I hate you, I love you - Morro x Female reader

Chapter Seven

killer - valerie broussard 

His grip around my arm tightened as he lugged me out of the room, tossing me onto a lonely ship. A part of me wasn't hesitant to let him drag me along. I wanted to see everything. I wanted to be out in the world where interesting things happened. 

Although was he right when he told me that no one cared enough to write my story? Even I didn't know what that meant. If no one was writing my story, how was I still alive? I'd lived my whole live with someone else in control, so what did this mean now? 

Questions ran through my head, only to be returned with empty answers. I was the only person who could solve this problem, and the only solution to it so far was working with Morro. The only solution I could see at the moment. It didn't mean that another wouldn't come along in the near future. Hopefully it would be the near, near  future. 

We stepped on to a ship rocking gently in the breeze. A chill passed down my back, not because of Morro, but because of how big everything was all of a sudden. The sea stretched far, soft waves rolling as far as the eye could see. I've heard stories. Stories of how big the world was, but I never dared leave the kingdom to try and experience it myself. Now I realize that I could have all those years. No one would have cared. 

The second worst thing was also part of the first: There was no one else on the boat, and by the time Morro had hopped onto it with me, he swept his hand and angled his fingers, and a gust of wind came rushing out. He wasn't waiting for anyone else. We were alone. Just the two of us, alone on a boat. The first worst thing was that I was going to be alone with him for however long we were going to be on this stupid boat. 

I clenched my arms to my chest, hugging myself. Morro smirked, and I pretended not to see. In any other situation, I would have considered him attractive. I pressed my lips together, furrowing my brow as I turned back to the setting sun. A glow passed down on the water, shifting with the boats movements and glimmering like a candle. 

I wanted to cry. I wanted to force myself to cry. It felt right to, but I didn't. My eyes were bone-dry. At the moment, I didn't care if my emotions brought Morro any satisfaction or not. He could laugh at my tears, it wouldn't matter. At this moment, all I wanted to do was feel something. 

Was this a side effect of having no writers? No one to write my story? Did this mean that I would never feel another thing in my entire life? 

No, I reminded myself. It can't be that. You're still worried, that's an emotion. 

Perhaps it only meant that I had no set path. 

I almost gasped at the memory. When my father and I were close, he would tell me about the stories. 

"Those without a writer are those destined for nothingness. Their paths are their own to decide without fairness. They're bound for a bad ending." 

I turned to Morro. I hated to be the one to break the silence. "Um, Morro?" 

He lifted and eyebrow, bangs brushing across his face in the wind.