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I shook away the foreign feeling. It had to be the sea salt in the air getting to me. And the heat of midday wasn’t helping.
Just then Noah and McKenzie came running over to me, frantic with just the reaction I expected.
“What were you thinking, Katrina?” McKenzie looked at me with eyes wide beneath a wrinkled forehead.
“I wasn’t thinking,” I uttered. “I just…I thought Bellamy was hurt.”
“Why would you care about Bellamy?” Noah threw his hands up, and McKenzie touched his arm to settle him.
“Katrina had a thing with Bellamy before Milo. He was cursed too.”
“We didn’t have a thing!” I snapped, stumbling with the movement of the ship. “Neither of you have any idea what’s going on with me.” As I spoke my head spun. And I knew I’d said the wrong thing. But I had to get away from them. From everyone. Something was wrong.
Putting a hand to my head, I glanced between a shocked McKenzie and Noah. “I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I really am. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.” I turned away. “I think I just need some time to think. Alone.”
The quick nods they offered in response reassured me that my apology was enough, but I could tell by their worried expressions that they were concerned. But what more could I say? I couldn’t explain my dilemma because I didn’t understand it myself.
I quietly walked to the stern on the forecastle upper deck above Bellamy’s quarters. It was rarely occupied and seemed the perfect spot to escape the constant commotion of the crew. I curled up and brought my knees to my chest. Despite the blazing sun, I felt ice cold inside.
I watched the stream of churning water trailing behind the ship, foaming white froth dancing on a blanket of blue. Each curl of the waves beckoned me like fingers coaxing me in their direction, calling me, begging me. I yearned for my paintbrush to capture this moment as my eyes drank in the scene below. I wished I could paint. To remember. To understand. To escape in at least one way.
I wondered if I might find some kind of material that I could salvage enough into a makeshift paintbrush. There had to be something on board this ship that could work. I stood to my feet, looking for whatever I found that could have potential as a brush handle.
There was nothing that I could find that worked. The fishing rods and oars were far too thick to make use of. I felt like an idiot for worrying about painting at a time like this. But it was the one thing I could do something about. For now, I could only wait until we reached Nassau to do much of anything.
When searching the ship proved a waste of time, I thought of the one place that might have something. I’d seen writing utensils and navigation tools of the like in my time in Bellamy’s cabin. There had to be something in there I could use.
With Bellamy at the helm, I did my best to go unnoticed as I scurried across the ship’s length. The last thing I wanted was to give him another reason to make me stay the night in his bed again. I slipped between the crew members along the deck and to the captain’s quarters, testing the door handle once I reached it. A grin stretched across my face as I realized the door wasn’t locked and entering was just a matter of turning the knob.
It creaked open, reminding me faintly of when I’d snuck aboard the Siren’s Scorn to steal Valdez’ key. With footsteps light and a breath caught somewhere between my throat and my lungs, I crept forward, looking at the items all around me as I passed. A small desk of Bellamy’s stood nestled beside the chest where he’d kept his clothing the night before. I didn’t have the chance to get so close to it then, so I quickly walked over to examine it further. Rummaging through the mess of papers and half-burnt candlesticks, I was disappointed not to come across anything even remotely pen-like that I could convert into a paintbrush handle.
But when I looked a second time, I noticed something I hadn’t at first—a charcoal pencil. It was long and blocky and awkward. But it would do. I tucked it in the sash tied around my waist and looked for a knife I could use for the brush. One of Bellamy’s cutlass swords rested sheathed against the corner. I pulled out the blade, admiring it for a moment. I’d never held anything like it before. The clear steel reflected my own face back at me and I nearly jumped at the sight. I was ragged and worn, but I looked fiercer than ever. My face was the same, but something about it now seemed striking and intimidating. Something was happening to me.
I shook away the chilling realization and refocused on the task at hand. Selecting a thin strand of my hair, I pulled it taut with one hand and carefully guided the sword’s blade with the other. Just a few inches should be enough for a thin brush head.
That’s when I heard the door creak open.
20
Murky Waters
Katrina
“I’d ask you why you were in here,” Bellamy said while he walked up behind me. “But there’s no possible explanation you could give that would make it acceptable.”
Something in me stirred again, like a whirlpool within that I couldn’t control. I spoke before turning around to face him, still holding the sword firmly in my grasp. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with me being in your room last night,” I said calmly. “Make up your mind. Do you hate me or want to sleep with me?”
I was shocked at my own words. They were out before I’d even thought to say them. It wasn’t like me to be so snarky and confident.
Bellamy leaned toward me, his unruly black locks falling around his eyes. “Maybe a bit of both.” He gently took the sword out of my hand. “Now tell me why you’re in here. And what you’re doing with this.”
Don’t tell him. Make him wonder. Make him beg to know.
“None of your business,” I snapped, fully attentive to the strange new inner voice in my head.
“My sword. My business,” Bellamy smirked.
“Fine,” I said, momentarily shaking my head to return myself back to normal. My voice softened. “I…I just wanted to paint.”
