HEARTS CAN BREAK
Chapter Seventeen

Rose felt so empty that it was all she could do to even think. And then it all hit her again--Titanic, water flooding shiny hallways, the screams. The screams--they had all died out now. It was so quiet.

She felt like she was on the brink of insanity. It was an awful feeling--she could not control herself or her thoughts for a moment. Suddenly she was drowning in blackness, being smothered by hate and regret, covered with something she didn't have the power to understand. All she could see was emptiness. I must be losing consciousness, Rose thought, terrified. Maybe that was the last thing I will ever see--the Atlantic. But I...I can't...

If she was trapped in herself, she could get herself out. It was a fight against her deepest fears and horrors--the death she had seen. Jack, oh, Jack, I'm so afraid, I'm so weak, I'm dying...where are you? I need you. You said you would never leave me...you made love to me...you kissed me with such sweetness...where are you when I need you? Please take me away, whisk me to the horizon like you promised...take me to the roller coaster and the surf. That's where I want to be, in the warm surf with you. Right in the surf.

Slowly, her view began to ebb back into her eyes, eyes reflecting blue-green with pain, with the iceberg. She wasn't strong enough anymore. Jack's own hand was grasped within her palms. For some reason, his icy fingers had stopped moving. He must be so tired. I am, too. I am, too. He'll wake up when the boat comes. I just have to wait ‘til the boat comes.

With sympathetic tenderness, she turned to gaze at him and stroked his knuckles. He looked so cold, as cold as she was. In the blackness she could see the purpling tints of his face and shivered. No. He's fine. He's just fine. I can't think like that. He's just hurting inside, like me. He's a strong eagle dipping down, and I'm a wilting rose, but we'll be fine because we're together. Nothing can harm us while we're together.

Her curls were dull and colorless, now strung with fine strands of solid ice. When she moved, a rustling, clunking sound of her now frozen hair against wood greeted her.

"It'll be all right now. It'll...be all right now."

With a small gasp of pain, she shifted on her back, still clutching Jack's hand. She felt stabbed with daggers and, if she imagined hard enough, could see her blood foaming in the water around her. She had had so many opportunities to get in a lifeboat, but she couldn't make herself regret being right here, right here with him...

It hurt. Oh, God, it hurt. It was pain beyond imaginable, torture shrieking its way out of every centimeter of her body, breath freezing in silvery gasps around her. The anguish ripped through her as easily as a bullet and pounded every organ that still functioned within her. The agony was unbearable, the suffering was unexplainable. Yet, through it all, she had never been more whole in her existence.

She could see scenes of her past life like looking through a blurry window, smeared pictures of galas and jewels, velvet and satin, badly-tuned sounds of fake, high laughter, gasping figures in tightly wound corsets, diamond rings and false bank papers. It was all some lie, some scam to drain her of everything she had and leave her lying, panting, on the cold floor of death. She had been so close, so empty, that she hadn't recognized Jack for what he was at first. And now she couldn't get enough of him.

A small, tender, crazy smile lit her lips, brought on by the insanity of her pain. She couldn't think straight anymore. Her mind wasn't allowing her to comprehend anything, so she let go. Slowly, she felt the last of her sense ebb away into the complete, confused yet clear, pit of nothing.

It was short bliss, to not feel anything. To not have to feel the ice tearing through what had been her once melting body, to not have to worry about Jack floating motionless beside her, to not have tears freezing in her eyes when she saw all of the passengers of Titanic in the sea.

Mindlessly, she heard the words to a song that was vaguely familiar--

"Come Josephine...my flying machine..."

That's...that's Jack's song. That's our song. Why...why is someone singing Jack's song?

"...and it's up she goes..."

His song...does he want me to come with him? I'll go anywhere! Where...is he? Why do I hear his song? Who's singing it?

"...up she goes..."

She could barely hear herself take a ragged, rasping breath, and even then she wasn't sure it was her. She was still so confused about why such a soft, weak voice would be singing Come Josephine. Her round, blue and white lips opened suddenly, but immediately closed. She looked up. What was above her? It was still so dark...

The skies were so deep, deep black--they echoed about the deepness of the past and the length of the future. But through it all they showed no way of getting out of the present. There were stars, so many, many stars, like God had taken a handful of sparkling diamonds and scattered them against a velvet black canvas. She could see milky dust sprinkled in long arms across the stars, tinting the sky dark gray in some areas. Was that a shooting star? She had to make a wish...

I wish that I were out of this pain and in Jack's arms again...I wish Titanic was still slicing through the waves...I wish Cora was safe and ruddy-cheeked as always...I wish Jack's friend Fabrizio was dancing with his lady friend Helga...I wish Tommy was arm wrestling in the general room...just let the music lift my feet off the floor and my heart off the ground...

She took another rasp and suddenly felt like a helpless dying butterfly, lying still on the floor of a glass jar. It was useless. The nearest land was hundreds if not thousands of miles away, the boats were gone, and Jack hadn't moved yet. It was best to let him sleep. Maybe when he woke it would be warm again...

"To the stars..."

Would we really be safe in the stars, dancing in the milky light, clinging to each other? Would they keep us locked away from all this pain and regret forever?

She heard something. It sounded strange, more like an unformed blur than words. It was coming from her right. Slowly, her throbbing mind woke again from its deadly sleep.

"...hello..."

What? It was...someone was talking...there was someone alive other than herself and Jack in this Goddamned Atlantic Ocean, miles deep and so icy and empty--

"...hello...can anyone hear me..."

A...but no...it couldn't be...

Gradually, she turned her head to look on her side. Her breath caught in her throat and almost all her strength was sucked away in that one, miniscule movement. It became silent and then buzzing and then fuzzy...her eyes and ears were not wholly working. Her hope burned like a spark within her soul and for just a moment she felt herself returning, ever-so-slightly. Maybe it really would be all right; maybe Jack and she could start a new life, truly, and head to the horizon...

A bright, painful glare from the beam of a flashlight bored into her blue-green eyes and sent a trembling, aching feeling all over her face. The dazzle shocked her pupils and she squinted through the jet of light at the figures on the other side. Was it really a boat?

It was. She could make out the rounded shape and a blurry, yet tall man scanning his lamp across the ocean. It fell on so many people...they'd be fine, wouldn't they? They couldn't all be...all be...

All that mattered right now was that she woke Jack and they climbed into a boat. She felt the pang of longing just for a blanket, for sleep, for a chance to wipe these frozen tears off her iced face.

But she knew, somehow, she would never recover.

Still in disbelief and numbing pain, she tried to pick herself up enough to turn to Jack. In the first attempt, she failed, and her lack of strength dropped her back to the board. She could feel the cold wood stinging against her chest and she gasped again, used to much colder but still shocked at hurting so much.

The blackness being pierced by that one beam, the silence, the cold...it was confusing her and she drew in a ragged breath. Get Jack, she thought blandly. I have to wake him. We're going to make it.

She finally faced him and opened her mouth, fully prepared to get his attention, when, terrified, she froze.

He looked...oh, God, he didn't look like her Jack anymore. Those blue eyes that had inspired her for life and beyond, had met hers with such reassurance while they were making love, had soothed her soul throughout the horrors that the iceberg unleashed, those enchanting blue eyes were shut behind tightly drawn eyelids that looked sore and were raw red.

Shivering, she brushed her fingers more firmly against his skin--his skin that was so, so cold and glowed a sickly white from the flashlight. The color was more transparent...but looked so empty. His lips were pale, pale purple and did not move, did not quiver, did not open. Where those the same throbbing, hot lips that had been pressed to her own with such ardor, such passion?

His shirt stuck limply to his chest and gleamed with patches of frozen water. She could remember being pressed to it and grasping folds of fabric in her palms, taking in his simple charcoal and sandalwood scent.

With fresh horror, her eyes moved up to his hair, to his blonde locks. She had loved to finger their solid structure and their damp texture in the car. Her heart had melted into a puddle when it hung boyishly in his face. She could remember him sweeping it out of his face in the orangish glow of the drawing. But now each strand was woven with chips of blue ice and seemed frozen to his scalp.

Another ring of ice separated his nose and lip. His neck did not move as if with a pulse and he did not breathe. She could remember his heart-tearing grin and buckled inside. Jack, Jack, open your eyes! Smile at me, please...I can't live without your smiles. Hold me, tell me it will be all right...

"...hello..."

The wavering voice of the man in the boat floated to her, sounding strange with different sound waves. The lifeboat was leaving. She couldn't worry about Jack's appearance now. If they got in that boat, he would be swathed in blankets and they would finally be warm...

"Jack!" she whispered, not having the energy to raise her voice. She grasped his cold, icy hand in her own and weakly shook it, rubbing the cuff between her fingers and hearing the metal clang on wood.

A light smile slipped into her expression as she watched him. Had he just stirred? He wouldn't be able to believe that they were finally going to get out of this freezing, dark, deep hell, that they might actually be warm again...

"Jack, there's a boat!" Her whisper finally rose to a murmur and she lounged silently in those words. There's a boat...there is a boat...a boat is here...we can leave, Jack, we can leave...we can leave this damned place and all the victims of Titanic and have a life together--

"...can anyone hear me..."

Her focus was again drawn back to the present. She couldn't move her lower body because it was frozen through, so she struggled to turn back to her love. Her love...they fit together, and it was maybe for that reason she had felt so misshapen before. A hideous ugly beast wrapped in an angel's body had been transformed to a pure, beautiful rose clothed in spring.

And she had him to think for that.

Her smile widened as she tapped his hand more excitedly, trying to ignore the stabs of pain spreading fire across her. The cold of the metal brushed roughly against her finger. She couldn't stand seeing him like this. Soon, very soon, the cuffs imprisoning him would be off. His frozen hands would be warm and solid again--they would be caressing her, holding her, steadying her, being her.

"...Jack!"

With growing discomfort, she watched him steadily, praying for some sign--any sign--that he had heard her. But those warm, flowing eyes did not open, that perfectly shaped mouth did not move, his muscular, soft chest did not rise. Delicate, light water--freezing murderous water--rolled gently against his body, sending ripples around the board. Everything was so quiet--so incredibly deathly quiet. She knew something was wrong and a feeling worse than the cold pierced her already sliced heart. The emotion was tangible and unbearable and it was all Rose could do to take a ragged breath.

"Jack!" Her murmur turned into a desperate, frightened whisper, and she shook his hand harder, hearing the clanging ringing in her muffled ears. A lone breeze swept over her back and she jumped inside, feeling it like a presence leaving her. The grin was replaced by an anxious, pained, pleading frown, and she searched him harder.

She ran her fingers along his veins in his wrists, trying desperately to feel a pulse. Wait...was that it? That pounding?

Then she realized, with a glaze of horror, that it was only her own shivering.

She knew. Before she spoke the next words, she knew. Her voice choked in sobs and it was all she could do to open her mouth.

"There's a boat, Jack! There's a boat!" she moaned. Her voice cracked with disbelief. "Jack..."

Then the tears were falling like they had never fell, drowning her in their hopelessness. Everything fazed out of color and she dropped, lifeless, onto the door, trying to bury her face in his hand, trying to catch the reassuring feeling of his skin.

No, no it was impossible...it couldn't happen. "I'm a survivor. All right? Don't worry about me." Hadn't he said those words?

An emotion thousands of times worse than anything she had ever felt in her life was filling her lungs, controlling her mind. His face, his beautiful face, lay in front of her. He did not move.

And just like that, she forgot everything. Titanic did not exist. Cal and her mother faded from view. She couldn't remember the devastation around her. She could not feel the cold. All she could feel was grief and misery screaming inside of her, out of control like a raging river breaking down a dam.

She looked so weary. The curly tendrils of hair had no color and were frozen to the wood. She shook with unbearable hurt. Her skin was splotched.

She could feel nothing and everything at one time. She was so numb...she was alone. The reality of the statement swept through her soul and left her in denial and breathless. He felt real--the solidness of his bones beneath her own, the soft roughness of his fingertips. But there was no heart pounding fiercely beneath longing skin, no free artist's spirit that had completely seduced her and whisked away her pain. Now it was all back, weighing like a stone in the silence of the evil she was going through.

Maybe it would hurt less if she thought it was a dream. If it was a dream. If she could just open her eyes and wake in a cold sweat, like she had so many other times, still safe in the bed in her stateroom, not even knowing who Jack Dawson was.

But it wouldn't be love.

Maybe it would be easier if she just ignored the memories of his hands, so strong and gentle, so careful and afraid to touch her like she was a fragile butterfly that he was afraid to harm. If she could just forget the feeling of flying to the horizon in the sunset with him holding her, then his lips coming down and meeting hers in heaven and beyond, if she couldn't remember the disbelief and torture she felt when she was in a lifeboat, leaving him, and the relief washing through her when she threw herself back against his body.

But it wouldn't be love.

She held his hand to her, not feeling or caring about the cold, sobbing so hard she knew her ribs would break. Crystal tears swam down her smooth, pale cheeks and dropped into the sea, mixing salt with salt, taking more of her pain, demanding more of her suffering. If she just quit feeling, then she could deny the ocean that pleasure.

But it wouldn't be love.

If there was one thing that she knew, she loved Jack Dawson. She tried to remember her life without him, before that passion and ardor that had taken over anything and taken away everything. Shaking, she realized that she could only think of him, only recall things he had said, things they had shared.

"I'm gonna dance with her now...come on. Come with me."

"No...Jack...I can't do this."

"We're gonna have to get a little bit closer, like this..."

"And all the while I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up!"

"Do you love him?"

"Pardon me?"

"Do you love him...?"

"So, what are you, an artist or something? Well, these are rather good..."

"Do you trust me?"

"I trust you."

"Hello, Jack. I changed my mind..."

"Come Josephine in my flying machine, going up she goes, up she goes..."

"Wearing only this..."

"Where to, miss?"

"To the stars..."

"You jump, I jump, right?"

She felt limp and empty, like a torn rag doll, given love and taken away. He was her sun, her moon, her stars...I'm going to die, here, tonight. I am going to lie with him forever in the sand of the Atlantic floor. I'm going to go with him, to Titanic.

She remembered being pressed to his chest and gripping onto his shirt, burying her head into his skin, feeling him so close, loving having him hold her, knowing that everything would be fine as long as his arms were around her...

Now she could not feel any of that reassurance. His scent, his scent that made her legs melt with the essence of sandalwood and charcoal, was buried deep beneath salt and cold.

He had been so alive. His blonde hair falling into the eyes that shaped her, his tan skin glowing bronze in the sunset, an overcoat blowing in the wind, his worn shirt whisking across his chest, his smile making all of the rest of the world disappear.

She closed her eyes tighter and tried to put a stop to her weeping. She was waiting for death. Quite literally, she was waiting to die and feel him again, hold him, kiss him, see him smile at her with that brilliant, boyish grin she treasured so deeply...

The image of him clutching the board would not leave her. The blue ice, purple lips, pearled skin...he looked like he was in so much pain for her. So much pain.

For her.

It hit her again in a flash of knowing; causing her to suddenly open her eyes and stare wildly around. He had given his life for her own, had sacrificed himself so that she could lie on the door and out of the waves. He had died so she might live.

Still numb with shock at coming to the sudden realization that he was dead, she remembered the last words he had said to her and tears that were supposed to be hot with hurt but were iced with misery again rained down her face.

"You...you must...you must do me this one honor...you must promise me...that you'll survive. That you won't...give up...no matter what happens...no matter how--hopeless...promise me now, Rose...and never let go of that...promise."

"...I promise."

"Never let go."

"I'll never let go, Jack. I'll never let go."

God, no...she inwardly began a torrent of terrified weeping at the very thought of having to go on without him. He couldn't, wouldn't, make her...she had nothing, absolutely nothing, and the one thing she had had, love, was drowning on the bottom of the Atlantic.

"Oh, God. I couldn't go, Jack. I couldn't go!"

How could she go now?

In the middle of the sea, in the presence of a thousand dead, in the haunting memories of her past, in the torturing pain of love, she took in what she prayed to be her final breath. He had understood then. How could he not understand now?

Jack, please, I need you...you can't leave me now...not now...oh, God, I need you. How can you come to me and give me the hope to go on, but then leave me stripped and cold alone in the darkness?

She was being so selfish.

They had been through so much. The events were blurring in her head so she could hardly think, but they were still there...walls of water washing down the hallways, knocking them off their feet, the iceberg in Thomas Andrews’ eyes, the terrifying experience of almost leaving him...

She didn't even want to think about how horrible it would have been for her to be safe in a lifeboat and him freezing in the sea. She had stayed with him then. "You jump, I jump, right?" Why was it any different now?

Even as she slowly began to loosen her grip on life, the wave of guilt swept through her body.

"We're gonna make it, Rose! Trust me!"

"I trust you!"

He wanted her to live. He had had a purpose for making her promise. If only she could trust him now.

She wished that she could ignore his pleas and her word, pretend that it wouldn't matter to him, die in the water that had taken her heart, soul, spirit, and mind already, in the blackness that reigned where warm light had once been.

But it wouldn't be love.

It was a decision that would forever haunt her dreams. His lips, his freedom, his spirit were imprinted on her like a hot brand to the skin and she would never forget it.

"Hello...can anyone hear me...?"

The light swept like the pain inside around her, making paths with its glare.

Before she could think, she spoke. She didn't want to. It was as if he was inside her, guiding her, telling her what she must do. She fought it with all her heart, but as she had none left it wasn't much of a battle. She was so weak. So, so weak. Her voice was choked with tears and she wanted Jack to hold her, to tell her it would be all right.

Before the words left her mouth, an angry prayer was again sent up to God. She wished that she could believe He could hear her, but faith, mercy, and grace were gone from her life, perhaps for an eternity.

Lord, how could you? How could you? What are you trying to prove? You made my life and then tore it into pieces, scattering it in the wind like dust. Why did you take him from me?

He saved me.

So many times.

And then she was speaking silently to Jack, knowing that he was listening, knowing that wherever he was, be it beside her or at the ends of the universe, from the ocean's deep to heaven high, she knew he could hear her.

I love you.

There was nothing else to say. She refused to say good-bye. It was too final. She hurt too much to think anything else. Somewhere deep in a memory, a memory that felt like forever ago, stirred the remembrance of her total surrender to him, her complete yielding to the love she felt bursting in her heart, to the charm and beauty of freedom.

She could almost taste the salty sweetness of his lips; feel his sweat mixing with her own; touch his long and hanging hair.

An attack of anxiety hit her. Everything was throwing itself at her--the gates, the boats, the water, the death, the lights flickering, a tremendous crack, a painful slap, her mother's screams, the cold...

She had been through so much that she still wasn't thinking clearly. If she had been, she would have surely broken her promise and let go, allowed the warm feeling of love and sleep to envelop her, waken to be again in his arms.

However, she wasn't. Her past was so blurry that there was only one thing in her mind--Jack. You promised Jack and he believed you. You don't break promises to those you love.

In the darkness, that was all she needed to know. She gripped his hand tighter. She did not allow herself to think about how she would survive the guilt of leaving him in the sea. She did not allow herself to think of an eternity and an afterlife preserved forever beneath her in the evilness of the Atlantic--the result of one iceberg, of rushing water, of hard human hearts. She simply closed her eyes, praying with all her might that she would have the strength to trust Jack again. She had to trust him. It was all she had left.

She had still not come to grips with his death. Maybe it was best at the moment. In the back of her brain, she still expected his eyelids to flutter open, his lips to spread apart, and him to say something like, "Rose...it'll be all right. I'm here. I would never leave you. It'll be all right. We'll make it--together."

Would he ever leave her?

So, somehow, she felt her mouth opening. She struggled against it, still caught in the current of heartbreak and disbelief.

The boat was rowing further and further away.

"...is anyone alive out there...?"

Her voice was filled with tears and sobs like pieces of shattered glass stuck in her throat. She was hurting again, the water stabbing at her like the cold blade of Satan. How she had lived this long she didn't know. And then she heard the murmur that she was creating but didn't understand why or how.

"Come back!" The tears fell harder and the grief grew inside her as she continued to try to scream, but emitted barely more than a whisper. "Come back...come back...come back!"

"...hello...?"

"...come back...c-come back!"

The beam of light moved further on. The oars dipped further away in the evil water. No one could hear her. She was being smothered by death and hell was going to have another victory...

The determination and bravery welled into her heart so suddenly that she felt choked and knew it had come from Jack himself. No. Hell was not going to have another victory. She was not going to break a promise to Jack Dawson. The ocean was not going to take her blood and body. Not without a fight.

Looking down, she knew she had to get the officer's attention. She was being tied on the board by Jack's body. Their hands were frozen together.

She didn't pause to think, because if she did she would surely give up. Before she could as much as realize what she was doing, she grasped Jack's wrist and wrenched his hand apart from her own.

Silently, he began to drift into the deep, not having support to hold him up any longer.

Oh, God, what have I done? Oh, God...Oh, God...

She wanted to take him into her arms, to kiss his face, to warm him with her body, to hold him forever...

She wept. Lonely, forsaken, and nearly dead, the tears fell from her cheeks like stones dropped into the waves. She couldn't catch her breath. The darkness made it hard to see him, but she had memorized every curve and couldn't banish him from her mind.

So little time they had had, but so much they had found. Because he was not attached to her any longer, because they were separated, she was hit with regret. She felt as if someone had cut her apart, leaving her exposed to cold death with her heart lying in the open.

And I did that. I did that.

She couldn't tear her eyes from his form, even if she couldn't see him. As long as he was there, as long as they were together, she could live.

But she would die.

Shh...Rose...

Something warm and beautiful filled the blackness of her soul and she awoke from her tortured slumber immediately.

That voice...that calm, reassuring voice...

Jack?

Shh...

There were no thoughts to express her emotions.

Yet.

She couldn't let herself think. She promised...how could Jack believe in her and love her if she lied to him? She would never lie to him.

Then the trust again...she had always trusted him and he had always saved her. On the bow--she would have tried to kill herself again if no one had loved her. Yet he had shown her he did.

While the ship was sinking...he had found her in the water, brought her to the board, and made her swear she would live. He must have fought so hard...

His head was covered by boiling waves and, terrified and shocked, she searched for his face. Those beautiful, amazing, clear blue eyes that read her spirit--they would never open again. How could the world survive without his vision? How could she? All of her life she had been waiting to see those eyes.

I love him. Oh, Jesus Christ, I love him. I have to love him.

"I'll never let go. I promise."

She could almost see him catching her tears, holding them and kissing them away.

Her mouth met his hand, shaking with the ardor that burned within her heart. She stop to grieve that this would be the last kiss she could ever give him. She would have committed suicide if she thought that.

With an inside cry, she tore her hand from his and let the last of him disappear into the darkness that had taken Titanic and so many, many others, freeing him from her pain and forgiving him for leaving her. The scream rocked through her body, echoing off every wall, shrieking of her grief.

She hung over the side of the door, watching him until she could see no more, crying more and more until there was nothing left of her.

Just like that, she left her heart and soul with the sea, allowing the Atlantic to drain the true life out of her, needing to keep a part of her with Jack.

Before she was ready, she slid down the wood into the black water. The fresh coldness hit her like a stone club and she was once again blinded by physical pain, allowing the mournful melody of pleading rocket its way to the heavens, unwilling praying for deliverance.

For the rest of her life, she would never feel the warmth again.

The ice was gnawing at her until she wanted to die. A thousand knives driving through her skin, stabbing her neck and legs and chest. She couldn't breathe.

In her torture she managed to kick clumsily to a nearby deck chair. Water got into her mouth and she spit it back out, fighting solely and only for Jack. This was what he wanted.

Shivering and shaking so hard her body was almost in convulsions, she threw herself on the chair. The officer from earlier was frozen to the wood, but he was gone. He had been gone for a long time. His eyes were closed and his face twisted in suffering.

With an almighty thrust, she tore the gleaming metal whistle from his mouth and pressed it to her own now black and purple lips, trying to gather the strength to blow.

Finally, a shrill screech flew around her, trapping the rest of the silent ocean in its sound. Weak at first, the cry for help grew louder and louder...

The officer stopped yelling out. For a moment, he seemed frozen. Then she saw his form whirl around. He shouted, "Turn about!"

The light beam cast itself in a piercing glow on her. She was blinded by the brightness of it in her dark world.

Then, as the boat swung around and rowed ever closer, it hit her so quickly and bitterly that she stopped blowing.

Suddenly, she wanted to die. To disappear and vanish, to be tortured for eternity, to drown in pain, to enter the darkest chambers of hell.

Jack Dawson was dead.

Chapter Eighteen
Stories