Mark of the Damned | 18+

Sparrow for a Heart

Song - Sparrow for a Heart by Abigail Lapell

The ship rolls, sending another dizzying wave of nausea through me. As I watched land disappear from my small window, I was so excited that I didn't notice. I missed it somehow. The way the ship rocks and sways, the way my feet feel unsteady as the ground below me is moving under my feet.

Now, it's all I can think about.

The sun rises over the water, the new day fast approaching. It might have been beautiful if I was able to lift my head from my bucket for more than a second at a time. In a short time, just a few hours, everything has changed.

I was afraid of all the wrong things. The crew, what is waiting for me on the other side, getting away from the life being forced on me. I was so wrong. The immediate danger is that I won't survive the journey.

From my room, I can hear the boisterous crew laughing, yelling, and working. They seem completely unaffected by the treacherous rolling of the sea.

Knocking at the door sends panic coursing through me. I have a job to do. I'm not afforded the luxury of lying in my room and dying in peace. I have to earn my keep.

The door opens a crack, then a bit more. Silver steps inside, his eyes trained on my face. If he's disgusted, he doesn't show it. He also doesn't show concern or pity. I can't tell what he's thinking. We sit, locked in silence.

The lightheaded and shaky feeling is momentarily forgotten.

It's as if he's the only man that's ever seen me. I feel flayed open as if every thought I've ever had is laid out before him. He can see into the deepest, most hidden parts of me. There isn't anything I can hide or keep secret for myself. He knows it at a glance.

"The crew eats split meals, seven and seven. Eggs, potatoes, and coffee should be fine." He turns to leave but stops. "You'll get your sea legs soon. Moving, staying busy, it helps."

When he's gone, I take a deep breath and force myself up. I hope he's right. Otherwise, the captain will throw me overboard before the day is done.

In the corner of the cabin, three members of the crew are sleeping in hammocks hanging one on top of the other. Their arms and legs hardly fit in the tattered scraps of fabric. They snore loudly, oblivious to my presence or anything else happening around them.

Despite my nausea, I giggle at the sight of them. Huge mountains curled up in their beds. They aren't nearly as frightening as they sleep.

I've never prepared a meal for this many men before. I'm not sure where to begin. Father eats four eggs each morning with his breakfast. These men make him look like a child. Deciding on seven eggs per man, I hurry to work.

The task of frying eggs and peeling potatoes is more difficult than it's ever been while the ocean tosses me about. I'm beginning to believe that Silver was lying. I feel much more miserable standing here and it's growing by the second. The idea of being flung into the sea doesn't sound as horrific as it did a few hours ago.

"You look a bit green, love," one of the men rolls out of his hammock. "Names Potter," he introduces himself as he plops down in one of the rickety seats and pours a cup of coffee.

"You'd feel better if you just had a quick chunder," another man comes to sit, laughing.

"What?" I wipe the sweat away from my forehead.

"A boot, a spew, feed the fish," Potter explains and I feel my stomach roll. Feeling this sick can only be made more unbearable by talking about vomit. They both holler and laugh at my expense. I'm sure I'm an odd mixture of red and pale, with sweat dripping down my neck.

Pressing the back of my hand to my mouth, I turn and try to finish frying the eggs.

Before I can place the potatoes on the table, multiple forks and even a few bare hands take them. The plate is empty by the time I pull my hand away. Looking up in shocked horror, I can't believe that they've eaten everything.

"I- you-" I stare in disbelief as the captain enters from above.

"Man the helms," he shouts to the group that quickly jumps up and leaves me alone with the angry looking man. "Where is the second crew's breakfast?"

"The first group ate everything. I didn't even have a chance to-"

"You didn't make enough food for both groups?" He yells as Silver and the rest of the second crew bound down the steps into the cabin. "Silver, did you tell her that we eat in two crews?"

"I did." He looks at me with furrowed brows. He doesn't look angry at all, just confused.

"I've never cooked for this many men before. I thought I made enough food for the first group, but they ate everything! I didn't-" My frantic babbling is cut off by the sharp sting of his hand clapping against my cheek.

"I don't want to hear your excuses, cut up some bread for the men and get to making lunch. They will be half-starved by the time it comes time to eat again." He growls angrily.

"I-I'm sorry," I turn, clutching my cheek and grabbing the knife with trembling hands.

"There's no fucking food?" The crew grumbles loudly, throwing expletives and groans in my direction. Silver is silent but I can feel his eyes on me, they burn into the back of my head.

Cutting the bread as quickly as I can, I place it on the table where they rapidly snatch it up, rumbling angrily about how hungry they are. The bitter metal taste of blood seeps into my mouth from the broken skin of my lip.

The only positive takeaway from this situation is that my nausea has been temporarily remedied and replaced with humiliation and pain.

I don't want to turn around, I don't want them to see that I'm barely holding back tears. Peeling potatoes until I hear the last of them leave, I'm shocked when I turn to find Silver, still seated at the table. His bread is untouched, sitting on the table in front of him.

With a quick motion, he's up, standing before me. His hand comes up to grip my chin, tipping my head back to look at me. I wince as his thumb grazes softly over the split in my lip.

"I made seven eggs for each of you, my father eats four, I thought seven would be sufficient for men of your size. I'll make everyone two potatoes cooked in lard for lunch. Will that be filling enough? I'm sorry-" he cuts off my rambling by bringing his face down to mine. The words die in my throat as his lips graze my cheek.

I've never been kissed before. Never in my life have I wanted a man to press his lips to mine more than right now. My heart races as he dips further. His mouth is so close to mine I can feel the warmth of his breath sweeping across my lips.

With eyes pinch closed, a tremble running through my body, breath held tight in my chest, I wait.

Just when I think he's about to do it, to touch me in a way no one has before, he inhales deeply.

My eyes widen and my neck jerks back. A shudder rolls through his body as his eyes fixate on my lips. Though now I doubt his intentions. It seems like he doesn't want to kiss me at all, merely to smell me. Or more accurately, to smell the injury on my face?

"Make three potatoes per man. I'll ensure they know that their intake is limited. If you don't tell them, they will eat everything. They're animals. We all are."

Without another word, he turns, disappearing into the sunshine outside.

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