My stomach cramped and my head throbbed. The sun was blinding, and the ship swayed from side to side like some kind of fun theme park ride. Only, this wasn't fun. This was hell.
It didn't feel as rough up here as it had in the room with all the crates and barrels, but that was like saying that fire wasn't as hot as the sun. Accurate, but they would both melt your skin off.
I heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching with determination, but I didn't care. I was still hanging over the railing, dry heaving now. My knees had buckled beneath me, but I hung on, staring out over the water like it was the last thing I might ever see.
"God's wounds! Who opened the bloody hatch?!"
It was the captain, thundering towards me like a man on a mission.
So no shift change then... the fucker just left me down there because... Well, fuck knows why. A sick joke? A power play? A—
I retched again. This time, something came out... bitter yellow bile.
The footsteps stopped beside me, but I couldn't bring myself to look up at him. Not yet.
"It was me, Captain," a man replied casually somewhere behind me. "Mouse was complaining he heard ghosts in the hold. I had to show him there was no such thing. Then this one came tumbling out. She a stowaway then?"
A rough hand grabbed my elbow, hoisting me up to my feet.
My eyeballs felt like they were swimming in my head, but I managed to take in the sea of faces that were all focused on me. Some were wide-eyed, some disapproving, some curious, but none looked welcoming by any stretch of the imagination.
"Lads, this is," the captain paused, then he looked down at me expectantly. "What's yer name, lass?" he asked.
"Morgan," I whispered, wincing in the bright sunlight.
“Morgan?” he echoed, sounding confused.
His eyes inspected me like he was looking for something.
"Is that yer Christian name? Or yer surname?" he asked, still looking at me with uncertainty. Then he tilted his head, his tone sharpening as he watched me suspiciously. “Or are ye just tryin’ to be clever?”
I was about to answer when another wave of nausea hit me like a freight train, and I turned and retched over the railing and into the sea again.
“Well, then,” the captain pressed on, leaving me to it. “Lads, this is Morgan. She’s a prisoner on this ship, and I expect a pretty penny for her ransom. So, keep yer hands to yerselves,” he warned, his voice hardening. "I don’t tolerate raping on this ship. Anyone tries it, they’ll swing."
"A prisoner?" another voice replied as I dry heaved again, my stomach twisting.
A prisoner? Raping?! The words slammed into me like a punch to the gut and my knees buckled harder. What the fuck was going on here?!
I looked up at the captain, desperate to throw a million questions at him. Desperate to understand. But we hit another wave and my stomach lurched, causing me to dry heave again.
He'd been smirking though. His arms folded across his chest while he watched me with a mixture of disapproval and smug satisfaction.
What an asshole.
"Lemme... Lemme off," I whispered, my voice weak and hoarse.
The captain's smirk widened. “Sorry, lass, that’s not how this works.”
He gave me one final glance, shaking his head slightly in amusement. “Back to work, lads!” he called, dismissing the crew with a wave.
"What should we do with her, Captain?" a voice asked.
"Leave her be—unless ye fancy scrubbin’ sick off my deck," the captain replied nonchalantly.
I shot him a sideways glare, too weak to retort, my hand gripping the railing like it was my only lifeline.
Then he walked away, leaving me there, slumped over and barely keeping it together.
The world around me swam. My head throbbed, my eyes burned, my stomach cramped, and I felt like I was going to die.
I don't know how long I lay there, draped over the railing as the ship rocked me back and forth. The nausea never subsided and the sun beat down on me. But no one spoke to me. Not a word of comfort or encouragement. Not a glass of water, not a bucket, not a fucking thing. They moved around me like I wasn't even there.
Soon enough, I felt myself drifting in and out of consciousness. It was actually a relief and I found myself willing myself away, searching for the peace that I prayed sleep might bring.
(Morgan's POV)My phone booted up and the little start-up jingle played as the screen came to life.The captain looked visibly shaken and took a wary step back."What the bloody hell is that?! Where did that sound come from?!" he yelled, staring at the phone like he'd never seen anything like it in his entire life.It felt like someone had snatched the floor out from under me, and I began to spiral.His reaction to the phone. The way he spoke. The way he dressed. They called the doctor a surgeon. The infirmary looked like it had never seen any form of sanitation in its entire existence. They used fucking lanterns. The fighting on the deck. The dude getting impaled by a sword right in front of me. It all clicked into place, but my brain rejected the notion immediately.I looked down at my phone. No signal.My heart sank as the painful realization of what was happening here began to settle into my bones.But it couldn't be, right? It wasn't actually possible. There had to be some other
(Morgan's POV)The blackness faded away and consciousness forced its way in once again.I was immediately panicked, my heart already racing the second I opened my eyes.This was all real. All of it. Everything. I'd watched a man get stabbed in the fucking chest and die. I'd seen a dudes brains leaking out of his skull. I was on a ship. A real fucking pirate ship in the middle of the goddamn ocean. And I was in danger. Very real danger.My body instinctively jolted upright as I scanned the room around me and found myself somewhere new. It wasn't the infirmary now, it looked more like a bedroom. Or, at least what might pass for a bedroom on a pirate ship, and I was sitting on some make-shift little bed in a corner on the floor.Everything still burned and ached and throbbed, but under the circumstances, that all felt like background noise now. Then I saw him, the captain, sitting there at a desk and inspecting some or other paper.I wanted to leave. I fucking needed to leave! I could li
***TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of violence and gore.***(Morgan's POV)Standing had sapped all of the energy out of me and I'd dozed off shortly after. But I received a rather rude awakening some time later.BOOM!The sound thundered through my skull and the ship shook, jolting me awake violently.It took me a moment to regain my bearings. I'd been dreaming about something. About somewhere that wasn't here. But the second I opened my eyes, it slipped away, only to be replaced by the muffled sounds of men yelling and the begrudgingly familiar wooden walls of the infirmary that surrounded me.BOOM!The little wooden room shook again. The sound was so deafening that my ears began to ring, and my brain pounded in my skull like it was trying to forcibly hammer its way out.A surge of adrenaline coursed through me and I sat up, looking around the room for Ollie or the kid with the stutter or the surgeon dude, but for once, I was alone.Fucking typical. Now that I actu
(Morgan's POV)Four days... FOUR DAYS?! I'd been asleep for four fucking days?!Was that normal? Or... Had I been drugged or something?I lay there, panic enveloping my body as I tried to feel myself.Of course, the first thing that crossed my mind was sexual assault. Did I feel anything in that area? Pain? Tenderness? Anything out of the ordinary?I lay there, completely still, just doing a mental stocktake of each and every pain or discomfort I felt in my body.To my relief, there was no pain in my nether regions, but I knew that didn't mean everything was perfectly fine. I wasn't that naive. But I kept going, trying to establish whether there might be any other signs or indications.The left side of my body ached. I'd been lying on my side for four days, so, I guess that checked out. The right side of my body burned and stung. But that was the sunburn. My head was sore too. The back, where the stitches were, was still vaguely tender, but the side where I'd felt the start of a scab
(Morgan's POV)I woke up, feeling groggy and thirsty."Water," I rasped, my throat dryer than fucking sand.Footsteps sounded behind me. The boy. What was his name again? Olli?But it wasn't him. It was another boy. A bit older. Somehow familiar.He stopped beside me and handed me the rusty biohazard tin cup of water.I reached out, taking it with a grateful, albeit trembling hand.Small sips...The boy watched me intently as I somehow managed to restrain myself, only allowing myself a couple of slow, small sips.He was in his teens, with awkward, gangly limbs and scruffy light brown hair. His skin was pale, but he had ruddy cheeks with freckles over his nose, and he dressed similarly to that Ollie kid. Oversized shirt that looked like it had never seen soap in its life and pants that were being kept together by random patchwork.He seemed nervous. On edge. His eyes darting between me and the cup."So, who are you?" I whispered, wondering where the little kid had gone and who this dude
(Morgan's POV)I tried to settle in. To get some rest like the medical professional had suggested, but the boy just sat there in front of me, staring."I can't rest while you're watching me," I hissed. "Don't you have something to do?"He shrugged. "The Captain said to keep watch. I’m not to leave you alone."I scoffed and rolled my eyes. "Where would I even go? I’m on a frikken boat in the middle of the ocean."He was quiet for a moment, then tentatively asked, "Is Morgan your real name?"I rolled my eyes again, the action making my brain throb harder. "Why would I lie about my name?"The boy shrugged again. "It's just a strange name for a girl. And you are a girl. I know because you've got bosoms."I gasped in horror and tried to tuck my burned right arm over my chest to hide my boobs from his gaze."You're a very rude little boy, you know that?" I scolded him.He carried on like he'd done nothing wrong. "And why are you only dressed in your smallclothes?"Smallclothes?! Jesus Chris