Page 99 of Losing Wendy

So no.

I don’t have a clever response to the captain, but I’m sure one will come to me in my dreams tonight. When I sleep exceedingly well, knowing I have this man underneath my thumb.

Instead, I just crane my head to the side and smile softly. Waiting.

After a moment of staring me down, the captain actually gives an approving laugh, though there are remnants of the gurgling ocean in it. Even now, in my resolute state, I can’t help but noticethe way the laughter softens his harsh features, warming his eyes as they come to a fresh simmer.

“So you can be stubborn, after all.”

“I can see you struggling,” I say, nodding toward his feet, which are wiggling, though not with much success.

“Come now, Darling. I was just coming to terms with the fact that you’re not as dull as you let on. Don’t go and ruin it by stating such obvious facts. Of course I’m struggling.”

I flush, anger roiling inside my throat, silencing me and holding my tongue against my will.

A cruel smirk slices against the captain’s beautiful features. “Oh, but I forgot. You’re not the type to struggle against your chains, are you, Darling?”

Tears spring up in my eyes, but I blink them away hastily. “How did you find me?”

This time, it’s the captain who offers me a cruelly placating smile, mirroring my own from earlier. I fear his probably appears more sinister than mine.

“How did you find me?” I repeat.

“Why do you assume I was looking for you? Slightly presumptuous of you, though I suppose that’s to be expected from a girl whose parents taught her from a young age that she was the only thing that was important in the universe. That her life was so much more valuable than anyone else’s.”

“Please don’t talk about my parents,” I whisper.

The captain’s cheek ticks. “Please?”

Again, my throat bulges, and I find myself nervously digging my fingers through the black sand underneath me.

“I don’t do please. Or do you think that would have been a kinder way to ask your parents to slit their own throats?”

I’m not sure what happens to me, but I lunge, the anger I’ve been stuffing down finally building up enough resistance, like a metal spring that’s been pressed and released, propelling me to my feet.

I find myself above the captain, my dagger unsheathed and glinting against his throat.

“Your hands are trembling, Darling,” he taunts.

“You know what you don’t need a steady hand for? Slitting a man’s throat.”

“But do you know what you do need?” says the captain, sighing. “Courage. Guts. And that, Darling, is something I’m afraid you’re utterly lacking.”

“I’ve killed before,” I say, and the words feel like a betrayal. Like holding up a medal I won by slicing off the hand of the person who earned it.

The captain cocks his head, though barely, searching my face intently. “Have you now? I’m impressed. But if you believe that makes you courageous, you’re sorely mistaken. Courage isn’t found in what you’re willing to do once. Courage is knowing what it feels like to get your hands slick with blood, to have your soul chipped away at. Courage is to know what it is to steep in that kind of pain, and to still be willing to do it again. Are you willing to do it again?”

I try to dig the blade further into his throat, but it’s like I’ve hit a wall—the resistance of his skin that begs me not to go forward, not to rip through it like I did the stranger. Or maybe the resistance is in my limbs. Possibly even in my soul itself, begging me not to sacrifice yet another piece of it to this island.

With haste, I retract the blade from the captain’s throat and bite down to stifle my frustrated scream.

When he finally answers my question, it feels more like a failure than anything else. A reminder that he only answers me on his own terms. “If you must know, you left your pocket watch behind in the tower. There are some talented Seers out there who can locate people by their possessions. Especially possessions that evoke emotion.”

My father gifting me the glass pocket watch dances before my memory. The present of a father tainted by what the object meant—a reminder that my time was running out.

“Where is it then?” I ask, mouth dry.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

---