A Deal's a Deal

Chapter Eighteen

You shut the cabin door behind you and sobbed.

Everything was wrong. This fragile fantasy you'd been living had been shattered, and now its shards had cut you open like broken glass.

You hadn't asked for any of this. You hadn't asked to find his head in that bag that fateful day. Everything you'd done from that point on had been your choice, yes, but none of it should ever have gone like this. You should never have agreed to a deal with him, foolishly believing he was going to keep his word. You should never have helped him get his body back. You should never have let him kiss you, touch you, make you his. You should never have trusted him.

You should never have fallen in love with him.

Buggy was a pirate, and pirates lied. He hurt people. Killed people. He had almost killed you. You should be grateful he left. You were free of him, alone now on your boat. You could leave him here and never look back, and he'd have no way of ever finding you again. He couldn't swim or call for help; he could be stuck here for the rest of his life, if no one ever came for him. He could never hurt you or lie to you ever again.

So why did the thought of leaving him hurt like nothing else ever had?

You cried without restraint, your sobs wracking your body. You opened your mouth and screamed at the wall; you hated yourself, hated the way you felt, but no matter how much you tried, you couldn't hate him.

Why couldn't you hate him? He'd used you from the moment you met him. He'd broken your deal. He'd lied about the fifteen million. He'd denied you a choice, and put a blade to your throat when you'd defied him. One move, and he could have ended your life.

But he hadn't.

You had left him with no choice but to kill you. You'd stood there, accepting your fate, not bothering to resist him at all. You'd encouraged him to kill you by striking him. By telling him you'd rather die than be with him. But still, he hadn't slit your throat, despite being more than capable of it. You'd seen the way he killed: coldly, swiftly, remorselessly. He could have done it, and you would have accepted it. But he hadn't.

He had stopped himself. Perhaps he'd wanted to kill you. You'd seen his eyes as he stood before you, readying the final blow; there'd been fury in them, but more than that, unimaginable pain. The pain of someone suffering, not simply from anger, but from grief. If just for a moment, he had wanted to make you hurt, make you feel the same pain he felt, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Why? you asked yourself desperately. Why couldn't he have just killed you? He was a pirate, who took lives like it was nothing. You'd struck him and ripped his heart out. He should have wanted to make you suffer. Killing you would have made everything so much easier, for both himself and you. So why hadn't he done it?

You staggered towards your bed, collapsing onto it and wrapping yourself up in your blanket. You could still smell him on it, and your tears fell harder. You couldn't believe that less than an hour ago, you'd laid with him here as he comforted you from your nightmare. For one blissful moment, you hadn't worried at all. You hadn't thought about your turmoil or the decision you had to make. You hadn't thought about the kind of person he was, or the world he belonged to. It had just been the two of you, holding one another, and everything had felt right.

Without Buggy, it was so quiet on your boat. Empty. It felt so wrong not to have him here. For the past several days he'd scarcely left your side, always in the kitchen or out on the deck with you, sitting or pacing or standing behind the wheel. Always talking, laughing, quipping. Now he was gone, and the only sounds you could hear were your own soft, choking sobs, and light waves crashing under the hull.