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Chapter 5~ Invisible Bruises
Throughout my life, the only true pain I'd experienced had always been of the emotional sort—the longing for my mother and father, the resentment towards my godmother, and the humiliation from the way I dressed. After Father left, there was no one left to protect me. All of a sudden, I'd entered this cruel world where I had no one to run to or cry on. If only the change had been gradual.
My exhausted body lied on the rotting floor. The blood was still seeping from the wound on my cheek. My new and old gashes ached. Every breath I took stung like wasps in my lungs. My ribs were bruised though nothing appeared yet on my skin. I attempted to sit up and cried out from an instant burn on my bottom right ribcage. Though, I finally propped myself up, lying on the wall. I pushed my hair away from the sticky blood.
There certainly was a strong difference between emotion and physical suffering—the physical type being much more bearable. When coughing, I might as well had a dagger in my chest. Tears washed over my cheeks, stinging when reaching the cut.
The worst part about the damage was that I wasn't sure whether to believe Tew or not. My father had his odds stacked against him. People change in three years' time. Anyone could've taken advantage of my father's weakness. The man I loved might not have even existed anymore.
I hit the back of my head against the wall many times in pure aggravation. The feeling of complete confusion made me feel as though I was wading through a never-ending lake—all alone. The world is suddenly very lonely when you realize you no longer have someone to trust.
My eyes began to close as the light outside died only to be reborn on the bottom of the earth. Footsteps met the outside of the door and keys jangled with energy and motion.
The Cabin Boy entered with his usual tray of rotten grub, a bucket, and his scar across his nose. He found me drained on the floor.
"Christ," he shuddered, "you look as pale as ghosts." Edmund set the tray aside and knelt in front of me. He held a hand out for the cloths which I then produced.
"I think my ribs are broken," I told him. A wave of discomfort passed over him, something that wasn't helping my frightened mood at all.
"Okay, um, sorry, can you lift your blouse so I can see?" I did and noticed a faint red bruise coloring my right side. I refused to look at it anymore.
"Well, I don't know what you expected, lass. You did kill a man today." The idea made both of us smirk.
"You would do the same if you were in my position."
Edmund washed out the rags, and I watched the clear water become clouded with a dark scarlet. Then, I watched him. Why was I sort of relieved whenever he walked through the door?
Because he's healing you. That's why.
I began to recall what the Cabin Boy had said about his family the day before. His fingers continued to dip into my watered-down blood as if it was nothing. Maybe it truly was nothing. He was too young to be that diligent—too young to have a gaze that wise and perceptive.
"Is this what you wanted to do when you got older—become a doctor?" I asked.
Edmund glanced up at me. "You want the truth?"
"Yes."
A small smile played on his lips.
"When I was younger, I planned to be just like my father, commandin’ a fleet of the bravest and most darin’ men the world had ever seen. I grew up with my father. When his dream changed, mine did as well. He taught me everything he knew…and more. Still figure I'd make a pretty damn good leader."
I didn't mean to say it. "You would."
Edmund looked back at me, surprised for a second or two. It passed, though, and he wrung out a cleaned rag.
"Thank you," I said, "You didn't have to tell me all this stuff. Really, you didn't have to help me at all. However, you would be cleaning me off the floor much earlier if you didn't."
He chuckled with a warmth in his chest. "Well, you didn't have to tell me your name either. Did you, Miss Every?"
"I believe the point of me telling you my name was so that you wouldn't call me 'Miss Every'."
Edmund placed the cold rag onto the cut on my cheek. I gasped and pulled back a bit. Panicked, he rushed, "Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I haven't doctored anyone before. The burn will go away in a few seconds, Miss…Constantine."
Despite the pain, a smile glowed in my chest though my face remained taken aback by the pain.
"It's okay, really."
Edmund dabbed away at the cut with the most delicate touches. And every time, his palm brushed against my jaw, sending an odd shiver down my back.
"Tew mentioned my father today. He said all these horrible things about him. It made me want to hurt him even more. I felt that way because part of me believed those things. I haven't seen him in so long. After my mother died, he wasn't ever the same. Now, he's a pirate and I have no idea what kind of person he may be. But, he's all I have left. If I lose him, I lose the whole game. I won't have a reason to fight any longer."
He used the hand with the cloth to pull my chin up so my eyes met his.
"If your father is the only reason you have for livin' anymore, you’d be ten times weaker than you are now. And you wouldn't have killed one of the crew today. Hopeless people don't do those sort of things. But, you…You wanna live. And I'll be damned if I go through all this backbreakin’ work only for you to toss yourself off the side of the ship."
Edmund proceeded to clean the blood off of my neck and jaw, all the while with the stare of a scholar on his work.
But I'd become annoyed—annoyed with the many unanswered questions, annoyed at the stagnant confusion.
"You know, the boys back in England aren't like this…not like you. All they care about is the fastest way to get underneath a girl's dress," I explained.
"Most boys aren't like me because most boys aren't orphaned and livin’ on a pirate ship."
"Not like that," I interrupted. "I don't know a boy alive who'd give enough damns to fix me…or speak to me for that matter."
He gave a tricky smile and held my gaze for a few seconds longer, obviously flattered. "Not the popular lass back home, eh?"
I shook my head with only a bit of embarrassment in my mind. "I didn't even wear dresses. Those things are like cages, so tight and uncomfortable. I dressed like my father whenever Mother let me. And when she died, I dressed my own way. The new change of freedom was scary. I'd been used to being watched over my whole life."
"I know how you feel," Edmund related. "When I came to live here, I suddenly had to keep up with my own problems. The crew is as hygienic as the bottom of the ship. And I can't begin to tell you about the food."
Then, something so strange occurred in me. I genuinely laughed—something I'd long forgotten how to do. But, Edmund laughed too and I suddenly stopped pitying myself. After my cuts were cleaned, Edmund wrung out the cloths and tied them back around his ankles. He then popped his knuckles and tried to give me a comforting expression.
"Let's look at your ribs."
Like before, I lifted my shirt to expose my ribcage. I watched Edmund examine the bruise as I watched a blush color his face. Even the sight of that made me want to laugh again. Maybe he was like the boys back in England in some way or another. With a glance at me for my permission, he carefully touched the skin below the bruise, the tender part. I was taken aback at first, discomfort mixing with my own nerves.
"God, your hands are ice-cold," I hissed. Edmund chuckled and moved his hand closer to the bruise. He applied small amounts of pressure along the way. Something odd twisted about in my stomach.
"That hurt?"
"Yes."
"Here too?"
"Yes."
"Okay, I know this'll hurt, but I need you to take a deep breath and hold it. Can you do that, Constantine?"
Maybe it was the sound of my name on his voice but I took a deep breath without any worries. It hurt, and I had to focus my attention on the ceiling, but I did it. Edmund checked more spots around my ribs before pulling my shirt back down.
"Your ribs aren't broken but they are bruised. Luckily, they'll heal on their own in about a month. All I can tell you is to rest as much as possible, breathe normally, try not to cough, and don't push yourself. Please." He stood and grabbed the bucket.
"What about Tew?" I asked. "I'm not going to stop resisting him, Edmund."
"You don't have to stop. Just make sure he doesn't aim at your torso. I'll check them again tomorrow." He then left the room and the pain settled in fully. I clutched at my sides, frustrated at the events occurring around me. Surely, I wouldn’t be able to take the daily torturing sessions. I’d need a plan.
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