Saving The Pirate (Book Two)

73. Recognition

I couldn't have breakfast even if I wanted it. No one had any. No, they were saving their appetites for tonight, where there would be cakes that touched the ceiling, meat that looked like it came from a faraway land, drinks that gave you the euphoria that you needed to last you for a lifetime. 

I wasn't hungry anyway. Actually, I was dizzy when I woke up, but I didn't let that stop me from throwing on my clothes and escaping to the library before Cora came in to check on me. 

If you thought I was there to read, you were wrong. I didn't have the patience, nor did I care to. Instead, I took a spot in a dusty corner of the library and made one with the cobwebs and spiders, the insects caught in their webs, and all the mice that found peace in chewing the bookcases. It was quiet. It was only me.

I tried not to think too much. Thinking too much only hurt. Thinking meant feeling, feeling meant crying, and crying got you nowhere if it was already the end of the story. Where Prince Charming was a pirate and the Princess was a fool for thinking he was anything different.

I took deep breaths. Breathe, I told myself. Hold on.

I drew my knees to my chest. I was feeling the weight of a bad decision. No, don't.

My stomach turned sour, but I stood my ground. I shut my eyes and held them tight. Dear God, please no.

I held my breath as I stood up, grabbed a book, any book from the nearest shelf, and left the library.

***

I shivered once I got to the bottom of the stairs, and had to force myself not to look up from the ground as I walked to the end of the corridor where Christopher's cell stood. There was a chair there, but I didn't bother to sit in it. I glanced at Christopher who was picking at the scabs on his hands and arms. 

He was cleaner since the last time since I saw him. I could only guess that it was his mother that did that. She couldn't let her son rot just yet, I guess.

"Good morning," I said in a small voice. He looked up, but I couldn't see his face. I couldn't look into his golden eyes. It was too dark. Why was it so dark here?

"Hey," he said, not moving. He waited for me to speak. I didn't for a moment. I could only look at his dark figure.

When I felt him staring at me for too long, I held up the book. "I brought this for you too read."

"I can't," he said, "it's too dark."

"Oh," I shrunk back. I looked at the guard that was hunched over the knife he was sharpening. I asked for a lantern. He said to put it on the chair. I said okay and lit the candle, putting it on the chair. I handed the book to Christopher, in which he took it and laid it beside him. He continued to stare at me.

"Did you come here just to give me a book?" He was doing it again. He was demanding an answer with his eyes. He indeed was a wolf. 

"No," I said too quickly. I was a goddamn fool.

"Then what else?"

"I-." I didn't know what to say, so I said what came to mind. "I wanted to thank you, for everything."

"For everything, huh?"

"Yes."

"Well," he was slow to get up, but I was surprised at all that he could even do it, despite the cold sweat that dampened his shirt and face. He hadn't shaved since we arrived at the island, and it showed too with a short tangle mess of a beard that hung from his face. He looked much older, wise even, but he and I knew better.