Bound by the Tide - Captain Hook

Please, if you just do as he says, you won't get hurt," James insists, his voice soft but desperate as he holds me, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. "He likes you."

The words don't sit right with me, and I pull away slightly, looking up at him with a mixture of confusion and fear. "I can't stay here," I say, my voice trembling. "I need to leave. I can't be a part of this."

James's eyes darken, and for a moment, there's a flicker of something I can't quite place. He shakes his head slowly, almost sadly. "You can't," he says, his tone firm, but it's laced with an edge of resignation. "It's not safe for you outside this ship. Hook... he won't let you go."

I stare at him, the truth of his words sinking into me like cold iron. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. "I don't care," I whisper, fighting back the wave of panic threatening to rise in me. "I can't live like this."

James's grip tightens, but he doesn't speak. Instead, his eyes soften, and I can see the guilt there, the hesitation. He's not my enemy, but in this world, there are no allies—just varying degrees of survival.

"You have to," he says quietly. "If you try to leave now, Hook will make you regret it. And I can't let that happen to you."

That night, I lie awake, the silence of the ship broken only by the soft creaks of the walls around me. But then, I hear something—soft mumblings, desperate whispers that make my skin crawl. The walls are so thin that it's impossible to ignore, and curiosity gets the better of me. I find myself moving toward his room, stepping lightly, afraid of what I might see.

When I open the door, my heart stutters in my chest. There, in the dim light, Hook lies on his bed, thrashing in his sleep. He's muttering, his voice broken, laced with fear. I've never seen him like this—his usual confident demeanor stripped away, leaving something raw and vulnerable beneath. His eyes are tightly shut, his face twisted in pain as he calls out, his voice cracking.

I step closer, almost on instinct, my hand reaching out to rest gently over his. "Hey, you're all right, shh shh," I whisper, my voice soft, tentative. I didn't expect him to wake, but I can't just stand there. I have to do something.

His eyes snap open, wide and wild, filled with panic. He sits up quickly, breath coming in ragged gasps, his bare chest covered in a cold sweat. His hair is tangled, his usually composed expression replaced with confusion and fear. When his gaze locks with mine, there's a flicker of something in his eyes—something I can't name.

"What... what are you doing here?" he stammers, his voice hoarse, still trying to regain control of his body. He stands, almost too quickly, like he's trying to erase the weakness from his face. "Are you all right?" I ask again, more insistent now, genuinely worried.

He doesn't answer, and instead, he moves toward me, his presence overwhelming. Without warning, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against him. My back is pressed up against his chest, and I freeze, unsure of what's happening. His breath is hot against my neck, his lips just above my ear, as he mutters, "I needed someone to stop..."

"Why are you in here?" His voice is hoarse, raw, desperate. His grip tightens around me, and panic flares in my chest. "What did you do to me?" he demands, his voice trembling with something I can't understand.

"Nothing," I almost yell, my voice cracking under the pressure of his hold. "I didn't do anything! I heard you yelling, that's all." My breath catches, and I try to push away, but his arms are iron around me. His grip tightens, forcing me to arch my back in pain, and I gasp, the pressure of it unbearable.

"What have you done, girl?" His voice is so close to my face now, and I feel his breath on my skin as his hand slides up to my chest. His breath becomes louder, but it slows, heavy and deliberate. I can't breathe, can't think, can only focus on his hands and the sharp, desperate tension in the air.

"Please," I yelp, my voice trembling. The word is barely a whisper, but it's enough. His grip loosens instantly, as if he snapped back to himself, realizing what he was doing.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice distant now, filled with confusion. "I don't know what came over me..." He takes a step back, his hands falling away from me, and I quickly scramble back, my chest tight with a mixture of relief and fear. As I turn to leave, I feel his eyes on me—still heavy, filled with something I can't quite understand.

"Wait," he says, his voice broken, raw.
"Please, I'm sorry. I need you to stay.
Please... stay with me tonight."

I hesitate, my heart pounding in my ears. His words are desperate, and for a moment, I wonder if he's asking for something else—something more. But when I look at him, there's a raw vulnerability in his eyes, a quiet plea that makes me falter. I don't know why, but I nod, my voice barely a whisper. "Of course."