Mini Brain Dumps

Trigger Warning: This novel contains references to sexual assault and mental health disorders. Reader discretion is advised.

If you’re new to the story or need a refresher, you can catch up on the beginning of the novel here: Beginning of the Story

Missed the last chapter ? No problem! You can read it here: Previous Chapter

Chapter 12:

As the sun crept over the horizon, Quentin found himself in the ship’s galley cutting vegetables and cleaning pots next to Maria as she cooked breakfast for the crew. Her hands were a blur of motion as she chopped vegetables and tended to the bubbling pots on the stove.

Quentin’s hands trembled as he held the sharp blade in his hand. Compared to Maria’s practiced skills, Quentin felt like a toddler fumbling around the kitchen. His vegetables chunks were uneven, he always seemed to get in her way, and at one point he almost cut off his finger which caused Maria to assign him to dish duty. He was happy to scrub the pots and pans as she worked her magic in the kitchen, at least feeling a bit more useful than fumbling around the cramped space.

His hands were still sore from scrubbing the deck yesterday, but at least here he was able to stand while he cleaned rather than being crouched. He scrubbed the dishes until his hands were red and raw, until his shoulders and feet ached. As he set the last dish onto the drying rack, he grabbed a new towel and began to dry the pots and pans, putting them back in the cabinets once he was done.

Maria had disappeared long ago to serve the crewmates their breakfast, a simple dish of shredded potatoes, eggs and freshly made bread. She appeared every now and then through the doorway to drop off more plates and cups for him to clean. When the last plate was returned to its cabinet, Quentin dried his hands and waited.
His stomach rumbled loudly.

“Gosh you must be hungry after all that work,” Maria said as she entered the kitchen with an armful of dishes. “This is the last of them.” She said as she deposited the dishes into the sink.

“You sure?” Quentin asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Because you said that last time.”
Maria smiled at him and pinched his cheek lightly. “No, I’m not sure. There always seems to be a stray fork or a cup after I think I’m done.”

He thought of his mother and how she would get mad at him when she found a stray cup in his room after she had finished the dishes. He didn’t understand why she had gotten so upset before, but as Maria had continuously added dishes to his stack to clean, he understood the frustration of being so close to the end only for it to not actually be the end.

Quentin’s stomach rumbled loudly again.

Maria’s face dropped. “Sit down, eat something,” she said, her brow furrowed in concern.
“I’m fine. I’ll grab something later,” Quentin insisted.

Maria gritted her teeth and shot him a look at would make any sailor quake in their boots. “Sit down… Now.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, smiling as he slid past her and approached the table in the corner. He grabbed a chair and plopped himself into it, tipping it back on its legs as he reclined. Maria dished out some food for him, piling the plate with heaps of eggs and potatoes before placing a huge chunk of bread on top. She placed the plate in front of him before dishing out one for herself.

“You’re going to fall if you keep doing that,” she warned as she came to sit across from him.

“You sound like my mom,” Quentin said, placing the legs back on the floor.

Maria smiled. “She sounds like a smart woman then.”
Quentin’s heart ached in his chest. “She is.”

He grabbed the bread and took a big bite of it, the crust crunching as his teeth sunk into it. He chewed delicately, relishing in the sweet and nutty flavor of the bread. There was nothing better than freshly made bread. Well, maybe if it had some butter on it but he wasn’t complaining. He placed the last bite of bread into his mouth before digging into his eggs and potatoes. Maria watched him curiously.

“You know,” Maria began, “you remind me a lot of my son.”

Quentin looked up; mouth full of eggs. He swallowed hard. “I do?” he asked.

Maria nodded her head, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “He was always getting himself into trouble… but he had a good heart.”

“Had?”

“It’s… complicated,” she answered.

A silence fell over them and Quentin shoved more food into his mouth. “How’d you end up here?” Quentin asked, scrambling for anything to break the awkwardness that had settled over them.

“Growing up I never would have thought this was where I would end up. I loved to cook, even from a young age. And as I grew up, I wanted to travel. This,” she swung her fork in a circle, “was the best of both worlds,” she answered. “How’d you end up here, Quentin?”

Quentin finished his plate and leaned back in his chair. “Ever since I can remember, the ocean called to me. My dad was a fisherman, so I probably got that from him,” Quentin stated. “I was tired of the mundane, tired of trying to be something I’m not, and when I had the chance, I took it.”

“Just like my son….” she shook her head and smiled to herself. “And now you’ve come to regret your decision?” she questioned, her eyebrows raised.

Quentin ran his hand through his hair. “I think it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be. Everyone here makes it look so simple. My dad was a great sailor, and I’m just… just…”

“New,” Maria said, reaching her hand across the table to rest it on mine. Her warmth was a comfort, one that Quentin had not had in a while. “Everyone starts somewhere.”

Quentin offered her a small smile. “I guess you’re right.”

She leaned back in her chair with a smile on her face. “I always am… just like your mother.”

Quentin laughed softly at that, but there was a lingering sadness in his eyes. He missed his mother more than he’d care to admit. “Yeah, she’d like you,” he said quietly, staring down at his empty plate. He could almost hear her voice, scolding him for his recklessness.

Maria gave him a soft, knowing smile. “It’s hard being away from family,” she said gently. “But, out here, we become each other’s family. You’ll see. In time, this ship will feel like home.”

Quentin nodded, but he wasn’t sure if it would ever feel like home. The sea was vast and unpredictable, a constant reminder of how small and insignificant he felt compared to the rest of the crew. Every day was a new challenge, a new obstacle that made him question his place here. But he was in the thick if it now, at least until Port Marlo which was still a couple of days out.

Maria stood and began gathering the dishes, but Quentin quickly stood to help her. “Let me. You’ve done enough.”

“Suit yourself,” Maria said, handing him the plates with a grateful smile. “I’ve got to start prepping for lunch soon anyway. These sailors never stop eating.”

Quentin chuckled as he took the dishes to the sink, running the water and letting the warm steam rise. The routine of cleaning dishes was oddly soothing—something he could actually do without messing up.

As he scrubbed, Maria hummed a soft tune behind him, her voice like a gentle lullaby that reminded him of home. For a moment, the ship’s creaks and groans faded into the background, and all he could hear was the soft melody and the sound of water running in the sink. It was peaceful.

But as the quiet stretched on, Quentin found his mind wandering back to his own family, to the fishing boat his father had once captained and the long days spent hauling nets and mending sails. He missed the simplicity of it, the familiarity. Out here, everything felt so foreign, so uncertain.

“Do you ever wonder if you made the right choice?” Quentin asked suddenly, breaking the silence. He wasn’t even sure why he asked. Maybe he just needed to hear someone else say they had doubts too.

Maria paused mid-hum, her hands stopping as she wiped down the counter. She didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, Quentin thought maybe he had overstepped. But then, she sighed deeply, her voice quieter than before.

Maria rested her hands on the edge of the counter, staring out the small porthole as the waves gently rocked the ship. “Every day, Quentin,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight he hadn’t expected. “There isn’t a moment that goes by when I don’t wonder if I should have stayed behind… lived a quieter life.”

She turned to face him, her expression thoughtful yet firm. “But I couldn’t. After I lost my son… everything on land felt so hollow. Every day, I’d walk the same streets, see the same faces, but none of it felt real anymore. It was like… like I was living someone else’s life.”

Quentin paused, unsure of how to respond. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her.

Maria continued, her gaze distant. “Out here, though… I can feel him. Every wave, every storm, every sunrise—it’s like he’s still with me. It might sound strange, but the sea was his world, and now, it’s mine too. Being here makes me feel connected to him in a way I never could have if I’d stayed on land.”

Quentin swallowed hard, the depth of her loss settling into his chest. “I had no idea…”

Maria gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s not something I talk about much. But I’ve learned that the sea doesn’t just take, Quentin. It also gives. Being out here has brought me peace, in a way I never thought possible.”

“I think he knew the risks,” Quentin said softly. “We all do. But there’s something about being out here… it’s like nothing else matters.”

Maria smiled sadly, coming over to rest her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe. But just promise me one thing, Quentin.”

He looked up at her, waiting.

“Don’t let the sea take everything from you,” she said, her eyes full of the kind of wisdom that only loss could bring. “Hold on to the people you love.”

Quentin swallowed hard, nodding as her words hit him. “I promise,” he whispered.

Maria gave him one last smile before stepping away to finish her work, leaving Quentin alone with his thoughts and the sound of the ocean outside, wondering if he’d ever truly find his place here.

—

Under the relentless sun, Quentin found himself once again on deck, his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat, muscles aching as he worked in the blazing heat. His hands griped the rough hemp rope as he worked alongside Jack.

“Alright there, Quentin?” Jack called out over the sound of the wind whipping through the sails.

Quentin flashed a weary smile in response, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Just trying to keep up. It’s a lot harder than it looks,” he answered.

Jack chuckled, his hands working through the rope, tying knows without so much as a second thought. “It’s all in the wrist, lad, “he smirked, eyeing him up and down with a quirked brown. “You should be fine.”

Quentin felt the red creep up his neck as his cheeks flushed. It was going to take him a while to get used to the dirty jokes the sailors loved to throw around. He ran his hand through his hair nervously. “Um… so how long have you been at sea?” Quentin asked nervously.

Jack paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the horizon, lost in thought. “Feels like I’ve been at sea all my life. Started as a cabin boy on my father’s ship when I was barely old enough to tie my shoes.” He chuckled, but there was a hint of something heavier beneath the surface. “He used to say the ocean would make a man out of me, but… he didn’t live long enough to see it.”

Quentin glanced at Jack, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “What happened to him?”

Jack’s hands slowed as he worked the ropes, his gaze distant. “A storm took him, just like it’s taken so many others. One minute we were laughing, and the next… the ship was gone, swallowed by the sea. I barely made it out alive.” He sighed, shaking his head as if to dispel the memory. “That’s the thing about the ocean—it gives and it takes, without warning. I’ve spent my life trying to make peace with that.”

Quentin didn’t know what to say. Jack’s casual demeanor had always made him seem invincible, but now he saw the weight Jack carried beneath his easygoing attitude. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

Jack shrugged, flashing a quick smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. I chose this life, just like my old man did. And truth is, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The sea’s in my blood. But I won’t lie to you, Quentin. It’s not easy—never has been.”

Quentin looked down at his hands, at the fresh callouses that were beginning to peak out from his skin. Compared to Jack, his hands looked like that of a newborn. He thought of those years at sea, the countless storms he would have been through, and he felt a pang of jealousy at the adventures he must have experienced.

‘How do you do it?’ Quentin blurted out before he could stop himself. ‘I mean… how do you keep going after something like that?’

Jack paused, considering the question. His eyes softened as he turned back to Quentin. ‘At first, I didn’t think I could. I nearly gave it all up. But my old man used to say that a sailor isn’t made in calm waters.’ He looked out at the horizon, the wind tugging at his hair. ‘It’s the storms that shape you, lad. You can’t fight the ocean. You just learn to move with it. Every time it knocked me down, I got back up. Not because I wanted to—because I had to. That’s the only way you survive out here.’

Quentin swallowed, the weight of Jack’s words sinking in. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.’

Jack gave him a knowing smile. ‘Neither was I, at first. You’ll doubt yourself a hundred times over. But the trick is not to let it stop you. You’ll learn, Quentin. Give yourself time.’ He clapped Quentin on the back again, his smile widening. ‘You’ve got the makings of a sailor in you. You just don’t see it yet.’”

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

He clapped Quentin on the back, “Some days are hard. Others are not. But I will never get tired of that,” he admitted, gesturing to the ocean stretching out before them.

They continued to navigate the maze of ropes that crisscrossed the deck as they tended to the ship’s rigging. As they worked, the creaking of the ship’s timbers filled the air, accompanied by the sound of the waves crashing against the hull. Quentin could feel the ship sway beneath his feet, a gentle rocking motion that threatened to lull him to sleep if he didn’t keep moving.

He tried to focus on the ropes, mimicking Jack’s smooth movements, but his mind kept drifting back to Maria’s words. Hold on to the people you love. He thought of his mother, her tired smile as she sat in his chair, casting a glimpse over his shoulder before leaving for good. He knew that she knew he was leaving. She had pretended to be strong, but Quentin had seen the worry in her eyes, the unspoken fear that he might never return.

He missed her. Missed the warmth of the home, the smell of her cooking wafting through the air, the sound of her voice calling him for dinner. Her missed the simplicity of those moments – moments he had taken for granted.

The ocean had always seemed like freedom, an escape from the mundane life he had grown tired of. But now, out here, the freedom felt more like isolation. Did I make the right choice? he wondered for the hundredth time. I’m no sailor like my dad. Maybe I never will be.

Jack’s steady hands worked the ropes like second nature, and Quentin’s clumsy attempts only highlighted how far he still had to go. Hands raw from the rough rope, and sweat dripping down his back, he clenched his jaw, determined not to let the others see how out of place he felt. But the doubts lingered, gnawing at him with every missed knot or wrong pull. Was this really where he belonged?

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