The need to do something—anything—to go back to hating me is strong.
He says, “Don’t you have anything else to wear?”
The captain’s eyes flick up my body. The look is far longer than would be considered appropriate. If we were back home, he’d already be shark food. I throw him a look that I hope says,I wasn’t expecting company.
He smiles as if he understands me. The pity is still there, though.
Shame heats my cheeks, and I can feel my eyes getting damp. Damned human. I turn and open my door.
“Wait—” Erik starts.
I pause, my hand on the door.
“Did you finish the book you took last week?”
The one about a human man obsessed with killing a leviathan, which probably didn’t exist?I want to retort. But thanks to my father, I can’t say anything. Instead, I tighten my grip on the doorknob and nod.
“Good,” he says.
I don’t have anything to respond to that, so I hurry back to my haunted room.
Just as the door is about to close, he adds, “If you want another one, all you have to do is ask.”
The door hangs open slightly, and I turn back to look at him through the crack.
A wicked expression clouds his face as he continues, “That is if you can ever figure out how to speak again.”
I bite my tongue so hard that I taste blood. He is right. I can’t respond. I’m learning that being in close proximity to Erik is to be incensed by his cruelty, his pity, his amusement at my pain, and the misplaced veneration by his sheep-like crew.
He shrugs. “Or you could ask me nicely in one of your notes, and I might oblige you.”
I grit my teeth and slam my door. I will never, in a million years, write him that note.
* * *
Sleep never comes,but my malicious creativity brings something better. After the shower, I spend the rest of the morning bowed over Erik’s precious book. My pencil is like a sword, and I am a warrior reading the text while writing in the deadliest, most spiteful words I can conjure in the margins.
Now finished, I thumb through the pages. On the title page, I have drawn my signature stick-up-your-ass stick figure. I grin to myself.This is art.
I get up, slide my feet into my shoes, and go to the door to his bedroom. His muffled voice comes from inside.
“… dammit!”he shouts, and his footsteps come close to the door.
I freeze, book still in hand. Not feeling confident enough to run away, I raise my hand as if I were about to knock just as he opens the door.
Stormy eyes filled with dark emotion stare back at me. I take a step back at the rage coming off him in waves.
“I can’t help you right now, Helena,” he says harshly.
I cringe at the use of my name. The book is still pressed to my chest. I flip it down, passing it to him with the title up. For a second, a glimmer of worry sparks in my brain. What if I made a huge mistake trying to piss him off today?
“Thank you,” he grinds through clenched teeth, taking the tome. He spins on his heel and tosses it on the bed. I’m too relieved to be appalled at him for what he could’ve done to that expensive leather binding.
He turns back to me, his whole face downcast, as he shuts the door behind him. “You need to stay in your room today.”
What? No.I look around frantically for a paper to write that on.
“Nope, this isn’t negotiable. You need to stay in your room today if you want me to keep you safe,” he says as he brushes past me.