Chapter Text
Fifty, one hundred, one thousand, start counting, child.
You are ten when you find out that everyone has a price. Ten years and a stray heart without a refuge anymore.
Blood.
You told her she wasn't your mother, because of the blood. You told her she wasn't, and that she would have never been. Bellemere had fallen apart, but then she’d smiled when you’d asked for forgiveness.
Now she has traded that blood for your life.
Fifty, one hundred, one thousand, learn to count, child, do it quickly.
Everything has a price. The food, the clothes, the books, the roof over your head, freedom.
The lines you draw on paper indicate your worth, your childhood slips away with them day after day, map after map. The pencil doesn't tremble, the hand is steady, the sheet (white, like your mother's throat, when –) has no imperfections.
Memories are the ones that fade away in a cloud of regrets.
Fifty, one hundred, one thousand, don't stop counting, child.
Your house smelled of good, your house smelled of sun, of peace, of safety, of life, the smile, the scream, the shot, her body lying on the grass (don't tremble, don't tremble, please, Nami, don't tremble).
Close your eyes, the room is rotten and unfair and suffocating and –
Close your eyes. Imagine an island. An island full of flowers and evergreen paths.
Listen. You hear the sound of the waves and the cry of the seagulls. There's nothing else around you, no threatening whispers, no coarse laughter, no choked crying.
Keep it up.
You're good, Nami.
When you open your eyes again the map is still incomplete, but safe. The smears only lurk inside you, while you tear apart your memories to not drown.
Fifty, one hundred, one thousand, it's still not enough, child.
The banknotes tremble – fear sense of guilt ransom – as you bury them underground.
You look up at the tangerine trees, the only witnesses of your secret.
Your sister's and mother's laughter awake in endless echoes inside your head, swirling around you like ghosts.
They’ll never come back.
Five hundred, one thousand, two thousand, you've started aiming high, little girl.
That’s not how you imagined to live your seafaring adventures, but it's nice to evade a bit, to feel the thrill of the unknown, to taste life outside the village. Even if in a hurry, even if in a constant flight, chasing shimmers and clinking of jewels helps you not to think, to bury the traumas.
It's the only thing keeping you afloat, away from the prison of maps that don't belong to you.
One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, gold increases fast, little girl, don't you see how easy it is?
No more misguided thefts, it's time for improvements, for successful escapes, for a sense of guilt that vanishes crushed by vindictiveness. After all, those you rob are just pirates – dregs, like Arlong.
Punishing them makes you feel better, alive. It's your halfway redemption, the indirect revenge that you accumulate and safeguard under the same clod of earth for years, while your body changes and you don't have time to notice it.
Three thousand, four thousand, five thousand, reset the count, little girl.
The day you notice you've grown up is the one in which a man three times your age tries to stick his tongue into your mouth. You make him regret it, but the theft doesn't go well.
You don’t care about the money.
You regret the wasted time.
That, unlike your village, can’t be bought.
Ten, twenty, thirty thousand, the figures rise, little girl, and with them rise the stakes too.
You are ready for anything to wipe fear from the faces of your people (too much, they've wasted too much time waiting and trembling), you'll restore their smile at any price.
Sloth whore. That's how that shrewd pirate who almost caught you up called you—just a kiss, that's all you gave him—and that's how Arlong calls you too in your head, his voice a hissing bullet, the smile the scream the shot, her body lying on the grass (don't tremble don't tremble please Nami don't tremble).
Red, there was too much red on the grass that day, but Bellemere's throat was intact, white as a blank sheet. As you draw you still have the impression to see her in that condition, and sometimes, you can't help it, tears slide down on the lines drawn in pencil, forcing you to hide everything and start over.
You don't want Arlong to notice it.
He would find out that you’re weak.
Thirty, fifty, one hundred thousand, catch and flee, little girl, you are not allowed to feel such shivers.
You remember his eyes as dark as an abyss. Restless, witty dark eyes, his a bit sad smile that lighted up when he looked at you.
You'll pay for that, was his farewell promise.
You didn't mean to use him, no – you were just looking for a hook to get to that pirate crew full of found treasures, but you prefer he considers you as a whore, a liar who only aimed to rob her brother. It hurts less to think that you gave him your body for mere play, that night, it hurts less than the idea of having felt something you can't live.
You must forget him, Nami.
One hundred, two hundred, three hundred thousand, shimmering gems and rustle of banknotes to heal your heart’s void.
It's the suffocating need for freedom that drives you to aim higher and higher.
You've recognized him. Together with that weird rubber kid there’s Zoro the Pirate Hunter. You've heard of him, you admired him for the work he did. Something – maybe Luffy's childish smile – tells you that you don't have to blame him for turning his back on his mission, for choosing to become one of those pirates he used to kill. But you don't have time to ask yourself questions. You can’t let your guard down, the Hunter is keeping an eye on you.
Playing with fire implies the risk of getting burned.
~~~
One, two, three, the endless seconds that pass while he sinks and doesn't resurface.
No fire, only water – yet it still burns, yet his drowning body reignites the scream in your head – Bellemere.
You have to let him drown.
You have to let him drown, Nami, or everyone will understand –
One, two, three, a dream for a dream.
You dive into the water.
You save him.
You save yourself.
~~~
Seventy, eighty, ninety million, what a pity, you were so close.
Arlong's voice becomes an indistinct hum in your head, his unbridled laugh fades and tears into many small sheets of paper, the same ones that Luffy destroys in front of your eyes, together with your prison.
You watch the torn pieces of paper raining on the ground with a trembling heart.
You can't even think about it.
Yet it's true.
It's over.
~~~
Ten, twenty, thirty million, let's multiply by three, what do you say, honey?
Sometimes, in the most unexpected moments, you still hear Arlong's voice in your head and your shoulder burns as if he's biting it until you bleed.
Yet it's over, Nami. It's long over.
Put the pencil on the desk, run on the ship's deck, outdoors, expose the tattoo to the sunlight. Watch it.
A pinwheel and a tangerine.
A pinwheel and a tangerine.
No shark, no blood.
It’s all right.
Ten, twenty, thirty million, why do you keep hearing his voice?
Eight years of blackmail can't be cancelled. Eight years of blackmail leave their germs under the skin. Staying in the shark's nest you either die or pretend to be part of the pack to survive. You've survived, Nami, but maybe you've pretended for too long.
This must be the reason why you keep counting, accumulating, stealing treasures.
Your eyes instinctively look for the only one you can't have.
His hair is as green as the lands you dreamed of escaping to.
He’s as strong and fair as you'll never be.
"What now?"
Counting, accumulating, stealing…
You're not trying to pay yourself back for the things you’ve never had – you've become like him. It's not a way to make up for the unlived teenage years – you've become like him. It's not for the ransom – you've become like him –, no trauma – you've become like him –, coward – you are (has always been) like him.
"I'm talking to you."
Zoro stares you in hostile defensive – one, two, three, seconds run quickly –, you look at him and you are unable to answer. He's wary, as always. He's right being so – one, two, three, keep counting, child.
He would have left that day.
If it weren’t for Luffy, Zoro would have left…
You sharpen a smile – liar. “You owe me three times the money I lent you.”
You are like Arlong.