In which Melanie remembers how much she loves good television...

...namely Grey's Anatomy. I really do. I think the characters are brilliant and loveable and real. The writing is fantastic and I cry pretty much every episode because even if nobody dies, they'll be something really small that moves me; that's how much it means to me. Lexie is by far the best but other favourites include Cristina, Mark and Arizona; Arizona I relate to in a lot of ways and she's awesome because she's badass but cries when confronted. Relatable character is relatable. I forget sometimes how much I love it and just thought I should share that with you.

Really, the only reason I'm blogging is because I have a new excerpt for my pirate story. I've realised that they actually go in order but much like an episodes of Doctor Who, it's like I only write when stuff happens; as in, The Doctor and Amy or whoever have travels where they don't encounter evil and save lives but that's what we are shown because it'd be boring to watch them just prancing around having fun. I feel like that's what I'm doing.

Thank you for the feedback on the story so far, btw. I like that people are liking this because it's so fun to write. Benjamin is a pimp and I adore him so much but Helena is awesome and Vincent is just hot so whatever. All my characters are hot. All of 'em. Anyway, I'm going to try to start reasons why today is awesome and such things because I love 5AG and positivity is something I should work on, even if I consider my cynicism and sarcasm one of my more charming points. Thus, today is awesome because of Lexie Grey, and because my friends and I went to a restaurant, the all you can eat one, and I ate all I could have and that is good.

Story!

Oddly furious when they arrived back at the ship, Helena crossed the deck to go to Benjamin’s quarters, dragging him with her. She was sick of the Captain acting like she was this helpless little thing that couldn’t even walk without assistance or some nonsense like that and just wanted him out of her sight.

Vincent cleared his throat, “Benjamin, a word in my quarters. Helena, you as well; after I’m done with Benjamin.”

They talked for a good while and Helena got bored of just sitting, alone, waiting for Benjamin to return and grabbed his blanket and walked onto the deck. She stood by the edge, clutching the blanket around her but shivered because the cold breeze managed to get through anyway, raising goosebumps on her skin; she watched the sea until it made her lightheaded and she curled up into a ball on the floor, closing her eyes. When she opened them, she jumped; there stood the Captain, hands in his pockets, looming over her.

“Oh it’s just you,” she said, straightening herself up but he sat down beside her. It was odd, having him this near her; she was used to the Captain being authoritative and important, giving orders and just being distant in general. But now, here he sat, one leg tucked under his thigh while the other stretched out in front of him, so very near her. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

“I wanted to know how you feel about Benjamin.”

“Benjamin?” asked Helena. He nodded in reply. “Well, he’s very sweet and is good company, I suppose. I don’t have feelings for him, if that’s what you want to know.”

“Yes, that it what I wanted to know,” he said softly. “And he just told me he didn’t have feelings for you either, that is a relief.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she changed the subject, “How did you find me?”

If he was unhappy about how she dodged his implication, he didn’t show it. He seemed very serene, almost bored, “Benjamin asked around and some people claimed to have seen you but only briefly; but when we arrived back at the ship, to see if maybe you’d returned there, there was a small boy who said he was paid to give us a note. It said that if we ever wanted to see you again then we had to give them a sum of money and told us the address to give them it." As she had suspected, her capturers were idiots; who was stupid to make the location where they collect money the same place where their hostage was being held? She felt ashamed.

“Benjamin speaks French?”

“Yeah, we both had the same private tutor growing up; we learnt French, German and Latin, but he paid attention and I didn’t.”

She paused. “How much money did they want?”

“I don’t know. I never intended on paying it; however, I never expected them to be that stupid to the point where they would keep you at the same place as they wanted to collect the money from. That made matters much easier.”

Helena brought her knees to her face, “See? I knew you’d come for me.”

The Captain sighed and rubbed his jaw, “It’s best if you don’t keep that sort of faith in me. You don’t know when some skilled kidnappers will get a hold of you and I won’t be able to come get you again so easily.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just because I get kidnapped once doesn’t mean that it’s going to become something that happens often. I got distracted, but I promise it won’t happen again.” She sneaked a look through her curly red hair and saw that he didn’t look convinced; sighing, she continued, “Listen, Vincent, I can look after myself; I was a prostitute in London.” It felt so relieving to say it; the women who worked at the orphanage had kicked her out because of it, but nonetheless, they claimed it was because she became “too old”—and she was only sixteen. Women in the neighbour stopped speaking to her because of her profession and called her a ‘disgrace’ and those who were crueller, sneered ‘whore’ at her. Never did anyone outwardly call her a prostitute. Helena laughed breathily and he looked slightly puzzled.

“Sorry,” she said, “it just feels good to say it. I am a prostitute,” she repeated, enunciating and reveling in the words. She giggled once more, “I’ve been doing it since I was sixteen and not once have I ever said it; not really. I am a prostitute, I am a...” she paused and blinked. “Oh. Or rather, I was. I was a prostitute.” She looked down at her hands, held them up in front of her and then set them back down on her lap. She sighed jaggedly. “God, what am I even doing? I’m not even making money; what was I thinking, coming aboard this ship? I remember this one client and he was a painter; but not a painter for houses. He was an artist. He told me painting was the thing he loved and even though he barely made a living of it, he could never bear to give it up. He was one of my firsts, I think; before I managed to get attention from the richer men. The point is,” she said, “is that I’m eighteen years old and I have nothing like that. I sleep with married men and that’s all I have. I don’t have... painting and I don’t have anyone...” She trailed off, her voice faltering. She leaned her head against the wooden wall behind her in thought and said nothing more; she didn’t cry, because she never cried, but what she usually experienced instead was worse. Helena’s stomach, when she was sad, hollowed out and it felt like a whirlwind clawing its way up and down her body at the same time; the hole always expanded, the whirlwind swirling around inside her, and that’s when she went out in search for customers.

“Helena.” She turned to him and his mouth was against hers for no more than a second. He tasted like toffee and apples. As he leaned in to kiss her again, she put a single hand on his arm; she looked up at him through her eyelashes and saw his eyes; his eyes glazed over and pleading, his breathing hitched. Their faces were inches apart and she wanted to kiss him more than she wanted any other thing in the world but something, somehow, let her keep her composure; she put trembling fingers on his cheek and then moved them to his shoulder, pushing him away.

“Let’s not do this,” Helena said gently. His eyes closed and he turned from her dejectedly. “I... I’m not used to this. I’m not used to you and I don’t know how to feel around you. I don’t know if I like how it feels around you and if we’re going to do this... eventually...” His head turned towards her in a hopeful way. She struggled to find a way of saying that she wasn’t saying ‘no’ to him, not really; she was saying ‘no’ to the way she usually did things. She didn’t want this to happen like it usually did; she wanted this to be different and special. “I’d like to learn more about these feelings first. Please.”

She smiled tentatively at him and he wearily did so in return, “If you are sure,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, giving his leg a pat. “I’m glad we had this little chat; I’ll see you in the morning.”

Vincent watched her as she, subconsciously, sashayed into Benjamin’s quarters; she was completely unaware of what she did to him. He groaned and tugged at his hair in frustration before he went to his own quarters to not sleep.

Love, always, Mel.