Enslaved by the Ocean

“And how do you know that?” I bark.

He lets me go, and my body slides down onto the floor.

“Because you’re fire,” he murmurs.  “And fire never stops burning.”

“There she blows!”

The first week passes with no more drama. I spend most of my time down with Eric, and we talk as much as we can about escape, though the longer I am here the less I think escape is actually an option until we stop, if we stop. I am grateful, however, that Eric is being fed and cared for. Hendrix has been living up to his end of the deal, so I have been living up to mine. I have been eating, and taking care of myself, and I haven’t tried to escape again.

Staying in Hendrix’s room has been interesting, to say the least. He spends most of his time at the little desk in the corner on the phone that I can’t have, barking orders at people and organizing things that…from the sounds of them…aren’t things I wish to know about. The evenings are the oddest. Trying to sleep when he’s in the bed just over from me is…awkward. It’s even worse when he gets up in the morning and walks right past me, half-naked with morning wood. I won’t lie…the man has impressive morning wood.

I hate that I’m looking, and part of me has considered that I am temporarily insane, but it’s hard to turn away. The man has a body that is unlike any I’ve ever seen. His chest is broad and defined, his abs trim and strong, and his skin is that beautiful bronze color. His chest has a range of tattoos, all of them grey and black; there is no color. His arms are both fully sleeved, but his back has nothing—nothing but gorgeous, olive skin over hard, defined muscle.

I won’t lie and say that I don’t open my eyes in the morning and watch him walk past. His hair is always sleep mussed, and his eyes are always heavy, with those thick lashes on display for me to admire. I find myself clenching of a morning, hating that my body is turning against my better judgment, and tightening itself with want for a man who I really don’t like. It’s wrong, but God help me, I can’t stop looking. I don’t even know if I want to stop looking.

On the eighth morning I wake before Hendrix, which isn’t something that usually happens. I slide off my place on the sofa, and creep into the bathroom. I haven’t showered for a few days because I’ve been spending all my time down with Eric. By the time I get back, I’m exhausted. I usually fall onto the sofa and don’t move.

I need a shower today though. I am finally feeling more like myself, and my skin is beginning to heal nicely, so I figure it’s time to go into the shower and remove the last of it. This is the perfect time to do it.

I step into the bathroom, and close the door behind me. I drop the loose dress I am wearing, and I turn the water on. When it’s warm enough, I step in. A content sigh leaves my lips, and I close my eyes, tilting my head back and letting the water run over my body and head. I reach my hand out until I find a bottle of shampoo, and I tip some into my hand before bringing it to my hair and lathering it through. Oh, that’s nice.

I finish up with my hair, and give my body a good scrub, removing the last of the dead skin that is left behind from the sunburn. When it’s gone, I wash it once more and then step out. I go to take a towel, only to see there’s none left. My eyes widen, and I curse. Shit, you have to be kidding me? No towel. I look down at the dress on the floor, only to see it’s soaked from the water I splashed out. I have to go out and get the one off the sofa. I walk to the door, and crack it open. Hendrix is still asleep, his big arms tucked up behind his head, and his chest rising and falling heavily.

I decide to make a run for it. I step out of the shower, and I begin rushing toward the sofa, but I don’t make it. I trip and fall on a pillow that’s been tossed on the floor, and I land with a thump and a scream. The light is flicked on in a matter of seconds, and I am scurrying backwards to try and get back to the shower. Before I can make it, Hendrix appears, sleep roused and holding a gun towards me. I do the only thing I can think of, I throw my hands up.

His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open.

It’s only then I realize what putting my hands up has done to my position.

I’m now on the ground naked, with my hands in the air.

“Holy fuck,” Hendrix hisses.

I drop my arms and try to cover myself. If I move, he will see all I have to offer. I lift my legs, trying to hide myself. Hendrix grips the towel from the sofa, and tosses it at me, not once taking his eyes from my body. Why does that have it breaking out with goosebumps?

“I…I…there wasn’t one in the shower, and…”

“You have beautiful skin,” he says, his eyes now focused on the skin that covers my shoulders.

“I…um…”

“It’s like silk, so damned pretty. I didn’t know you were so fuckin’ perfect.”

Oh God.

He stares at me for a minute at least, his eyes blazing with something I can’t decipher, and then suddenly he shakes his head as if he couldn’t believe what he just said. Then he stiffens, and growls, “Chopper will love it” before turning and rushing out the door, slamming it loudly.

What the hell was that?

Salty wind. It’s my daily pleasure. I love to stand in it, and breathe it in. I love the way it makes my hair curl and tangle. I love the way it makes my skin feel. This morning the wind is light and cool, and the ocean smells divine. I grip the side railings on the ship, and stare out. I haven’t seen Hendrix since our little run-in earlier; he’s managed to find a way to avoid me. I even went looking for him, but couldn’t find him on the ship. I’d love to know how he did that.