HEARTS CAN BREAK
Chapter Ten

Jack and Rose both began to run, not willing to waste a moment of time. Up the stairs they flew, their feet clanging. Rose felt sick to her stomach. The ship was at such a tilt that it was noticeably harder to climb the steps. She pulled herself along the rail as Jack followed behind her.

"Keep going up!" he yelled, trying to encourage her. It was tiring and they had no idea where the maze would end--or where it had begun. Every muscle in their bodies hurt. Well, Jack thought bitterly, it's nothing compared to what the water is gonna be. He felt the raw, anguished terror rising in his throat again and it was all he could do to keep himself moving.

With each flight, the sound of water below turned more and more distant until it faded completely. Although the angle was still there, the groans were quieter. Then, suddenly, the stairs ended. There was a wooden door that read Crew Only. Without so much as a second of hesitation, Jack threw it open and pulled Rose with him to the other side. They were greeted by an elegant display of steps, smaller than the Grand Staircase but still beautiful enough for both of them to know they were back in first class. The floor was a shiny linoleum again, and electric lights burned brightly.

"The aft Grand Staircase," Rose gasped, out of breath from climbing. "We are in the back of the ship."

That was a good thing, for it was the back of the ship that would stay out of the ocean for the longest. He nodded and turned to face her. What he saw shocked him.

She was shivering slightly, enough for him to feel it when he went up to her. Her hair was in salty tangles, and there were trails of tears down her cheeks. Her dress was water-stained and in her face he saw terror like he had never seen before.

He had to get her out of here. He wasn't sure how much longer she could handle it and he didn't want to find out. Damn it, he had fallen in love with one person in his entire life, and their love had just blossomed tonight. He would not lose her, not yet, not now, not ever. He just wouldn't let God give him love and then take it away from him. He took her hand, kissed her lips quickly, and began to run up the stairs.

Both of them were thinking one thought--not without you. As they climbed higher and higher, they realized that they were bound by an endless string of love and nothing was ever going to tear them apart. Their two hearts beat as one and if one of them was lost--the other half could not, would not, survive.

Rose was afraid--no, she was petrified--of what lay before her. She could hardly breathe. Now, it wasn't like when she had been waiting with her mother to board the lifeboats. Now, she knew that Titanic was going to sink. She knew that there weren't enough boats, and she knew that the water was cold enough to kill within minutes. There was no escape from the facts. She had to deal with them, and somehow live to another sunrise. She owed herself that--she owed Jack that.

Her thoughts began to wander. She remembered little wisps of her past that were now part of her--and that were now sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Like a ghost from yesterday, words floated back into her head, words that were now what she based her life upon.

You jump, I jump.

That was such a powerful phrase that conveyed everything in the love Jack and she shared. It symbolized everything--you aren't going to risk yourself without risking me. Your pain is my pain. Your happiness is my happiness. If you let go, I'm letting go, too. I can't leave you. I won't leave you.

The first time those words had been said to her, she had been in more pain than anyone could possibly realize. Feeling comfort in the memories, she allowed herself to be swept back to two evenings ago, before her life had true meaning, after everything had been taken away from her.

*****

Rose sat stiffly at the dining table, staring straight ahead.

Everything was gone.

Her father, irresponsible man that he was, was dead, and that one spark of freedom he had founded within her died with him. Her false sense of security from the world around her had evaporated. She knew truly what society was. Money, boasting, feigning, it was all there, everything except real human emotions. It was as if everyone here hid their true selves behind an image of perfection that just couldn't exist and it disgusted her.

She knew who was sitting to her left. Her mother, Ruth, was pretending to be in animated conversation with JJ Astor--connections, Rose thought bitterly. Since Papa had died, the DeWitt Bukaters had been introduced to debts that they hadn't even known had existed. Mother was terrified someone would find out and was always trying to hide their secrets as much as possible. Gossip was a harsh thing in their world.

Her world.

She had felt glimmers of happiness before, faint times when she felt everything would just maybe work out all right. Then, her destiny went spinning out of control. Her mother now held her fate and would control it till her dying day and beyond. Before she could speak a word of protest, she found herself engaged to Caledon Hockley, a thirty-year-old steel tycoon who had no more use for her than appearances.

No one had any use for her.

She saw her life as if she had already lived it--an endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. She was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull her back, no one who cared, or even noticed.

No one would care.

She had to escape her life, her mother, her fiancé, herself. There was no way out. Save one.

Her heart trembled at the prospect of death, but absolutely died with the prospect of more torture here on earth. She was trapped. The feeling of despair and confinement grew worse every second until she felt the life was being smothered out of her. She dreaded each day, and at last she had finally woken disappointed that she hadn't passed away quietly in the night. That was no way to live. It was a way to die.

"Mother," she breathed now, still dazed, feeling in some way controlled by something beyond her power. She realized it was her fear and her hurt. "Mother!" Finally, Ruth turned to look at her, the smile already fading from her face. This is what she feels when she looks at me, Rose thought, utter contempt.

"Mother, I am exhausted. The sea air must be getting to me. It is late." Not true. It was hardly ten o'clock, and most passengers didn't even begin to go to their cabins till midnight. "May I be excused to take a walk and retire?"

Her mother weighed the options in her mind and must have decided it was better to have an absent daughter than a tired-looking one. "Yes, you may go, but have Trudy launder out your clothes for tomorrow first. And…don't…cause...any…scenes," she seethed. Rose nodded. This was all Ruth cared about. Appearances and reputations.

Gracefully, as a lady should, she quietly excused herself. Cal looked at her, obviously expecting an affectionate glance or an embrace or a kiss before she left, but Rose had never kissed him and never would, not tonight. Her life was a horrible mess, such a horrible mess that no one would ever be able to repair it. Why even try?

She glided elegantly across the carpeted floor, her beaded gown trailing behind her.

Papa, just wait for me.

She would be with him soon. Her breathing quickened as she stepped into the lift with no intention whatsoever to see her maid about her gowns as her mother had ordered. Tomorrow's clothes wouldn't be a concern of anyone's.

"How can I help you, Miss Hockley?" the operator asked, his gloved hand lingering on the brass pulley. She spun around to look at him in horror, her eyes widening. Miss Hockley? That was right--her mother had been introducing her to others as Miss Hockley, very proud that her only daughter was about to become part of the Hockley fortune.

"Miss DeWitt Bukater," she whispered. The expression on her face was terrifying the crew member. "My name is Rose DeWitt Bukater."

"My apologies, Miss DeWitt Bukater," he said hastily.

"B-Deck," she muttered.

With a curt nod, the operator pushed the lever up and clasped his hands behind his back, making no attempt at conversation but observing the beautiful girl who was now beginning to cry in the elevator.

He eyed her curiously and said nothing, wanting to ask questions but keeping them dammed up. When the machine jerked to a sudden stop, he felt relief and pulled open the doors.

Rose fell out, completely distraught. Tears were making smooth patterns down her cheeks. In some ways, she was so completely miserable she knew suicide was her only option. In others, she wanted desperately to live.

Yet, no one else wanted it.

She gave herself over to the idea of heaven and her father, of no pain and no hurt and no memories…just absolute perfection.

She began to run. She couldn't wait any longer; she wanted to end this horror of a life that was her own. Now she was weeping. Her hair had fallen from its elegant knot and was now cascading around her shoulders and back. Her complexion had gone clammy. Soon she stopped caring about the passengers around her; she'd be gone soon anyway. She raced to the door which led to the B-Deck promenade and stumbled outside. Her heels clicked across the wooden deck as sobs racked her body and she flew, her curls streaming behind her.

There were the shocked stares of the wealthy and the curious glances of the maids and stewards. She ran by one woman, shoving her to the side, and heard a scandalized gasp from behind her. It didn't matter anymore. The chill of the evening bit into her skin and the ice in her soul didn't help. She could hear the water churning mercilessly beneath Titanic and she knew that it was waiting for her, welcoming her, calling her.

She pulled open a metal gate and tore down the steps into the third class area. There were few people out and none followed her, so she kept going. Her cries filled the night air as she went up another staircase onto the poop deck--the very stern of the ship--past a row of benches. More sobs were racked from her body.

Finally, she threw herself over a metal pole and stared. Now she could see over the stern. The sea was swirling in endless shades of navy and black--dark colors that symbolized her hurt and her death.

She shivered at that word, death. As her chest heaved and her now icy blue-green eyes swept around her, she thought about her options. There were no choices, really. She was trapped. She had waited too long to break free and now she was being smothered by her life.

With hesitant steps, she began walking to the railing, her hair gleaming red in the light. She glanced over her shoulder as she completed the last few feet, half of her heart aching to stay safely onboard, the other half already throwing itself into the sea. God, she thought, why do I have to end like this? Oh, please let my father be waiting for me.

If Jonathan Bukater was waiting for her, it would be all right.

Suddenly, her beaded gown was caught on the metal. Damn this dress, her mind screamed as she worked the fabric free and hoisted it over the rail. Her body would never be found. Not the expensive clothes, nor the jade earrings, not even the custom-designed shoes. Those would be what her mother cared about, not the real, living human being within.

Gracefully, she climbed the bars and swung first one foot, then the other, to the opposite side. She slipped completely over and hung onto the railing with her hands, the huge engagement ring still on her finger. Her knuckles were white with pressure, but her face was pearl with fear.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stared over the water and leaned out. Any second now she would have the courage. She closed her eyes and began to pray.

God, she mumbled in her head, please take my soul and give me the strength to--

"Don't do it!"

A strong voice, rich with passion and meaning, with life and freedom, appeared behind her.

She whirled behind, startled. This was the last thing she needed now, not now! She was ready. She could just jump now, before this man could stop her.

It was then that she actually saw the person who the voice belonged to. It was a young man; he couldn't have been more than twenty, with long, boyish blonde hair and tan skin. A steerage passenger, but an American nonetheless. He was incredibly handsome and…her heart flip-flopped. Now was the last time to be thinking such thoughts!

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" Her voice was trembling almost as much as her body as she turned back to face the water. "I mean it! I'll let go!"

She shifted her stare to watch his face as he registered her words. As he moved from the shadows, she could make out his eyes--and suddenly all of her other emotions were momentarily washed away. They were so amazingly blue; they penetrated her very soul in their calm, enchanting, clear gaze. In that minute, she wanted valiantly to believe that her life had meaning and purpose. She didn't even know who this man was and yet she felt safe for the first time in her life.

Although he seemed amused inside for a split second, his face suddenly straightened in a look of utmost sincerity. Still holding his grave face, he lifted a cigarette that had been in his fingers the whole time. He made a motion as if tossing it over the side, to show her that although he was coming closer he meant nothing to her.

She watched anxiously as he took slow, cautious steps to the rail and threw the smoke into the waves. There was some point to his movements--that she knew, but she had no idea what that point was. He leaned back and put his hands in his pockets, attempting and failing to look relaxed. Who could be in a situation like this? Rose gave him credit for even trying.

"No, you won't," he stated nervously. She whirled around to face him better. No, you won't? Of all the stupid things to say. He was insulting her word?

Her anger bubbled through her mouth. "What do you mean no, I won't? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do; you don't know me!"

There was no doubt about it--he was obviously enjoying himself. Those eyes sparkled in unsounded laughter and, although it was stopped immediately, the corners of his mouth had begun to uplift.

"Well, you would have done it already."

She looked at him in disgust. He might have a point, yet it was none of his concern whether or not she was brave enough to--to--let go.

What did she say now? If he would just leave she could go back to musing in her own painful thoughts. Having him here was like salt to her wounds; to have someone see her hurt.

"You're distracting me. Go away!" Her voice was as sharp as a blade and icier than the air itself, but she didn't know this man. Why should she care if she upset him, especially now?

She expected him to mumble an apology and turn away. Certainly he wouldn't argue with her chilling tone. He would go below and forget about her.

She strained to hear the sound of receding footsteps but instead another sound drifted to her ears--words that melted her heart.

"I can't. I'm too involved now. You let go--and I'm gonna have to jump in there after ya."

Her brain was numb with shock. He barely knew her--and he would risk his life for her? What kind of a man was this? Maybe he didn't understand the consequences of his actions.

"Don't be absurd…you'll be killed!"

He didn't seem to be fazed at all. Instead, he merely began to untie his heavy boots.

"I'm a good swimmer."

Her soul pooled in her body. It didn't matter if he was a good swimmer. As he untied the other lace, she replied.

"The fall alone will kill you."

Again, his eyes seemed to smile. He knew exactly what he was getting into, and the look on his face told her he wasn't joking, either. He truly would jump off this ship in an attempt to save her.

"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't," he answered carelessly, pulling one boot off and throwing it to the ground. Why was he doing this to her? "To tell ya the truth, I'm a lot more concerned about that water being so cold." He continued to work out a knot while he kept his piercing eyes on her face and a questioning expression lit his mouth.

She tried to keep her dignity and hide her fear from him. Gulping, she turned momentarily to again face the sea. She knew he could tell from her tearstained cheeks and glassy eyes that she was terrified, but she would never admit it aloud.

Finally, curiosity got the better of her. "How cold?" she asked softly, still not looking at him.

He shrugged. "Freezing. Maybe a couple of degrees over." He removed his last boot and stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets. She mused over his words. Freezing? She knew that the human body could not survive in such temperatures and that they resulted in a slow, painful death. She didn't care about her welfare, but against her better thoughts she found herself worrying about him. How could she survive, in eternity or on earth, knowing she had caused another human being's death?

"You…you ever been to Wisconsin?"

Her dramatic mind was unsettled by his sporadic question. Confused, she turned quickly to look at him.

"What?" What in the hell did Wisconsin have to do with tonight?

"Well, they have some of the coldest winters around. I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls." She shook her head at his answer. He was some piece of work.

"I remember when I was a kid," he continued, a faraway expression on his face, "me and my father--we used to go ice fishing on Lake Wissota." He paused here to look at her. "Ice fishing is, you know, where you--"

Exasperated, she focused on him. Why was he telling her this? "I know what ice fishing is!"

He put his hands in the air as if proving his good intentions. "Sorry," he answered sarcastically. "You seemed like an--indoor girl." He ran his tongue in his mouth and sighed. "Anyway, I--ah--I fell through some thin ice." She listened with more interest now as he leaned over the rail. "And I'm telling ya, water that cold--like right down there--it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing you all over your body. You can't breathe, can't think--at least not about anything but the pain."

He concentrated on her again, remembering the position they were in. "Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after ya," he went on, as if she had asked. "But like I said, I don't have a choice." He took off his worn jacket and unbuttoned his bulky vest, casting each to the ground. He flipped his blonde hair out of his face, a look of utter seriousness in his beautiful eyes. She watched him, amazed, still leaning dangerously over the Atlantic.

He prodded her further. "I guess I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here."

No! She had been so prepared to die and go with her father--to leave her mother and her fiancé, her rigid life. Whether or not she was sacrificing another soul shouldn't matter. She might be doing him a favor, getting him off of this awful planet.

"You're crazy!" she exclaimed, pretending to shift all of her attention to the black sea but honestly waiting for his reaction.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw his grin. It made her legs feel weak and her head roar. It was so boyish, so innocent. He seemed so--free.

"That's what everybody says." He laughed. Then, suddenly, he leaned closer to her so that she could feel his body heat and the warmth of his breath tickling her neck. "But with all due respect, miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here." His boldness shocked and softened her.

"C'mon. Give me your hand," he urged, taking one of his own hands out of his pocket and reaching it, shaking, towards her. "You don't want to do this."

She gasped with the authenticity of his actions and words. Did she? He was lighting hope in her--there was a sort of life that included the adventure and joy he was made of. She just had to be strong enough to take it.

Trembling, she grasped his hand with hers. It was rough from some sort of labor, but surprisingly tender and warm. He turned her around slowly, gently. In the moment she faced him, she knew she was doing the right thing.

"Whew!" He sighed with mock relief. She knew he hadn't been that worried. He smiled again so she had to struggle for breath once more. "I'm Jack Dawson."

Jack Dawson. The name was so simple, yet so complicated. She rolled it over in her mind, loving the sound of it.

"Rose DeWitt Bukater," she struggled back, still finding it difficult to speak, only feeling his hands holding her so firmly.

He chuckled. "Gonna have to get ya to write that one down." She smiled back. She just wanted to stay like this, safe from Cal and her mother, Mr. Dawson protecting her.

All too soon, he looked at her and whispered, "C'mon." She allowed him to help her up.

It happened in a matter of seconds. She felt her shoe heel slip on the lace hem of her dress--and suddenly she was dangling over the sea, thrashing in the air, the cold seeping into her bones, screaming. Jack, luckily, had quick reflexes and had caught her by one arm.

"Help me!" she shrieked, twisting and turning but not being able to get back on the rail. She didn't want to die anymore! She wanted to live! God--please, please, please.

"I gotcha! C'mon!" Jack yelled back down over the roaring sound of crashing waves on Titanic's hull. She felt his strong hands pulling her up as she fought against the pull beneath her to survive. Her feet swung around beneath her. She managed to get a weak grasp on the railing and heave herself up just a bit further. Without warning, however, his grip loosened. She didn't realize it was so that he could grab her other arm, and she immediately panicked, causing her to slip again, lower this time. Her screams became louder and more desperate. Now she was being held only by her wrist.

"Listen! Listen to me!" Jack bellowed, intent on getting her to be still. She looked up to meet his gaze, terror lining her face. His piercing blue eyes were focused only on her, calmness dancing in their color.

"I've gotcha," he said quietly, with as much peace as he could muster. His hair hung over his face as he was draped across the rail. "I won't let go. Now pull yourself up! You can do it!"

Lit with fresh hope, Rose again struggled higher and higher up the hull of Titanic. Finally, finally, as her screams died down, Jack managed to take hold of both of her arms. "I've gotcha. C'mon," he whispered as she groaned with the exertion of pulling all her weight up to the rail. He grabbed her around the waist and she threw his arms around his neck until he yanked her back to the other side. With a toppling crash, they fell to the deck. She was smothered beneath his weight and shaking profusely.

He looked deep into her face as his eyes caressed her soul, and in that moment she absolutely knew one thing for certain. In all of the people in her life, right now she trusted Jack Dawson most.

*****

While Rose was having a flashback of the moment she had met the man she now loved, Fabrizio and Tommy were on the boat deck. They had checked both sides for boats and only one remained. The men that were left on Titanic were becoming more and more panicked until finally they had become a mass of jumbling humans, too terrified to pay attention to anything--the sea, the tilt of the deck, the blackness--other than the last boat. Fear was so thick in the air that Fabrizio felt he could spoon it out if it was tangible.

Everyone around him was as white and limp as a bed sheet, shaking like a leaf. Everyone, that is, except for Tommy. Tommy Ryan's Irish core was keeping its composure.

The two nimble men climbed atop the officer's quarters, where a collapsible lifeboat had been. Now, it was being hooked up to the davits as the falls were cranked in. Fabrizio counted the seats to their capacity.

Ragazzo! Forty-eight. Just forty-eight! There had to be hundreds still on this death trap, including women and children! There was no way he could get on that boat; his conscience would not let him. How could he take the place of an innocent child? The saying was false. There was a will, but not a way to get off of Titanic.

His attention was suddenly drawn to a steerage boy who couldn't have been more than thirteen. He was tall for his age, with broad shoulders, but also with a face that was still a boy's and several young freckles. His mother had already boarded and was holding out her hand for him.

"Damn you!" Officer Lightoller, who was loading the boat, cried out to the boy's father, who was standing by. "The lad's too old; we need these seats for the women and children!"

"He's only twelve!" the father yelled back. "For God's sake, man, he is a child!"

"No! The answer is no!"

Cold knives of horror and fear plunged in Fabrizio's chest. The kid was twelve--he had a right to get out of here. What in the hell was going on with these pazza people? Why were they being so damn stubborn? How could they not let a twelve-year-old aboard, knowing what he would have to face--

For the first time since the iceberg hit, Fabrizio realized exactly what they would all have to face. Ice. Cold. Death. The Atlantic was freezing this time of year. It was impossible to survive. He imagined after the ship had gone down, in the water with hundreds of other bodies, in cold that no one could imagine, in darkness that would penetrate his body like the temperature--

"We have to get goin'." Tommy, who had been measuring up the scene, spoke suddenly. He had been sizing their chances, and they didn't look good. Christ only knew where Jack had gone--Tommy could only fiercely pray that he had somehow managed to break past those officers commanding the boat. He didn't want to know what it would do to Jack and Rose if they were separated, but he knew that it would be worse than any death could be.

Fabrizio nodded at his side and motioned for Tommy to lead the way, which he did. He ran to a thick rope, a rope, he realized, that was holding up a funnel, and slid down it to the normal level of the boat deck, not noticing the sting on his hands. Fabrizio didn't bother with the tool and simply jumped to the ground, landing on his feet. Both were suddenly caught in the fury of the panic and looked wildly around them. Their hearts pounded in their chests. Come another few hours, Tommy thought, horrified, will my heart still be beatin'?

It was a sharp voice to his left that awoke him from his indescribable sea of dread.

"Stay back!" It was the voice of Officer Murdoch, who had come to help hold back the flood of crowds. Sickened, Tommy realized he was holding the latest style of gun in his hand and aiming it at the people surrounding him.

Both Irishman and Italian fought to the front of the circle, right in the face of Murdoch.

Tommy's fiery temper was bubbling up inside him again as he turned and saw the twelve-year-old from earlier being comforted by his father while his mother wept with anguish from her seat, not able to rise.

Fiercely, he spread his legs apart, symbolically protecting the others, and leaned toward the shaking crew member. "Would ya give us a chance ta live, ya limey bastard?" he roared, his green eyes dancing in anger. Fabrizio stepped up with him, showing his support and raising a fist in the air.

Now Officer Murdoch pointed the gun right at the troublemaker, his glassy orbs wide with surprise and terror. "I'll shoot any man who tries to get past me. Stay back!"

"Bastard!" Tommy yelled, not willing to give up.

A finely dressed gentleman pushed in front of Murdoch and attempted to board the boat. The officer shoved him away.

Shocked, the man stared around, his dark hair out of its place and hanging limply in his face. Finally, he spoke. "We had a deal, damn you!" he whispered angrily.

Before Tommy could fully register what the tony had said, Murdoch reached into his pocket and slammed a huge wad of twenty dollar bills to the floor. Bribery money.

"Your money can't save you anymore than it can save me," he seethed, a bit crazily. "Get back!" This time the rich man was rammed back into the crowd. Tommy pushed him a bit further with his elbow. Who in the hell did he think he was, that he was better than the rest of them?

And just like that, it was over. A man above Tommy attempted to jump into the boat. Officer Murdoch shot before he could think and the man dropped from the rope. A second man, moving to get out of the latter's path, tripped backwards, shoving Tommy out in the open. As Tommy looked around, confused, there was another tremendous bang, and he felt a searing pain in his chest. He heard himself fall with a sickening thud to the deck. In a haze, he could barely make out Fabrizio above him, who had dropped to the floor.

"Tommy!" he cried, and cradled his friend's head. Everything was swimming before Tommy's eyes. He could feel blood bubbling from his heart and mouth. Weakly, he thought, I'm sorry I couldn't do anymore. Titanic had taken him after all. As the hot redness of his wound dripped into the sea, he felt an utter peace, and then…nothing.

One of the first victims of hundreds.

Fabrizio continued to hold his friend after life had left him. "Oh, no, Tommy! No!" he screamed, his Italian accent thickening with horror. "No--no--no, ragazzo mio? Mami molana pervase de?" Finally, he managed to translate his words into English. "Somebody help me, please!" he moaned, his grief bleeding like Tommy's chest. Nobody moved.

Why?

Chapter Eleven
Stories