FicWad

My heart literally stopped beating. My knees trembled and I sank next to the body. It was Cutler. That much was obviously. He didn't look much like the Cutler I had known though. His clothes were ripped and tattered. Those beautiful blue eyes were glazed and blank as they stared straight ahead. I couldn't help but wonder what he had been looking at before he died.

Cutler's skin was sallow and whitish. And his face, well, that was the worst part. Cutler had long scratches and burns all over his face and body. A long pinkish colored mark was visible just below one eye and a burn was visible on his right cheek. But oh god, he was still my Cutler regardless of what he looked like. I didn't care about the scars; I just wanted him alive.

For a long time, I just stared at Cutler. Then, just like before, the tears came. They splattered down my cheeks and dripped onto Cutler's chest. I kept thinking he was going to blink and wake up at anytime. I couldn't stand that dead, shocked look in Cutler's eyes. Gently, I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand before leaning up and shutting his eyes for the last time.

After kissing his eyelids gently, I put my head on his chest. Yes, I knew he was dead, but there was a tiny part of me very deep inside that made me just keep hoping that he wasn't dead. Just as expected, his heart was still and he was obviously as dead as you could get. That made me just cry harder. Impulsively, I leaned up and kissed those full lips that were parted just slightly.

Suddenly, I felt a strange urge to look in his coat pocket. Sitting on my heels, I reached forward and opened it. Gillette, who had been watching me with a sad expression, looked confused and asked, "What are you doing, Miss Cook?" Not exactly sure what it was that I was doing, I couldn't really answer him and could just shrug in reply.

Reaching into his pocket, I found something small and hard along with something crinkly. Wondering what these things could be, I pulled them out and blinked to clear my eyes. They were still blurry with tears and I couldn't see properly. After wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my dress and looked down at what I was holding. There was a gorgeous diamond ring lying in my palm as well as a letter.

I held the ring up to the light and noticed it was very small, obviously meant to fit a small finger. Unable to help myself, I put the ring on my finger. It was a perfect fit. For some reason, I had this strange feeling it had been meant for me. Hastily, I unrolled the piece of parchment and tried to read the letter. The ink had smeared, but I was just able to make out the letters. It said:

Dearest Jenna, you've probably been wondering what I haven't proposed to you yet. No, I am not stupid and it hasn't been that the thought never occurred to me. On the contrary, I almost proposed to you on several occasions. However, at the last minute, I always was able to restrain myself. I didn't want to propose to you beforehand in case there happened to be a tragedy in the fight and one of us was killed. But enough of my unpleasant talk. Now that we are both alive and well, I want to give you this ring and a promise. I promise to give my life, my love, and all that is left of me to you. In exchange, all I want is for you to love me back like you have for so long. We belong together. We met for a reason; I know this to be true. Marry me, Jenna, and be mine for the rest of your days. I'd give up anything to be with you. Please say yes, my dearest one. Yours truly, Cutler B ~

My eyes had blurred after reading the second sentence. I don't know how I ended up reading the whole letter without smearing the ink all over even more than it had already had been smeared. When I finally finished with it, I was sobbing so hard that it felt like an earthquake was shaking me. So Cutler had wanted to marry me after all. He had wanted to spend his life loving me.

"What is that?" Gillette asked, leaning over my shoulder as I read the parchment. Trying not to keep sobbing, I held it out to him to read. Gillette took it and squinted as he tried to read the blurred writing. A few minutes later, he looked at me in shock and murmured, "Oh god, I didn't know. I mean, I knew you were staying with him, but I didn't know you two were more than associates..."

A little smile curved my lips when Gillette said "associates". Me and Cutler? Associates? Definitely not. Deep in my heart, something inside me was finally satisfied. I had always wondered why Cutler hadn't proposed and now I knew. He didn't want to propose to me and then get killed. He was going to wait and propose to me after the Endeavor battle. And now...he never would.

For just a few moments, I let myself imagine what life might've been like if Cutler hadn't died. We would've gotten married and had a beautiful wedding. After that, we would've lived together and there would be no shame in it. We could love each other as much as we wanted and not have to hide anymore. Cutler would keep me from getting ill and I could perhaps have children with him.

I cut off my thoughts here. I couldn't keep thinking like this. After all, Cutler and I would not be getting married. There would be no wedding, no wedding night, or anymore love between us. That was all dead and gone. It was the past and now all I had to look forward to was a dark and dreary future by myself. Was it even worth it? I didn't think so.

I don't know how long I cried for, but it was quite a while. Finally, Gillette gave me a blanket and a pointed expression. After kissing each of those cuts on his face and that lip that was just meant to be kissed, I wrapped Cutler up in the blanket and sat by his side. Once the tears were gone, I was empty. Empty of emotion, thought, and feeling. Everything was gone and blank.

Gillette continued searching for bodies. No survivors were found until right before we returned to Port Royal. Someone was holding onto a piece of driftwood. Gillette ordered him hauled in. When the man was put on the ground, he sputtered slightly and blinked. Confused, he tried to sit up and groaned, "God, I feel awful. Where am I? Am I dead?"

Looking careful at him, I realized this newcomer was none other than Groves! Gillette realized that at about the same time I did. Dropping to his side, Gillette threw his arms around his best friend and hugged him tightly, replying, "'Course you're not dead! You're back at Port Royal. Don't you remember the Endeavor battle against the Black Pearl and the Dutchman? You survived! I always knew you were strong, Theo!" Gillette's dark eyes shone as he squeezed his friend a bit too tightly.

"Gillette!" Groves croaked. "Too tight!" Gillette quickly loosened his grip on Groves and apologized, "Sorry. But I'm so glad you're here. We're almost to Port Royal. We'll go back to my house and get you all dried off. You must be starving!" Gillette stared at Theo intently, his arm still wrapped around his shoulders. I didn't think Gillette would ever let him go.

A small smile formed on my face as I watched the two reunite. For the first time ever, I wondered exactly what was between Gillette and Groves. Were they just friends or was there a bit more than that? Figuring that it was none of my business and that my mind was a bit screwy right now anyways, I abandoned that thought and returned to looking down at my palm.

I still had the ring and the letter there. Already I knew that I was going to tuck that letter in a very safe place and keep it until I died. Just as I was thinking about what to do with the ring, we reached Port Royal. Gillette put a hand on my shoulder and helped me stand up. Looking down at my palm, he said, "You should wear it. Lord Beckett would've wanted you to."

Slowly, I put the ring onto my finger. It sparkled brilliantly in the sun. It was certainly a one-of-a-kind piece of jewelry just like the man who had gotten it for me. Looking down at Cutler's body, I started to speak, but Gillette cut my off before I could say anything by telling me, "I'll arrange a proper funeral for him in about a week or so. I'll come get you when we settle on the date and time, alright?"

Grateful to Gillette for deciding to arrange the funeral, I smiled at him and nodded, "Thank you. That means a lot to me. And...thanks for bringing me along with you today. At least now I know what...what..." My voice cracked and I couldn't go on anymore. Nonetheless, Gillette seemed to know what I had been about to say. He nodded understandingly and helped me out of the boat and onto the dock, tugging a drenching wet Theo behind him. Poor Theo looked quite woozy and dizzy, but I had no worries. Gillette would no doubt take care of him. I watched the two walk back to Gillette's place before started to my "home".

Unfortunately, Cutler's home no longer felt like home. It was too empty and dark there without him. I needed to get away. I needed to stay somewhere where I wouldn't have a constant reminder of Cutler and the love we had shared. But tonight and today, I had no choice. Holding the letter to my heart, I trudged back across the streets until I reached Cutler's home.

Immediately, I went in and put the letter in a drawer with all my other keepsakes. After that, I climbed back in bed again. That's pretty much what I did over the next week or so. It was easiest just to sleep your life away. I mean, sometimes if they pain is just too hard to bear, you have to choose to look away from it and engage yourself in something else instead.

During the next week, I found myself contemplating my own life many times. I thought about taking it. After all, what was the point of life without Cutler? I didn't see any point in it. I didn't get enjoyment out of anything anymore. The only thing I got enjoyment from was Cutler. He was the thing that had kept me alive. There honestly was no reason to stay alive now.

I felt really sick as well. My stomach kept churning in a strange manner and I found I threw up quite a bit still. On the seventh day of this hellhole, I decided that maybe it was best just to end it all. Cutler had a small silver pistol tucked away in the drawer under the one that contained my letter. Slowly, I opened the door and took out the pistol

I held it up to the light and contemplated what was the best way to kill yourself. Should you shoot yourself in the head, throat, or heart? I wasn't exactly an expert on suicide, so I had no idea. Finally, I gave up and decided that the heart had to be the best place. I mean, if your heart stops beating, you automatically die, right? Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and put the pistol to my heart.

This time, there was no hesitation. I yanked back and pulled the trigger. And...fuck. Nothing happened. The pistol wouldn't shoot. Annoying, I dissolved into a puddle of tears and started hitting myself with the pistol. I didn't stop, not even when I heard a loud knock at the door. I ignored the knock and continued smashing the pistol against myself.

Finally, strong hands wrapped around me and yanked the pistol out of my grip. I pouted and stuck out my lower lip, feeling very annoyed at whoever had just taken away my weapon. When I looked up, I saw that it was Gillette. He looked down at me with a very sad expression. I no longer felt so mad. Instead, I started crying again, not knowing what else to do.

Gillette patted my shoulder a bit awkwardly and helped me to my feet. I stumbled and fell over. Gillette sighed and looked in the corner of the room where a pile of vomit was really starting to stink. Shaking his head at me in exasperation, Gillette whispered in my ear, "You need help, Miss Cook. I'm going to get you help. You can't keep going on like this."

I agreed with him to some extent. I certainly couldn't continue like this. But I didn't want help. No, I just wanted to die. I wanted a nice, quick, and easy way out. Unfortunately, I didn't think that was what Gillette meant. As he leaned down and picked up my shivering body, I asked him in a nervously voice, "Where exactly are you taking me?"

"Just to the doctor," Gillette told me in a comforting voice. He pushed a loose strand of hair out of my face and said a-matter-of-factly, "You'll be fine, but I think you're sick with something or another. This vomiting? You've been doing it for about two weeks now, haven't you?" Thinking about it, I realized he was right. That didn't mean I wanted to admit it though.

Shrugging, I finally said, "I don't know." Gillette obviously knew I was lying. He replied, "Yes, you do know and yes, I know you've been doing it for about two weeks." I looked down, feeling very depressed. Sighing, Gillette tried to get me to cheer up saying, "Hang in there. You'll be alright?" I doubted his words. Would I? Something told me I was not having one of those happy endings from the fairy tales.