HEARTS CAN BREAK
Chapter Twenty

Jack didn’t call it sleep. He was physically awake. He could feel cold, damp wood hit his back as he was transferred into another boat. He could see a man hovering above him, tucking furs and blankets around his body.

Yet, at the same time, he was completely unaware of what was going on around him. It just didn’t matter anymore. Who was he to care about his own comfort or emotions?

He was being haunted by a dream even though he was not asleep. Beyond physical vision, he could see her–a celestial, heavenly being. Her curls poured like fiery water down her back, past the beautiful arches of her delicate neck. It seemed as if she were draped in spirit and soul, something that could not be captured on paper. Her eyes were clothed in emeralds and sapphires, shining with laughter.

And then all would turn black. The scarlet hair would become colorless and frozen. The radiating white beauty would fade like fall leaves, the eyes would change into lifeless orbs.

He wanted to scream out her name, but he was so unworthy to allow the precious word to pass through his icy lips.

He tried not to think. He tried to just empty his mind, to become nothing but body. However, his brain refused, demanding that he remember, that he muse, that he feel.

Above him, the sky was like ink, painting everything except the hazy edges of the horizon, blue from water. Stars were strewn almost carelessly over the blackness of total night.

He could remember another night, a night when destiny collided with expectations, a night when freedom was unlocked and allowed to set flame to two hearts, which had been burning underneath for so long. A night when love was more important than consequences, a night when eternity was there and then and forever caged in two people, causing two separate beings to suddenly merge and become two individuals, but one hope, one dream, one passion. A night when soul and spirit were unleashed to do their wonders.

It was this same night.

It seemed so long ago, through miles of tears and blood and pain, but somehow he unearthed a stained memory of blue waves being transformed into a sea of melted gold, rippling underneath a sky set on fire by a fading sun, in shades of orange and yellow and red and purple. He had been so nervous. His heart had been throwing itself against his ribs, trying to leap out of his body and join with hers. Almost as if he had been waiting since his birth, he had been burning with a desire as real and tangible as the girl he was holding.

And now that girl had been transformed into a woman, forced to blossom so early because of the roaring fires and silent ice of love and pain, of grief and anguish and tenderness.

But as the wind blows over the ocean, she had gone, leaving an aching hole in his heart, which would never mend.

He remembered seeing her with Cal, the two moving away from him the night of her suicide attempt. Wrapped in a blanket with tear tracks down her cheeks, she looked so innocent and beautiful, but so tortured and exposed. The moment her fiancé touched her, she instantly stiffened, became less of the Rose he had just met and more of the cold steel that Cal made.

Caledon Hockley himself was enough to make her wither into a dying flower, falling petal by petal. His eyes were so dead and so cold, unsympathetic, unwavering, uncaring. His empty smile was like poison.

Jack had seen it the moment they had met. The moment Cal rushed up to him, cursing and shoving. The moment their eyes locked. The moment Mr. Hockley looked at Rose.

Oh God, he’d do anything to hold her again. He would drown in his own blood just to stroke her skin for a second, to kiss those soft, ripe lips, to tease his fingertips across her neckline. They had had so little time; she had experienced no true life.

It was beyond pain, what he felt right now. It went deeper than anguish or grief or torture or suffering. He didn’t know what it was, but it terrified him. It had such power over him that he shook with hate to himself and he realized something.

Jack Dawson had forever changed.

He didn’t know who he was anymore. Everything had been perfect eight hours ago–absolute paradise, bliss, heaven. He was the rough-around-the-edges guy who the graceful-angel-from-above had chosen to be with forever. And he had fallen in love for the first and last time.

He still had that emotion, he suddenly realized, shocked. Whenever he thought of her, past his overwhelming hurt, his stomach dropped about three feet, his heart thudded, he felt lightheaded, and his body burned. He would always love her, always, even though he was transforming into a beast that could feel nothing. Even in the numbness of the disaster, even in his fervent prayers for his death, even as he cursed his own name, he loved her. He loved her so much that all other emotions froze when he thought of her. For just a split second everything felt all right. He loved her so much that he could feel the perfect curves of her beautiful body in his arms, hear her silvery laugh twisting through the air. Damn it, he loved her.

He could never forgive himself for what had happened to his Rose. Everything seemed so bleak, that he hadn’t yet realized that there were still days ahead–that morning would break, that a new day would bloom. Because for him, all of time had stopped in one swift moment, in one iceberg, and it was forever trapped in one person.

Everything was his fault. He was a disgrace to the world. He felt no better than the creatures crawling over the ocean floor.

Suddenly, images of Rose DeWitt Bukater on that same ocean floor caused him to lose control.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this!" He didn’t notice he was shouting out loud, couldn’t hear himself, couldn’t feel the blast of pain in his frozen throat as a result. "You jump, I jump!" he yelled out, oblivious to the men turning and looking at him, shocked. "How in the hell did I let this happen? Oh God, I hate myself. I hate myself! I just want to die...It’s so cold! She was depending on me! I did this to her, I did it! And somehow, damn it, I survived!" All of a sudden he hated himself so fiercely he was clawing at his chest in a rage, trying to hurt himself, to tear himself apart, to rip out the heart that was thudding so much pain into the rest of his blood. "I’m no better than that son of a bitch...God, Rose, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! My Rose!"

Two hands were grabbing at him, trying to restrain him, but in his madness he was stronger and he continued to simply scream, his shrieks echoing cross the night. The shrieks fell into murmurs of her name, the name which tasted bitter because of his disgustingness.

"Rose," he whispered as four more stokers finally succeeded in pinning him down, "I love you. Please...I love you."

The tears kept swimming from his eyes but they did nothing to ease his pain. All of the water that had so violently taken anything and everything from him had merged into his body, and the tears were like tears of the sea. He was freezing on the inside.

He had no will to live anymore. It was gone with the waves, gone with this unimaginable cold, gone with the Queen of all Queens beneath all humanity.

It seemed as if Titanic had taken more than he had to give.

"Bloody hell, mate," a thick, bearded man wrapped in more furs, coats, and blankets than Jack had seen in his lifetime muttered, "What is goin’ on with you?"

Ever so slowly, Jack raised his eyes to the man’s face. They held none of their usual warmth or compassion, but were filled with more horrors than a person should have to see in centuries. He felt so distant, already almost gone. Tonight he had lost his life and been forced to live with just a body. He could see her form in the back of his foggy memories, could feel her shy and bold responses to his demanding and tender kisses.

"I...lost..." he struggled, suddenly absent of any means to require strength. "My...life...and...my...Rose..." He had stopped sobbing. Somehow, he wished he could again. Maybe he could feel human just one more time.

"We all lost lots. But you don’t see us fallin’ into pieces, do ya? We can’t at a time like this. We have to stay together, not fall apart. Ya know that, right?" The man stared keenly into Jack’s face, studying for an answer. The daggers of hate and vengeance shot back at him made him regret his question. Such pain swirled in his eyes...

"When...I...you don’t...understand..." Jack broke off, not able to go on. There was no point in going on. He didn’t notice as the man moved away, shaking his head and muttering.

Hope was past him now. Rose was his hope, his wish, his dream, his horizon. And now that she had faded away, his goals and reasons for living had too.

They had been the seeds of such a promising future–soulmates, nothing less. She was so stunning and fiery and beautiful...they would have gone without knowing where they where going, just moved, just been together. They could have had children, a family...

Never again would he love someone. Never again would he truly wake up. For a story was spilled over the icy North Atlantic Ocean, a story as black as the waves themselves and yet sparkling with sunshine. A story of two people becoming one love.

He would never forgive himself. Jack had known that bitter disappointments lay with great triumphs, but he had lost his heart and soul and spirit with Rose DeWitt Bukater. She deserved so much better, so much more, than anyone in this world could ever give her. If only he had stayed awake, if only...

So many if only’s.

Then something positively ripped through him. It stunned him more than any physical pain could bring. It wouldn’t end and he was left breathless as it continued to drive through his blood.

He hadn’t told her he loved her.

How could he not have told her how much he loved her? It was impossible to explain, it was not words more than emotions...the rippling, painful, fluttering sensation that danced in the pit of his stomach, the knocking out of his breath whenever he looked at her, the light smile even the mention of her name could bring, the things she had taught him in just one day...

What it all came down to was that Rose DeWitt Bukater was the air he breathed and the water that quenched his thirst, the dove that unlocked his soul and inspired him to do the magical wonders he was meant to do.

She was his angel.

And without her, he would die.

Moonlight made pale patterns on the black surface of the sea, which now lapped calmly past the lifeboat, as if nothing had happened.

How dare you? Jack inwardly cried at the Atlantic, which had taken his emotions and love and heart. How dare you? It was so cold, so cold...you took so much...you hurt so many.

He closed his eyes tighter and swallowed as, like a foggy memory, the picture of Titanic stark against the sky lit into his mind. The screams...the screams that unleashed Hell to roam Earth for just a few sparse seconds...

It was numbingly cold, even out of the water. He could feel nothing, but at the same time pain was intensified by grief and he felt everything.

Everyone was gone. He knew that Fabrizio and Tommy had not survived. He would have died without the determination he had been structured with for Rose. This added to his guilt. He felt that his friends’ deaths were his fault, especially Fabrizio’s.

Jack could remember the Italian’s eyes lighting vividly with excitement when he grabbed the two tickets from the poker table, dancing and shouting and praising God. His destiny had truly been in America. He had deserved to arrive, to mold, to change, to build. He had wanted it so bad–he had wanted it ever since Jack had met him.

That first day of their friendship, he had said that sentence that hurt him so much now–

"I’ll get ya to America. Come hell or high water, I’ll get ya there."

The high waters and hell had come, and Jack had failed. He had let his best friend down, down into the icy blackness of a world that would never be penetrated by light.

They had all been so innocent, so undeserving of the punishment they received, and he would never live through it. How could he? There was no more heart left of his to break. When he thought of Rose he almost killed himself. She had been so fragile and fresh to the life that she was opening to, like a dewdrop on a flower petal. Ever so gently she had been moving into his world until a passion that burned like fire destroyed any notion of holding back. And when he had made love to her...with her...he had known that nothing would ever be the same, that they were undoubtedly soulmates, that he would go through anything to reach her.

He tried to block the foggy memories with his pain, but he couldn’t keep them back anymore than he could reverse time. The steam had made sweat gather on his skin, but he hadn’t noticed. Everything except Rose had faded from his mind and body. He had tried to so tenderly treasure her, and he prayed he had succeeded.

He knew that he was in denial, that he hadn’t faced the icy and brutal reality that lay with the dark waves and cold Atlantic, but he didn’t care. He didn’t think he could face it–now or ever. The sinking had flashed by in seemingly moments and days all at the same time. He had been exposed to more raw human anguish and emotion than anyone ever had in a lifetime.

And it was all because of her that he had felt it. He loved her with an amazing love, a love that had taken seconds to ignite and would take eternities to diminish.

Dawn rose quickly in the frozen North. He saw the edges of the horizon painted with the blush color that the sky always was on promising mornings, pink tinted with orange and gold, like some beautiful work of art that he could never master.

Now he knew the truth. There was no horizon–it was just an illusion, a fantasy, a trick to inspire. Nothing more. There was just vast black despair and nothingness where everyone said dreams lay. His horizon had vanished in a breath, and he would never get it back.

Whether his eyes were open or closed, whether he was awake or asleep, all he could see was a face like a ghost in his mind, so beautiful the pain deep inside him only flamed worse, like a white hot knife lodged into his ribs. A complexion so creamy, white, smooth, and unsoiled that he trembled with fear when he touched it, afraid to ruin her. Eyes carrying that haunted expression, laced under secrets and lies and cages and pain, wearing a sheer color that sparkled like thousands of jewels, in all shades of blues and greens. Hair that cascaded down a perfectly shaped torso, neat and wild fiery curls, so silky and scented like rose water. Lips that were ripe and full, begging to be kissed, blood red and hungrily probing his own. The inner spirit that she carried inside of her only heightened such beauty. And he would always be reaching, grasping, trying to find his way through emotional turmoil to Rose, but he would never hold his love again.

She had fit so perfectly in his arms, he remembered now, like he had been molded from birth to hold her to him, to engulf her body with his own. He had felt warm when he held her, no matter where he was or had been. He had felt like everything would be fine if only they could stay frozen in a moment forever. And now...now, they were truly frozen in a moment forever, the Jack she had known with the Rose she had been, trapped behind a monument of ice.

He was no longer an artist who drew pure truth and beauty, who was simply a messenger from life to paper. Now, his sketches would forever be dark and horror-filled. His hands no longer buzzed with the need to grasp charcoal, but his whole being buzzed with the need for her, for that girl, that woman, who had taken control and then let go of his life.

For the first time, he remembered her promise. Her voice had sounded so genuine, so trusting, so truthful. "I’ll never let go, Jack. I’ll never let go..."

It wasn’t her fault, he reminded himself bitterly. You left her, Dawson, you did. She tried to keep to her promise and you abandoned her when she needed you. It should have been you. Not her.

What hurt most was how desperately helpless he was. He could do nothing. The massacre of hundreds had ended, and yet it had just begun for all of the survivors. He could do nothing to bring her back. He could not save her anymore. He was aching to kiss her, to probe her lips into hot wires, to feel that burning passion deep in the pit of his soul.

Of course, it was all lost now, lost in a place he would never be able to find, lost with an emotion that would never return to him. He closed his eyes, feeling the sting of salty air, water, and tears rub against the inside of his eyelids. His overlong blonde hair was still hanging in icicles and frozen to his scalp. His face was ghostly white and drawn. He knew he looked like Death itself. Good. That’s what he felt like.

Every time he banished one from his mind, another appeared. When he tore Rose from his thoughts, Fabrizio was there, then Tommy, then Cora, then Rose again...always, always, always Rose. Even when he focused on something else she was there. He tried to sleep, but could not. Instead, parts of his past were drawn from his memory and displayed visually in his brain. He could no longer fight it. Finally, his strength vanished and the memory tore down the barrier of protection and ravaged his thoughts.

*****

Why couldn’t he get Rose DeWitt Bukater out of his mind? He hardly knew her name, much less her–but damn it, she was all Jack could concentrate on. Her nervous, anxious laugh, that hidden, haunted look in her jeweled eyes, her pure skin, her windblown scarlet curls, her beautiful voice, and her terror kept playing like a moving picture in his thoughts. Everything about her was so ripe and fresh and new, but so wasted and hurt and betrayed. She was a mystery–one he was desperately trying to figure out.

He was vaguely aware of Fabrizio murmuring something in that melodic, gentle way of his, and Tommy boisterously seconding it. One of them, most likely the latter, took a long swig of ice-cold beer and there was silence. The edge of Jack’s conscious was playing that angel to his heart. He remembered the strange feeling she gave off, like the breeze confined to a glass box, to be looked at but never touched, never loved, never free like she was made to be.

"What is in the matter with yourself?" Fabrizio suddenly boomed, concerned for his best friend for three years. "You do not comment, do not answer–is it a’ anger?"

Jack leaned back in his chair, remembering that he had been engaged in a pointless, no bet poker game. His beat up cards lay face down in his palm. He blandly looked at the peeling numbers printed in the upper left corner. "Nah, Fabri, just preoccupied is all."

Tommy arched an eyebrow as if asking, "With what?" At the same time, Fabrizio muttered, "I am not familiar with this a’ preoccupied." His eyes turned dark with frustration at his limited, accented English. He banged his cards on the table and resignedly, half-heartedly sipped his beer.

"I’m just thinkin’ about someone else."

Although a light of understanding brightened Fabri’s countenance, Tommy’s curiosity reached the boiling point. He leaned closer to Jack and rumbled, "All right, boyo, who is she?"

How did he know these things? Jack sighed and shook his head, brushing a strand of hanging hair out of his eyes, as though it was not important. But he did not notice that he had taken a free piece of paper from his portfolio and had been absentmindedly sketching the Rose he had saw, that terror-streaked, truth-hungry, love-needing Rose that he had saved and maybe banished to a lifetime of nights like that one, of feeling there was nowhere to go but down.

Pointedly, Tommy glanced down at it as Fabrizio thumbed through Jack’s sketches, interested in the newer ones. He saw his friend trace his calloused, bold thumb along the charcoal marks on the drawing of Cora and her father that Jack had done yesterday. Fabri let out a sharp exhale of breath, his eyes searching for that hidden meaning that always lurked in Jack’s drawings, the meaning of humanity. He seemed to find it, for his expression of surprise, satisfaction, and wonder grew.

"Just...an angel..." Jack murmured, puzzled. "A beautiful angel that is trapped on Earth and can’t get back to heaven..."

Tommy smiled, amused. Jack didn’t understand what he was smiling at.

"Who’ve you fallen for, lad?"

Fallen for? How could he have fallen for her in ten minutes? Yet she possessed something he admired, but fallen for...All he could see was her inner and outer beauty, the very core of his thoughts and the very core of her life. All he could feel was her cold, clammy, creamy hand in his own, connecting an unspoken bond of trust in between two people, the single golden thread that wound them together. All he could smell was her soft, rosewater scent–a scent heightened by that hate and fear she felt.

Maybe he had fallen for her.

He shook his head slightly as Tommy nodded, his grin growing. "Yeah, boyo...you have it bad..."

Fabrizio’s warm, melting dark eyes flickered back and forth from the Irishman to Jack, and he suddenly seemed to get something. "A girl! You’re in love with a girl!" His smile stretched across his face as Tommy rolled his eyes. "Ah, don’t be worrying. You always be a’ getting’ the women. They can’t seem to keep their about-to-be-broken hearts when Mr. Dawson is around." His cheeks were lit with teasing, but Jack just sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah, Fabri, well that’s the thing. I can’t get this girl." His azure eyes turned icy as he remembered his horror at seeing the sleek-haired, steel-gazed, older man dressed in a starched suit strutting up to him, shoving and cursing and spitting. Then, he still burned with his more mortified disgust when he saw the same man wrapping his arms around Rose in an almost fatherly manner to lead her inside. She was taken. She had a fiancé. He had seen the rock on her finger and the fear in her eyes when that man walked up to her. It didn’t have to be like that!

Her eyes had mirrored exactly what he wanted to free her from–that horrible feeling of bondage and slavery amidst the jewels and silk of her class. At the same time he knew he shouldn’t be that involved, that he would never see her again.

It was this that hurt him more than anything. He would never get a chance to show her life and love and laughter, never get a chance to cut her away from her ropes, never get a chance to witness her freedom. He already felt as if he would die if he couldn’t gaze upon her complex self again. He knew that he saw something about her no one else could see–past that amazing beauty he could see a monster thrashing inside of her, causing her heart to be in the pain of bloody death throes. He could see her spirit wilting and being dried of the array of colors that existed inside her soul. And most of all, he could feel something in him building up until it burned against his chest. He exhaled audibly as he realized it–passion.

"Jack...is this the a’ Rose you have been speaking to me about last night?" Fabrizio asked gently. Jack almost didn’t notice his voice–but only almost. When he did, he was jarred back into the world of reality.

"Rose..." He let the name roll over his tongue like a heavenly word that he hadn’t quite grasped the meaning of. Tommy, however, started.

"What girl named Rose?" he asked eagerly, leaning forward and taking a long drag on his cigarette. To Jack, he seemed more and more interesting each time they had a conversation–truly a good listener, but also a hotheaded man with temper to push back mountains. America could use more people like him.

But Jack didn’t want to explain. He didn’t feel able to relate the story again. It would just confuse him more, just make him want to know her better, just know that he couldn’t even see her again.

He laid his head back and swatted a few spare strands of blonde hair out of his eyes. Everything was so upside down in his life now. Had it really taken just one smoke, just one chance, just one look...?

Her image wouldn’t leave him. It was as if the ghost of her once present joy had decided to haunt him, to force him to care, to force him to want and need. Rose...Rose DeWitt Bukater...

To some, if they had seen the encounter they would have called Jack a hero. He felt more like a coward, blinding his face from the dimming light of a Rose, of a beauty and a spirit that was limp and dying, trying to block his ears from a fateful cry for help, attempting to ignore the ragged and slowing breathes of someone on the deathbed of true life.

He knew that it would take miracles to ever lay eyes on that angel again, much less talk to her. But somehow, when they had spoken, when he had first seen her, electric sparks had flew, social barriers had crashed down, leaving a path to each other, a path that sparkled with stars and magic, a path he wanted to explore. Then reality came and the path disappeared beneath the brambles of class.

"Jack...we all fall in love..." Fabrizio murmured, watching him with warm, understanding eyes. "When one says they will not ever a’fall in love, they are mistaken. Everyone falls in the love, it just depends on how we a’use it. We can’t control the love or the time, Jack; we can a’control the actions we take." Jack turned to look at him, digesting the simple truth in the words spoken by his friend. Tommy grinned and puffed on his cigarette, watching the American’s reaction.

Jack opened his mouth to respond, to try to convince himself he was not in love, that he couldn’t be, but the two people across from him became stone silent. Their eyes unfocused, their hands and cards dropped, and their cheeks became pale and slacked. Something or someone caught everyone’s eye. Fabri swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Tommy’s jaw dropped so the cigarette fell from his lips. Both were staring behind him.

Bemused, Jack turned in his chair, wanting to know what so shocked the Irishman and Italian. The last thing he was conscious of hearing was his chair squeak as he shifted his weight and the strange, hushed silence. Everything became quiet as he focused. And then all of the sudden his breathing accelerated, his pulse thundered, his blue eyes turned smoky with emotion, and he knew the depth and complexity of his true feelings.

He didn’t recognize her at first. There was a celestial being standing in the doorway from above, streams of golden sunlight falling around her and bathing her in a heavenly glow like a Princess of God. She carried with her the burden of worlds, a burden that weighed her down but in huge strides completely failed to dampen her fresh beauty. Her hair was awash with bronze, like melted precious metal, crowning her head with a wreath of burnt stars. Her skin glimmered with clear, cool water. Her gown was made of the softest, finest golden fabric, cascading down her slender and supple body. Her lips were now blood red and ripe, begging for love that they so desperately deserved. She seemed wrapped in the glory of all Times, past, present, and future. He wanted to reach out to touch her, but was terrified that she would vanish in the delicateness of the beautiful creation she was molded into, vanish in the sparkle of gems and light. Everything stood still until Jack could hear nothing but this Being’s breathing, a sound so divine and holy that he was caught in its whispering silence so much like a melodic breeze–in and out, in and out. Confusion painted this creature’s eyes, eyes that spoke so much of pain and starvation, of blooming and wilting. It was through those eyes that Jack recognized her. Still they swirled in all their blue-green beauty, taking the colors and shine from emeralds and sapphires but like pathways of water to her soul. The terrified, suicidal, desperate-to-be-saved Rose had all but disappeared under the graceful, still beautiful, dignified Rose he saw now. The real Rose still left traces of herself on her cover up, burnings of a spirit so true and real that Jack felt scorched by the heat of her heart.

She looked around as if searching for someone, and in that moment Jack remembered that she, a first class goddess, was down in the third class general room. He tried to make himself stand, but his legs wouldn’t move. They seemed to have melted under the gorgeous gaze of that girl. Finally, he swept a remaining strand of hair back and managed to pull himself shakily to his feet. He could feel Fabrizio’s and Tommy’s gazes boring into his back as Rose’s face turned into a shimmering, comely smile. He could feel her full lips beckoning to him and fought to restrain himself.

"Jack!" she exclaimed brightly, her entire expression brightening when she studied him further. Just hearing her say his name made him act normally again, for her. He almost had it under control when she started to move toward him.

She was in such a hurry to get to him that she wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. She tripped on a chair leg and began to fall to the ground, her face not even having enough time to register shock.

Immediately, without thinking, Jack’s arms moved to catch her. She landed safely against his chest, looking up into his face. For a moment she stared at him in wonder, and then her cheeks pinked in an unmistakable, wonderful blush. His heart thudded and he could hardly breathe. As much as he tried to ignore the soft curves of her amazing body, he could not ignore the way she fit so tenderly and perfectly against himself, filling in every space between them. Her scent was soft and pale, like rosewater, and so seducing that he had to in the briefest moment close his eyes as not to shower her face with kisses.

"Are you all right, Rose?" he asked, a grin masking his emotions on the inside. He couldn’t help it anyway–even when he simply glanced at her, a smile spread on his face. She giggled now and simply lay in his arms for a moment. He let her be still, enjoying every delicious second as long as it lasted. And then the daydream was over. As conversation slowly resumed in the general room she stood an inch from him, her body slightly touching his chest. His knees almost buckled as he brushed off her torso and arms. She laughed and took his hand.

"Jack, may I take the liberty of requiring a private audience with you?" she asked, almost in a whisper, her words so formal that Jack had to work quickly through them. She brushed a red curl out of her eye, looking at him questioningly.

His breathing became shallow as Tommy cleared his throat behind him. Jack answered immediately, brain pounding. "Rose, you needn’t ask. Lead the way, my lady." He dipped into an exaggerated bow. She giggled again and Jack put his hand on the small of her back to guide her out. She seemed to melt underneath his fingertips, like a pool of warm water. At first she stiffened, and then he felt her lean back into his hand. It was the most amazing sensation he had ever felt, and he trembled openly upon it. He turned around quickly and raised his eyebrow at Fabri, who shrugged and motioned him to hurry behind Rose.

As they climbed the stairs, she was again cloaked in shafts of sunlight, small patterns dancing in their golden glory on her gown. She adjusted the delicate necklace at the nape of her neck as he stared at her, transfixed by her mysterious beauty. Her curls that were drenched in the blood of her pain were picked up by the sea gusts, framing her arched face in a dance of their own. He felt those butterflies in his stomach again and he blushed deeply as she stared back at him. They stood like this for a while, lost in the other’s gaze, trying to grasp a key to unlock the wall between them, to open a door to their emotions. But none could be found. He started to move closer as she slowly turned to go up on deck, and...

*****

No. No more pain. Jack couldn’t take it anymore. His insides were bursting against their stitches of ignorance and confusion...he was so, so confused. So, so hurt...

He would always be reaching for her like one reached for the wind, closing their fist but getting nothing, feeling the haunting of a breeze, a memory, buried beneath the tears that would not stop flowing, covered by the rocks of regret and burdens. Love had been born and was now murdered, lying in a lake of its blood, drowning Jack in the beauty that had once been his but was now nothing but a ghost.

He could hear her voice, that exotic and unknown mixture of utter joy and intense longing, of starvation and hurt. He tried to block it out, tried to vanish it from his mind, but it was as if an echo of her were right next to him, murmuring the sweet sayings that only she and he knew the meanings of.

"Where to, miss?"

"To the stars..."

"Nervous?"

"No...Put your hands on me, Jack."

Every scene raced through his head, leaving him bruised and weary on the floor of his pain. The blackness had not faded from his gaze. His skin was pale. His eyes which had once been full of human emotion and warmth had instead soaked in the ice which they had gazed upon.

"Jack! This is where we first met!"

"Trust me!"

"I trust you!"

Her innocence, her sweet, pure, innocence, had been lost in that game of trust...It was all his fault. Damn it! She had trusted him, trusted him with a trust so deeply that he couldn’t understand it anymore, trusted him with her life and soul. And he had lost it. Trust was nothing anymore. Love was gone. He had nothing, he was nothing, and he would get nothing. Without his Rose, his world was nothing.

One day, he knew, he would have to come face to face with the fact that she was dead and that she couldn’t come back. But he still expected to feel her warm weight in his arms, or smell that sweet scent of rosewater, a scent that was forever buried with salt and sea. Her hair, those dancing tendrils of red, was frozen and still. Her spirit that burned with a roaring flame was smoldered.

And he was left, reaching and reaching for her through the black and death that surrounded this night, sifting through blood and tears, trying to find her, but only left with the final wisps of smoke from that spirit.

Chapter Twenty-One
Stories