Page 80 of Paid to the Pirate

Charlotte, the past

When I awoke in the morning, blood blossomed between my spread legs, staining the tan breeches before my widened eyes. With the way my legs shifted in the night, blood spread down my thighs, impossible to ignore.

“No, God, please no,” I whimpered. Waves of horror and panic washed over me.

What should I do? Why had my curses come upon me now?

They’d been so delayed, I’d wondered if they’d ever come at all.

This blood wouldn’t wash out and the crew would surely see. We were so far from shore… the danger I’d be in…

Crying softly, I found a clean rag and stuffed it between my legs to staunch the flow. I pulled my shirt free from my belt, letting it hang low enough to cover the apex of my thighs, but it wasn’t long enough to hide the stains.

What to do?

I spied the knife on the galley table. My stomach flipped as I resolved,if I can’t make it better, I’ll make it worse.

Before I had time to back out, I grabbed the knife and steeled my courage. Wincing, I sliced from my palm, up my forearm, careful to avoid my veins.

The blood-curdling scream I let out woke Miguel and everyone else on the ship. It was no act as I crumbled into a ball and further spread the blood all over myself, clutching my arm in a fruitless attempt to stifle the searing pain.

He couldn’t have arrived first -- not when Miguel was also sleeping in the galley. But somehow, Colt was the first face I focused on as I came in and out of a haze of pain.

“What have you done to yourself?” he asked, eyes blown wide in fear.

“N - not intentional,” I protested. “Was… cutting an apple…”

“Jesus, Charlie,” Colt said, scooping me up in his arms. “To the infirmary,” he commanded Miguel.

The infirmary was only one small staircase down from the galley, an oft-used little room in which I’d seen many shipmates patched up over the months. Once we arrived, Colt laid me on a makeshift table and Miguel turned my arm, examining. Then his gaze roved over the rest of my body. The hair on my neck rose.

“I need everyone out,” Miguel said calmly, quietly. “You too captain.”

I hadn’t noticed the crowd gathered at the door and spilling into the small room. At Miguel’s request, everyone departed, including a reluctant captain.

Miguel uncorked the rum -- something I’d seen him do many times before and an act which no longer surprised me. I turned my head and winced again, knowing he was going to pour the spirit onto my wound.

It stung worse than I anticipated and I screamed.

“I don’t think you need sewing up,” Miguel said, “but we’ll bandage this arm and you won’t be able to use it for week, possibly a fortnight.”

I nodded, glad his proclamation might grant me a reprieve from work I needed to tend to the new problem leaking between my legs.

Scanning my body, Miguel said, “Considering you didn’t hit a vital artery, that’s a lot of blood coming from one cut.”

I smiled weakly. “I’ve always been a bleeder.” My voice rose at the end, like a question.

Do you believe me?I seemed to ask.

Miguel’s warm eyes danced, as if to reply,no. But your secret’s safe with me.

My shoulders slumped, part from relief, part defeat. If anyone on this Godforsaken ship was going to know the truth, Miguel would be my first choice. But it would have been better if no one knew at all. It felt like dominoes were falling, too fast for me to stop.

I’d put on weight from the steady meals and my breasts were beginning to grow. The onset of my monthly bleeding arrived. Miguel knew the truth.

How many more dominoes would fall before I was exposed?

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