Saltwater

Nico

As my captor closed the door, I laid down on my back, pulling the covers onto myself. I was so worn down from tonight's events that I imagined my bones beginning to crumble, as if they were the bricks of an old castle under siege. So against my better judgement, I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep.

For a few moments, it was peaceful, the complete darkness behind my eyelids.

Soon though, my body seemed to fall through the bed, back to the cold dirt floor of some monster's cellar. Back to huddling alone in the corner, longing for warmth and for comfort. Back to the constant, relentless fear and pain. This is where you should've died, Nicolas. Do you remember? 

I tore myself out of the nightmare while I still could, sitting up on the bed, my heart pounding, my sharp, uneven breaths echoing across the room. I wished there were light. The darkness was no longer comforting, it twisted and contorted into something horrifying, something that could grab me by my ankle and drag me back kicking and screaming. I felt a lump in my tightening throat.

You shouldn't be afraid of the dark, I scolded myself. You're not a baby, remember?

I swallowed my tears, chewing the inside of my lip. I had to be better than this. I had to stop being so weak. 

I stared up at the ceiling for a while, trying to think about something else, anything else. 

His bed was surprisingly comfortable. It was soft and cushioned, and the fleece blanket was very warm. Chances are, he stole all of this, perhaps in different parts, from different people, on different ships. I'd imagine that's true for everything in this room. 

From the four wooden posters, engraved with twisting twirling bouquets of flowers, its rightful owner is a wealthy one, maybe even royalty. It was a similar style to my own bed in the palace, back in Rome. Although here, there weren't any curtains. I suppose he had sold them off somewhere. In fact, when I looked over at the thin sliver of pearl-white moon glowing through the window, I realized there were no curtains there either. And why would there be? It's not like anyone would be watching from outside anyway. There are no neighbors at sea, either they're on your ship or they aren't.

I wonder what it's like to live that way. Do you ever get bored of being in the same place, day in, day out? If you wanted a change of setting, you'd need to prepare for a journey, pull out a map and make a plan for how you'll get there, and travel for days, even weeks on end, just to be on solid land again. All of that for one little trip! Why would anyone choose this? You'd have to be mad, desperate, or both.

It was a double bed rather than a single. I wonder whose spot I'm taking up. Or does he sleep by himself and have a double anyway? I don't see any reason why a single man would have a double bed. 

Where is he going to sleep now that I'm here? I suppose it's big enough for both of us, but I would assume that he'll be unwilling to be so intimate with a stranger. Then again, he saved my life without even knowing my name. Of course, maybe he does. Maybe he recognized me. Maybe he was hoping I would pardon him or give him money out of gratitude. Or... Maybe he's trying to hold me for ransom.

Fear rose to constrict my throat at the thought. I felt I could hardly breath. Dear God, what was he going to do to me?

I shook the thought from my mind. No, for the purposes of my sanity, he was not holding me for ransom. I refused to entertain the thought. 

Then why did he save you?

-

I was normally very good at keeping myself awake, but I struggled tonight. A few times, I gave in, and was met with the same flashes of terror as before. When the first light of dawn came, I spotted a pile of books in the corner, and decided to try reading one of them. No matter how I reached from the bed, I couldn't get my hands on it, so I had to stand again. Using the bedpost as support, I was able to grasp one from the top of the pile: Paradise Lost by John Milton.

Right then, the door opened behind me. "Oh, you're out of bed." He noted. "How long have you been awake?"

I sat on the bed again, the book in hand. "All night." I admitted, lifting my eyes up to his.

He put down a bowl that he'd been carrying and sat on the other side of the bed. "You shouldn't do that. You need to sleep."

"Well, you were up all night too, weren't you?"

"That's different, I have duties as a captain. I sail at night, she sails in the day."

I gave him a quizzical look, sliding my legs back onto the bed and putting the book down. "She?"

"Annabeth." He answered. "Now eat your breakfast." 

He handed me the bowl, full of something that looked like pale, sandy mud, but I knew was hot porridge. I didn't want to insult anyone's cooking, and I certainly didn't want to upset him, so I took a spoonful into my mouth, and only then did I realize how hungry I was. When was it that I last bothered to eat? Was it three days? Four? It doesn't matter. After another spoonful or two shoveled into my mouth, I abandoned the spoon altogether and drank my porridge straight from the bowl, letting it slide down my throat. It burned, and little droplets stuck to the corners of my mouth, but I didn't care, I needed to get it all inside my stomach before it starts to eat me from the inside out. I only used the spoon again to scrape the last of it from the inside of the bowl.

Once I was satisfied, I wiped my sleeve over my mouth, and promptly realized what a poor guest I've been. I've exhibited the farthest thing from proper etiquette, and I have no excuse. I know better than this. I've been trained in polite dining since I was weaned off my mother's milk. My face felt hot, and I could scarcely look him in the eye. "I-I... I'm sorry."

"For what? It wasn't mine."

I coughed. "Well... I've been rather ill-mannered, haven't I?"

His face turned to pity again, and his arm laid behind me, right beneath my back. "Oh it's alright, you don't need to be sorry. I understand."

His forgiveness and his touch meant so much more to me than it had any right to. It told me that he wasn't looking to hurt me. Despite my fears surrounding him, I found myself leaning into his chest. He was much taller than me, made of lean muscle, his skin more deeply tanned and littered with scars. I found my eyelids getting heavier and heavier, and I had to remind myself that if I fell asleep, all of this would fade away, and I would be eight years old again.

"... You never did tell me your name."

I looked back up at his eyes, his bright blue-green eyes, and cleared my throat. "Nico. My name is Nico." I told him. "I... I didn't know you fancied Milton."

His brows furrowed. "What?"

I picked up the book and showed it to him. "I found this."

"Oh, that. No, that must've been from a raid or something. I guess nobody wanted to buy it."

"What do you have against him?"

He sighed. "It's nothing against him, or any of those writers, I'm sure they tell wonderful stories. I just can't understand them."

"What do you mean?"

"I... Every time I try to read one of them... I just can't. Everything gets all... Scrambled together in my head. I don't know why." 

I nodded. "... Well, if you want... I could read this aloud to you."

Now it was his face turning red. "Y-you... You would do that for me?"

"Of course, I've read it a hundred times."

"Well... A-alright then." His arm pulled me closer. "Thank you."

For the first time in ten years, I felt happy. Truly happy. "Of course. Now..." I opened the book and flipped past the table of contents. "Of Mans First Disobedience, and the Fruit 

Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal taste

Brought Death into the World, and all our woe

With loss of EDEN, till one greater Man

Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat..."