Young Writers Society

As James kept talking and talking, playing with the piece of bread in his hands, Brett held his breath, not even daring to brush an annoying strand of hair out of his face. It was best not to make any sudden movements—at this point it seemed highly possible that James had forgotten he was still in the present reality and didn't even remember Brett was there.

Dragons above! He's still going!

Not too long ago, prying any scrap of information out of him was like luring an injured wild dog out of its hole. Here, the dog had begun hobbling forward at the first whistle, with apparently no intention of hurrying back. Nevertheless it was still a very delicate moment, so Brett held onto every word.

James had gone from having a loving family in the Outlands, traveling with people who genuinely and deeply cared for him, to joining a jarringly violent gang of thugs laced with threats and mistrust. It wasn't fair. Brett knew very little about James' life, but he did know that this pattern of misfortunes seemed to follow him wherever he went. No wonder he had serious trust issues. He felt so grateful that James had finally trusted him enough to open up like this. Why me? What makes me so special?

"How did you get away?" Brett asked after a long pause, his voice just above a whisper.

James didn't answer right away. He couldn't really look up at Brett, and he didn't want to.

"...Bella. She was the only friend I'd made there. She intervened, right before Hoss could do it," he said. "Hoss was - well, he was supposed to take me to turn me in to the authorities. He'd found out before the others and struck the deal with Rita, and I was handed over to him. But he didn't really want to turn me in."

James closed his eyes. He had been trying to avoid it, but his mind was making him relive it. Over, and over again. He could feel the knife, slicing through his jacket, cutting across his chest. Jabbing into his ribs. Blow, after blow, after blow. Each one deserved, earned because of his mistake.

He could feel his throat start to tighten, and he swallowed.

"I don't know if she's okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

So he had made a friend. It made everything even more tragic this way. He hadn't just left behind a toxic gang, but also someone he cared about, and knowing James, he was probably rotting away with guilt imagining what could have happened to her.

Brett crossed his legs again and tucked some of his hair behind his ears. "So she stopped him from killing you. How? What did she do?"

James felt ashamed to say he wasn't sure. Everything had been hurting, and blood had been streaming down his face and was in his eyes.

"She had a sword," he said. "And she's good with it. I don't really know everything that happened. I know Hoss was on top of me, and then he was being ripped off. I Could hear the struggle but I couldn't really make it out. I heard her voice, telling me to beat it. That's the only reason I knew."

He allowed his gaze to flick up to Brett, but it was a bad idea. The moment he glanced at Brett's expression he felt his own was probably too revealing.

"I wasn't really thinking straight. I'm ashamed to say I ran." Hobbled, really.

He was scared. But he should've stayed.

They only had fleeting eye contact, but it was all Brett needed to glimpse the depth of James' guilt.

He shook his head. "No. You shouldn't feel ashamed. What could you have done if you stayed? By the looks of you, he beat you up pretty bad. You were in no place to fight."

James pursed his lips into a frown. He knew that. He knew that, and still, he felt like it was never enough. No matter how much he learned how to fight, or how to defend himself and others, it was never enough. He was always worn thin - too weak to do anything that made a difference.

"Yeah, well," he looked away. "I can't do anything about it now."

"Exactly," Brett insisted. "It's over. No need to beat yourself up any more."

This was probably the first time James had been able to open up to someone about what had happened in the past year. Meanwhile, Brett had gotten used to living with a family and sharing things with Matt, Ciera, and Ari, and he was even open about parts of his past with his new sailor friends. It had been so long since he had traveled on his own, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have no one to talk to.

He was so grateful that he could be an open ear for his friend.

"So tell me, how'd you get Elliot back?" he asked, indicating the horse with the tilt of his head.

James laughed, sort of. It was a weak sort of wheeze, and quick to die out.

“Bella brought him. When she came, he was there. That’s my assumption,” he said. “He’s the only reason I was able to get away quickly.”

"I'm impressed with this Bella, she seems to think of everything." He reached out a hand to place it firmly, reassuringly on James' shoulder. "I'm sure she got out that situation just fine. But you, though..."

He took his hand away.

"James, you need help. Like I said, Ciera has medical experience. Supplies. She could help you."

James tensed under Brett's touch. He tried to consciously take in a deep breath, and not look as uncomfortable as he suddenly felt, but he had a feeling Brett could feel it, anyways. The subtle shift in his shoulder. The slight twitch of his head to the side.

What Brett said next didn't help.

"You know that wouldn't work out," he said quickly. "You had to sneak out just to see me. You can't bring me back."

"You're forgetting that my brother is the captain of our ship," Brett said, smiling.

Getting Matt involved wasn't ideal. Brett's brother had done so much to aid he and Ari on their roads to acquittal, so taking big risks like sneaking out to meet up with an old Outlands friend was like dangling a precious gift over a steep cliff. A gambler at heart, Brett didn't mind doing it, but he really hoped Matt wouldn't notice—it'd be an insult. An unnecessary cause for worry. A breach of trust.

This was different, though. James was injured and needed help.

"I won't lie to you," Brett continued. "Matt wouldn't be too happy to find out that I snuck out to see you. But I can guarantee it that he wouldn't be surprised. In fact, he'd probably be shocked if he found out I ran into you and then just followed all the rules and stayed holed up in the ship."

He made eye contact with James and tried to look extra earnest, which tended to be difficult for him because the muscles of his face always defaulted to a smirk.

"He knows how much you mean to me. He'd want to help you. I promise you that."

James could hear Brett, but the words he was saying didn't seem to be sinking in. Not really.

He knew Brett didn't have ulterior motives. He knew Brett was being sincere, and honest, and meant everything he was saying and would do everything in his power to follow through with it - and it wasn't that James doubted Brett. He really wanted to, though. He wished he could find an excuse apart from his own twisted up knot of anxiety that started spinning the moment Brett mentioned going back to the ship. Back near the water. On the water.

Would Brett understand? He knew the story. It was the only other one he'd told Brett, really. He didn't think Brett could forget.

There was a list of reasons James didn't think it would be a good idea, but Brett already addressed like, half of them. James's eyebrows furrowed, creasing his forehead.

"I'm sure your brother would be very kind," James said slowly, and carefully. Trying to find his words and say it as best he could. "But I can't imagine going on a ship anytime soon."

He looked out at the ocean from their view on the cliff. He glanced to the jagged rocks down below, and how the waves crashed against them, swallowing them up before they pulled away again.

"Or getting even remotely closer to the sea than this."

Of all the excuses Brett was anticipating and ready to shoot down, that wasn't one of them.

James said he didn't want to get any closer to the ocean. Why not? Around a year ago, the group had spent several days on the shore, sometimes camping right on the sand. Brett recalled the night when everyone got to meet Matt for the first time: beach campfire, Ursuku, burning fish, beautiful sunset, ships docked in the distance.

What had happened since then?

"Why?" was all he asked.

James's eye twitched, and he looked Brett in the eyes. Maybe he'd been a little dramatic. He'd been around docks and ships, but he drew the line at stepping foot on a ship or ever dipping his toe directly into the ocean. He didn't feel like reminding Brett of his near-death experience, but he took in a deep breath.

Fine. He'd be direct.

"I haven't been on a ship since I jumped off one, Brett," he said tersely. "I really don't want to get on one again. Even if it's for... medical assistance."

Brett immediately felt bad. This was one of the only things from his past James had opened up about.

"Oh, right... That." His eyes dropped down to study the detail of the dirt. "Of course you wouldn't want to go on a ship again. I'm sorry."