Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Voices

Trigger warning. Depression, self-harm, suicide.

The voices were back again.

It was a perfectly ordinary Tuesday, raining and cloudy, as was to be expected in Ireland in the middle of November.

They'd been quiet for ages, kept silent by her refusal to let them speak. She'd gagged them ruthlessly with laughter and smiles and the work that had to be done at sea.

Now she was home, and had more time on her hands and they'd wriggled out of their gags.

Failure. How many died on that voyage? Died because you couldn't save them.

She shook her head and continued chopping potatoes, hoping the voice would stop if she ignored it.

The demon laughed. You can't ignore me, can't keep me gagged forever. You're not strong enough. You run, seek distractions, try to drown me in whiskey. Nothing works, because you're too weak.

Biting her lip, she tossed the potatoes into the pot and started slicing carrots.

Her stomach felt empty, and she wanted to hide in bed and cry, but she had a stew to make, she'd promised Sahara. Her knife thudded rhythmically against the table as she continued the carrots.

Go and see her the demon whispered. Go and visit the grave of the daughter you didn't deserve. Go and see what happened because you fell for the wrong man. Because you were a coward who kept going back to him, didn't leave him soon enough.

Carrots into the pot. Meat into the pot. Hot water and stock and seasoning. Lid on the pot. Pot over the fire to simmer.

She uncorked a bottle of whiskey. Took a drink. It settled in her empty belly, roiling unpleasantly.

The stew was on, she could hide in bed now. She did, but the demons followed her, slipping under the covers with her and refusing to be ignored.

They wouldn't let her sleep, whispering and taunting and laughing. She wept quietly, utterly alone.
Sahara wasn't home, she'd gone to Edward's an hour ago and Soracha didn't want to disturb them.

So she hid under the covers and cried, unable to escape from her demons and unable to talk to anyone to distract herself. The bottle of whiskey, the last bottle, was now empty.

It was raining, and likely bitterly cold, meaning she didn't fancy taking a walk to try and shake the voices off.

She had no choice but to listen to them.

Nobody ever loved you. Your parents didn't. Torryn didn't. Nobody loves you now. Sahara just needs somewhere to live. Edward's just too nice to tell you to fuck off. He doesn't need you, he could just as easily find a properly qualified male doctor for the ship. One who actually had training.

She shook her head, tears flowing silently down her cheeks.

"Nobody loves me. I don't deserve it. I'm too weak," she murmured frantically, her breathing slightly ragged.

"Nobody needs me."

The handle of the knife was as familiar as the hand of a lover.

"Nobody loves me."

Nobody loves you. Nobody would miss you. You'd see her again.

One deep cut. Scarlet blood on white bedsheets. No more voices.