioned for gripping brick walls.

Panic rises in your chest when you feel a hand pull the hem of your dress up. You act instinctively and throw your hands up to push on the man’s chest. He falls back on the ground, already cursing the female existence. You don’t stay long enough for him to get on his feet, quickly running out of the dark alley and into the open street. You run so fast you forget to breathe. Not caring how many people you bump into, or how severely you stumble, the only thought is to get away.

Once your lungs begin burning, you force yourself to slow down to a mere jog and than down to a stop. Slumping against the nearest building, you lean your head against the stone and suck in as much air as your lungs allow.

You haven’t had a moment to think things through, the only thing that stands out is the imagine of your fiancé thrusting into a common whore. You walked into his bedroom and the glass vase in your hand slid to the ground, the shatter catching the attention of the otherwise engaged couple. He tried to talk you down. He fed you lies. And than he turned to condescension. He blamed you for his actions, saying it was your purity, your abstinence, that drove his actions. You can remember when he once used those exact reasons for wanting to marry you. Your palm still burns from where you smacked him.

You shut your eyes, ignoring the common sounds of the street, and listen to your breathing. The tears come and you do nothing to stop them, for once not feeling ashamed of what you feel.

You ran out of that house faster than you’ve ever moved in your entire life, faster than the athletic prowess you just displayed. You don’t remember how you got to that alley. You just knew that you couldn’t go home. Your mother would send you right back over to apologize for your rash actions. You don’t know how you met that man with the stiff fingers. You don’t remember when he propositioned you or how long you had been up against that wall, allowing him to touch you. You remember the need to hurt your fiancé, the need to prove something, anything. You always thought that abstinence was what men wanted. You thought they wanted a wholesome woman, to be their first everything. You were told these things. They are apparently quite false. Men want whores. They want sex. That’s all that anything comes down too.

Opening your eyes, you scan the street, picking out all of the women that get the man and even some money afterwards. They get what they want. They live on their own terms. You’re suddenly so envious of them you can barely think. You’ve lived your life according to what your parents wanted, according to what your fiancé wanted, according to what society wanted. When you were young, you remember announcing to your mother that you wanted to write stories, she punished you. Everything has always been set in motion for you, down to your arranged marriage.

You don’t want to do what’s expected. You want to be like them. Strong. Remembering the way that man dug his fingers into your sides, you slam your head against the wall, ignoring the sudden pain. It could take a lifetime and you still don’t think you would ever have been able to stay against that wall.

Pushing yourself away from the building, you glance around at your surroundings. You hadn’t realized that you had run this far, finding yourself a few feet from the docks. You can see the water and you want to be there with the moon’s reflection. The light is bouncing off the surface and it’s so beautiful you want to cry.

You begin wandering down the road, knowing that eventually you’ll find something. Reaching your hands up, you smooth down your hair, remembering how the man in the alley pulled at it. There’s a slight breeze, just cool enough to chill your bare shoulders and pick up stray hairs.

In a few minutes, you find yourself standing in the open doorway to a tavern. The doors are missing, leaving a big hole in the wall and allowing everyone to wander in and out more freely. Door knobs must be tricky business for a drunk man. The room is pulsating with bodies. No music is playing, but no one seems to notice or care. Bodies are writhing against each other, the more discreet are in corners, while the others are scattered about everywhere.

The air is thick and you can already feel sweat forming on your skin. Your body craves the cool breeze just outside but you ignore the pull. As deftly as you can, you weave your way through bodies and make it to the bar. The man to your right is openly leering and you try not to look his way. You want to forget and this man isn’t going to be the one to help you. There’s a bit of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth and you cringe. Looking away, you try to get the barkeep’s attention, but his focus is on a women at the other end who is leaning forward for the sole purpose of laying her breasts on the bar.

Without warning, your pushed roughly against the drooling man. You swing around to face the culprit who shoved you and your complaint dies in your throat. You recognize this man. You remember seeing him once, a year ago when he was preparing to be hung. Your father hurried you home when the blacksmith got involved, throwing the whole event into upheaval. You were told later that he escaped, jumped into the sea. Never seeing him face-to-face before, you’re surprised at how attractive he really is. Of course you’ve heard rumors about him, he’s known for being visually appealing, but you have never put too much stock into rumors. Obviously, that’s one rumor that’s fact.

He doesn’t look at you, only paying attention to getting what he wants. He slams his fists against the bar before bringing his fingers to his lips, a shrill whistle floating across the tavern. The barkeep immediately hurries to fill a mug up with alcohol and slides it along the bar. The pirate snatches up the mug and takes a long drink from it, bringing it down with a sigh of satisfaction.

If anyone can make you forget, it’s him. You can’t think of anyone better than Captain Jack Sparrow to introduce you in the ways of independent living. The man is the definition of independence. His only ties are to his ship, the whole town knows that. He’s perfect. He’s not drooling and he wouldn’t ask questions. His reputation for womanizing almost exceeds his reputation of pirating. You know that you ran away from the man in the alley, but he only would have gotten rougher.

Jack turns towards you, seeming to notice you for the first time, and his eyes light up. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile and you return it without thinking. Something about him makes you return the gesture. He leans back to scan you up and down, taking in your state of dress. You look down, having not thought of how you may not fit in. Your fiancé had given you this dress, saying that he wanted you to wear it on your wedding night. You thought that you would surprise him in it. You were the only one who ended up being surprised. Suddenly you want out of it. Your hands grip the material, bunching the blue silk in your hands. You feel sick just from wearing it.

“Careful luv,” Jack’s smooth voice reaches you just as his hands do. He gently pulls your hands away from the bodice and you let him, thankful that he stopped you. You hadn’t realized how tightly you were gripping it.

His head cocks to the side and he appraises you under hooded eyes. After a moment, he slides his mug towards you with a nod. With another shrill whistle, he shortly fills the space his mug left. You watch him drink deep and you glance at the mug he slid to you. You’ve never drank alcohol before, not a sip, nothing. You were raised differently than that. You suddenly get the extreme urge to drink anything offered.

With a nod, you bring the mug to your lips and tilt your head back, tasting the warm liquid on your tongue. It tastes rancid, but you swallow regardless. Your stomach turns and you clamp your mouth shut. The sound of Jack’s laughter reaches your ears and you take another sip. It’s not as bad the second time and you sip more, feeling it warm your belly. He stares at you openly as you swallow as much of the alcohol as you possible can, finishing it as quickly as you can. If it can help you stop feeling this way than it’s very much welcome.

You won’t allow yourself to slow down and you’re scared that if you take time to enjoy Jack’s company, you won’t complete what you set out to do. Setting the empty mug down, you take a step towards Jack and flash him your best effort at an enticing smile. He returns it wholeheartedly, flashing a few gold teeth, and brings his hand up to run the back of his fingers across your cheek. You resist the urge to step out of his reach, but you stand firm and accept his touch.

He stands up straight to look behind you and than he looks back down. He grabs his mug, tipping his head back to swallow what’s left of the contents. Absently letting the mug slip from his fingers, he takes your hand in his and slightly pulls you towards the exit. You let him, refusing to think about what you’re doing. You let him lead you out of the bar and down the road. You ignore the calls from random strangers, exclaiming words holding no surprise that he’s got a lady on his arm. A few insults are thrown, but you don’t hear the words. You stare at the back of his head as he leads you wherever he feels fit. You stare at the odd items hanging from his matted hair, not really seeing them, just staring.

In minutes he’s led you to a building. Looking up, you see that it’s the blacksmith’s place of business, but you don’t say anything. Will Turner bought the building some time ago and continued to run the business. You’ve heard rumors of his continued friendship with Captain Sparrow and obviously those rumors are correct.

Jack breaks the lock and swings the door open. He leads you inside and shuts the door, locking it from the inside. You walk out into the middle of the shop, staring at nothing and everything all at once. You can feel him, more than you can hear him, walk up to your back. Your eyes fall shut when you feel his breath against the side of your neck. You expect to feel his lips next, but he moves away and walks around you. You open your eyes and watch him stroll around the room, picking up objects just to set them down again, a few things he pockets.

'What am I doing?' You’re in a blacksmith’s shop, sharing space with a donkey, and you’re here to have sex with a pirate. You tell yourself to think about why you’re here. Think about finding him with that woman. How it feels to not be enough. How it feels to have your life taken away, because that’s what that moment did. Everything got spun up in a giant tornado and you can’t think of one portion of your life that wasn’t affected.

You don’t notice Jack’s advancement until he’s standing right in front of you. Tilting your head back, you meet his eyes and almost cry. You bite your lip to stop the sob, the heavy intake of breath. Your hands lay flat against your stomach, feeling the alcohol warm inside. You watch his dark eyes dart back and forth, taking in every aspect of your face. There is no sign of the smile that was there in the bar. His mouth is set in a thin line, his eyes aren’t lit up and you think that he may know everything. You know it’s preposterous, but he looks to know everything about you. You feel naked and fear you’ll back out if he doesn’t stop. You need him to use you, not study you. You need him to make you forget. You feel out of control, you don’t know if the alcohol worked that quickly or if it’s just your imagination wanting to blame something.

You open your mouth, ready to say your first words to him, and you’re more afraid than you have ever been. “Please…just...” Your voice isn’t strong. You don’t feel strong.

He frowns and you take a step back. His arm catches your wrist before you can step back too far, and he pulls you against him. Cupping your cheek with his other hand, he does what you silently asked without voicing the questions on his tongue. His lips are surprisingly soft against your own and the hair on his chin tickles. You squeeze your eyes shut and stay still, not moving against him. He slows down, taking his time and softly kisses the sides of your mouth. His thumb strokes your chin and his other hand rubs along your wrist, trailing his fingers up your arm.

You swallow thickly when his tongue flicks against your bottom lip. You expect him to pry your lips open, wanting access, but he doesn’t. Instead, he trails his lips up to your nose, kissing the tip. He travels to your eyelids, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive area. You find yourself relaxing, your body slowly loosening under his touch. You expected none of this.

Slowly, he returns to your mouth, kissing the corners again before moving to your upper lip. You react, barely, but you do. You kiss his lip and he returns the gesture in kind. Soon you find yourself kissing him in a way you had never kissed your fiancé. You can feel Jack’s kiss throughout your entire body.

His hand is at the small of your back, pulling you gently closer to him, his fingers playing with the strings tying your bodice together. His hand on your cheek leaves its place and moves down to take your hand. He lifts your hand up and rests it on his chest, holding it against the white shirt. He does the same with your other hand, only placing this one on his waist. Your fingers grip and you find yourself holding him tightly.

His kiss is slow and lazy, taking time to almost memorize everything. You open your mouth a little, feeling his tongue flick at your lips and wanting to feel it against your own. You meet his tongue hesitantly, but he soon takes control, sliding his tongue against the roof of your mouth, across your teeth, and spending time massaging it against yours.

He moans into your mouth and a surge of excitement shoots through you. Knowing that you can do this to a man is a heady rush. He takes a step, pressing his hips against yours, and you gasp at the feeling. You suddenly realize what it is that you are doing and pull away. You push him away from you and take a few steps back.

He’s breathing heavily and so are you. Half of his shirt is untucked, hanging down over his hips. His chest is heaving with each deep breath he takes and you find it hard to stay where you are. His eyes are dark, almost black, and he’s looking at you with such an intensity, you have to suck in air.

'I can’t do this. I can’t.' You feel the panic rise again. You feel so angry with yourself for doing this a second time . Looking around, you realize where you are again. You can’t have sex here, in this barn. That’s not who you are. That’s not what you do. You can’t do it, you can’t be strong like those other women. You can’t be strong and you can’t be a housewife. What else is there for? You feel that familiar sensation of warmth in your eyes. Tears well up and blur your vision. It does nothing to slow your breathing and soon your making sobbing noises in the back of your throat.

Suddenly you feel strong arms wrap around you and you don’t resist. You take what he has to offer willingly and fall against him. He slowly kneels to the ground, taking you with him. With his arms wrapped around you, he sits you on his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. Your hands pull at the shirt on his back, gripping the material, not knowing what you want from him.

You briefly register him making soft shushing coos in your ear, but it only makes you cry harder. This kind of comfort you’ve been looking for your entire life. And the one time you find it, it’s with a stranger. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, tasting his skin against your lips. You taste salt and weigh the difference between your tears and his skin. His neck taste of years at sea, years of the ocean spray. Your tears taste of nothing but tears.

He doesn’t ask any questions. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, why you’re crying, or what you want. He just holds you, his hands stroking down your back, and ignores his body’s obvious demands.

He softly tells you that everything is fine. That it will get better. That you’ll be okay. He’s got you. He’s here. With each word he says, your tears fall quicker. Just the thought of this man, who has never met you before, comforting you when he doesn’t have any obligation to do so, it all seems so overwhelming.

Minutes drag by, the only sounds heard are your sobbing and Jack’s soft utterings of comfort. When you stop crying, there is no slow descent, you just stop. His shirt is wet, stuck to his shoulder, and you’re embarrassed that you’re the reason for it. Even though the tears have stopped, you don’t lift your head. You don’t want to see his face or him to see yours.

His hand on the back of your neck squeezes gently before moving up to tangle in your hair. Your hair is tugged back, your head moving with it, and you shut your eyes. Fingers trace across your cheek bone, slide against your eyebrows, and trace the slope of your nose. He skims his fingertips over your lips, resting his hand against your jaw, his thumb settling at the corner of your mouth.

You try not to do it, but you have to, and you sniffle. Your nose is runny and you don’t want to make a further spectacle of yourself by letting it run. You’re sure that his shirt is not just wet from your tears.

You slowly open your eyes to meet his questioning gaze. He smiles softly and leans forward, brushing his mouth against yours. You don’t return the kiss, but you don’t move away either, content with just feeling his kiss. You’re confused by his actions. This is supposed to be the most feared and respected pirate in the Caribbean, and he’s practically rocking you like a child.

“You’re safe here, I won’ hurt you.” His voice is so low you can barely make the words out, but you believe him. You believe him more than you’ve ever believed anyone.

You wrap your arms around him tighter and hug him close to you, hiding your face against his dry shoulder, and taking all that he’ll give. He runs one hand down your spine, relaxing you, while brushing your hair aside with his other hand. He softly massages your exposed neck and you sigh. His head dips down to drop a kiss on your shoulder, his dark hair tickling your skin. Your eyes fall shut and you concentrate on listening to the sound of his voice, muttering nonsensical comforts. Soon you feel yourself sinking, that familiar feeling of oblivion pulling you under, and you do nothing to stop it.

Some small part of you knows that you’ll awake alone, but the thought doesn’t bring any sense of discomfort. Jack may not be there any longer, but you know that he’ll leave a permanent mark on your character. You’ll wake in the morning with a clear head, truly believing that everything will be alright. He’ll never know how much he changed the life of that sobbing girl in the barn. In this moment, you’ve never loved anyone more.


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Author's Note: Review and say what you think. I know it didn't turn out being R-rated, originally it was going to be, but I just couldn't find a way to work it it. It didn't fit. So it never happened. Hope that this is enjoyed regardless.

Updated Author's Note: I'm working on a second part to this, but I will probably be making it a sequel, not a second chapter. I don't know if I will be able to get the next installment to my liking. If I don't, it won't see the light of day. But I'm working on it so I have high hopes that I'll get it out there. I just don't know when. So thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to review, you have definitely soothed my concerns about the story. Thank you. To those of you who read but don't review, what the hell? Kidding, thank you for reading it, assuming that you read the whole thing and weren't disgusted by the third sentence.