Mark of the Damned | 18+

The Power of Goodbye

Song - The Power of Goodbye - Madonna

Each step takes us closer to shore. I want to dig my heels into the ground. To stop time. There isn't anything I can do. It's coming no matter what.

Cooper is keeping us at the back of the group, but we're still surrounded by everyone. To make the unbearable pain worse, several of them, most notably, Big Jones, keep looking back at me. I can see the pity in their eyes with each glance.

My throat aches, the clump of trapped emotions is burning a hole in my chest.

By midday, I almost can't take it anymore. When we stop and most of the crew scatters to catch rabbits or find firewood, I have to get away. I can't hold back my tears for one second. They stream down my face before I can pick a direction to go.

Sitting in the tall grass, I cover my face with my hands and silently weep. There will never be a good time to do this, so it might as well be now.

We're a few hours from the coast. He will be ripped away to load supplies onto the ship, then he'll be gone.

"Lass," Big Jones' normally booming voice is soft as he approaches me slowly.

Forcing myself to look up, his expression crushes me. He looks so unlike himself. Usually big and burly, he looks sad.

"I don't want to get punched again," he says, looking over his shoulder. "But this is for the best. The seas are a dangerous place. I know Silver would have my head for this, but a few of us contributed a few coins to help you get started here." He hands me a small purse.

"What?" I sob loudly. I can't believe they would do this for me. The small purse feels like it has quite a bit more than a 'few' coins inside. "T-Thank you," I lung up from the ground, wrapping my arms around his large body.

He pats my shoulder awkwardly, "I need to go collect more wood." When I drop my arms, he smiles down at me, "I should go before Silver sees me here and tries to kill me."

Wiping my eyes on my shirtsleeve, I see Cooper in the distance, walking toward me. Even from here, I can see that he's angry.

"Do you know how to clean a rabbit?" He holds two out in his hand.

"Yes."

"Here," he throws them beside me, along with his dagger. "I'm going to start a fire."

His quiet rage is radiating from his skin. Using his knee, he snaps branches into smaller pieces and throws them into a pile. Every movement is jerky and full of anger. His chest is heaving, and beads of sweat roll down his back. He's boiling.

Several of the men return with rabbits and small pheasants. As we work to clean them, Mick starts to sing. At first, his voice is low, a soft sound that barely makes it above the wind. By the end of the first song, he's singing loudly, with several of us joining in to sing along.

Cooper doesn't join in.

He angrily cuts into the rabbits, ripping and tearing. Without looking at me, he gets up and drops the meat onto the stones he placed in the fire.

As I quietly sing, I watch him. His jaw is so tense that it looks like he's going to crack his teeth. I want to pull him away. To spend a minute holding him in my arms before he's ripped away from me. Since they got the bone this morning, he's been so distant from me.

I keep staring, hoping that he will look at me. That his eyes will meet mine and we will be able to share something, the connection that felt so right at first glance.

But he doesn't.

He brings me some meat, but my stomach is so twisted into knots that I can hardly eat.