TRAPPED IN THE PAST
Chapter Three

Unfortunately, tomorrow was no different. I awoke with a dreadful headache and in a horrible mood. I hadn’t slept until about one and had woken up at five when Katherine got up to go out on a call. A patient of hers went into labor, she explained from my doorway, and she had to leave, probably for the whole day. Then she asked if I would be all right. I nodded yes and she left.

I wasn’t all right. As I got up to go take a bath, I felt dizzy and almost fell over. Stumbling, I managed to make it into the bathroom and shut the door. My reflection in the mirror frightened even myself. My round face had collapsed into a narrow mess, my arms hung lifelessly, my eyes were red and puffy. Screaming in disgust, I flung a bottle of aspirin I found on the counter at the mirror and spun around quickly. What had happened to me? I used to hate being this unkempt, and now it was who I was.

In rage, I twisted the little knobs for the bath and let the water run as hot as it would go. The temperature made no difference to me; it still felt like ice water as I slid into the tub. I sat there for a good hour, staring at the wall in front of me and wondering what in the hell was happening to me. Then I started doing something really crazy. I started talking out loud to Jack. I told him my thoughts without even really noticing what I was doing. I didn’t even think about it, just did it.

I didn’t feel much better when I got out of the bath and got dressed, and as I stumbled downstairs, I began to feel another shortness of breath. "Oh, God, no," I whispered to myself as I sank down onto a couch in the parlor. Not another attack. I quickly grabbed a book off of the table and started reading it, but it didn’t help. My mind began to wander, and this time it was mostly about Katherine’s person. Was she all right? Had she made it to work okay? Oh, my God, she was dead…This went on for some time, and I eventually just started rocking back and forth. And then, just as quickly as it had come about, it stopped and I was fine.

When Katherine did arrive home, I was so happy I almost cried. I neglected to tell her about the panic attack, however, and instead busied myself with asking how it went. It was these same mundane conversations that we both kept to all evening. Neither of us wanted to touch on anything related to Titanic or what was going on in my head.

*****

Naturally, I assumed the panic attacks would go away. But I was wrong. They began to get worse, if not stronger, and more frequent. Almost every night I would wake up sweating, sure I was headed for my doom. I hardly slept, when I did had constant nightmares, and was worried and irritable when I was awake. My head persistently ached and I couldn’t eat. I would throw up if I did. But, like the naive child that I was, I ignored them, assuming the problems would go away.

I had also gotten very good at hiding everything from Katherine. I didn’t tell her about the anxiety I felt, convinced she would drag me to a doctor and then I would have to tell him everything that had happened. When I felt sick, I just blamed it on my menstrual cycle--which was non-existent, but she didn’t know that--and she would leave me alone. I never went outside, just moved from room to room reading books and daydreaming.

One morning, for some reason, I woke up feeling slightly better than I had in weeks. I had slept for more than a couple of hours and for once was a tiny bit hungry. It was about nine, I realized, as I got dressed, late for me. I was used to rousing at about six. Katherine would be pleased; she hated it when I got up so early.

I calmly went downstairs, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. But I soon stopped dead in my tracks when I saw that Katherine and I were not alone. There was a man sitting at the table, reading the paper and munching on some toast. I watched him cautiously as I continued on my way, over to where my aunt was.

"Ah…Rose, you’re up…wonderful." She smiled at me and then gestured toward our guest. "This is Elliot Calvert, an old friend of mine. Elliot, this is Rose Dawson my…new boarder."

I shot her a thankful glance. If this man knew I was her niece, he would figure out soon that I was the famous dead DeWitt Bukater girl. She smiled back at me, understanding, and then nodded toward Elliot. I turned back toward him, to find him standing, his arm outstretched. I extended my own hand to shake his and then sat down cautiously across from him.

"Morning, miss," he said before taking a sip of coffee. "I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to have you staying with Katherine. I worry about her here all alone. How old are you?"

His quick question caught me off guard. "Seventeen," I answered, rather coldly. Quite truthfully, I was not in the mood for his asinine questions; I was rather tired all of a sudden.

But Mr. Calvert continued his attack, however, asking me another question almost as soon as I had answered the first. "Ah…just as I suspected; two years younger than my brother Nicholas. Would you like to meet him? Are you into older men?"

"Excuse me, sir, but your question is too bold." My haughty reply shocked even myself. Who was I to say such things? Here I was, living off of my aunt’s charity and basically giving her hell as I hibernated in one of her bedrooms, and I was being rude to one of her friends. Sighing, I excused myself quickly and left the dining room in a hurry. My shoes clicked loudly on the floor as I stormed away, and I was very cold. This was getting absurd; now I couldn’t even be around other people?

I retreated into the parlor/library and sank down on one of the plump couches. I couldn’t go back and eat, not after the scene I had just caused. And God knew I was too proud and strong-willed to go apologize. So I just sat there for a while, reading a few magazines and flipping through some books. Finally, I heard Mr. Calvert bid my aunt good-bye, and then I heard the door click closed.

Katherine came in with her arms folded. She was not, however, angry with me. All she said was, "He’s a reporter."

"He’s damn good at it," I answered, without looking up from my National Geographic.

Sighing, Katherine crossed the room slowly and sat down next to me. "I know this has been hard for you. And Elliot did go a bit overboard…wrong wording…he went too far, Rose. Nonetheless, I’m asking you to be civilized." Her voice was soft, almost tender, but I could detect a bit of underlying harshness.

Sighing, I closed the magazine and threw it on the coffee table. I knew she was right; she was always right. "Fine," I agreed. Elliot wasn’t all bad, and he had been friendly despite his intruding questions. I guess I could just put up with them. "How often is he going to be around?"

"Oh, he comes over a couple of times a month for coffee or some toast. And we have lunch together once in a while. He will not be here all the time, I promise. He’s got a life, Rose."

She stood up, straightened out her dress, and then said she had to go check on her eggs.

I watched her leave, my eyes slowly following her out of the room and then my ears listening to her heels echoing down the hall. Now I didn’t know what to do with myself. My eyes moved from the doorway to glancing around the room, coming to rest on the big window that faced the street. You cannot go out there, I told myself. Someone might see you. But, as I am prone to do, I ignored my head and rose from my position on the couch. I didn’t even think about panic attacks. All I knew was that I had to get outside. With an incoherent voice, I yelled to Katherine that I was taking a walk. She answered back that it was fine without so much as coming to see me. Her black coat was handing on a hook in the hallway and with unscrupulous hands I dug into the pockets. Within a few seconds, I had found a couple of dollars and pulled them out. I stuffed them into my own skirt pockets and was out the door in the flash.

The morning sun was bright. However, I did not feel its warmth. My body was still chilled to the bone. I envied those who were wiping their brows or walking around in short sleeves. My own long skirt, long-sleeved shirt, and heavy boots must have been a sight to see, but I needed them. For some reason, I couldn’t shake the cold.

Not that this inhibited me from taking in everything. Before long, I simply started to ignore those around me and made my way downtown. I tried not to think about being alone; rather that this was a stepping stone for me. Wiser still, I consciously chose to avoid the newspaper kiosks.

For about two hours I walked about, peering into little shops and rather enjoying myself. I talked to no one, but I wasn’t entirely sure they wanted to talk to me either. Basically, I was a fish out of water--in more ways than one--and everyone around me knew it. But it was getting close to noon and I was getting hungry--for once. Without difficulty, I spotted a quaint little cafe off a side street and crossed over to where it was. A little bell rang overhead as I entered, my nostrils immediately filled with wonderful smells.

There weren’t very many people, so I ushered myself over to a table in the back and sat down on one of the benches. I had never in my life eaten at a place like this. The menus were not in some foreign language, there was no chandeliers overhead, the silverware was limited to three pieces, there was one water glass, there was even just a single tiny napkin. Needless to say, I was in heaven. Almost.

"Can I take your order, miss?"

I glanced up quickly, my heart racing. Who was this person? I calmed down quickly, realizing that it was the waitress. Even so, I was so used to not being addressed as miss that I had gotten used to not hearing it. "Um…how about a Coke?" I stammered, not even knowing what on earth a Coke was. "And…ah…a piece of cheesecake."

She nodded, wrote something down on her piece of paper, and then left. I was surprised that I had gotten away with such an odd order. Shrugging, I began to examine my surroundings again. But it was just for a second, because all of a sudden a voice broke through my thoughts.

"Coke’s are my favorite."

My eyes drifted upward and saw a young man standing next to my table. He had a big grin on his face, floppy hair, and familiar eyes. He was dressed well enough, however, so he couldn’t be just anyone. "Excuse me?" I asked breathlessly. I was suddenly very nervous once again, and my heart began to beat harder. Was this to happen every time I met someone new?

The man, to my shock, slid onto the bench across from me and then grinned again. "I said, Cokes are my favorite. I overheard your order."

Eyebrows lifted, I stared at this presumptuous man. I was no longer really nervous, but I could feel a warning bell go off in my head as I studied him. He was well on his was to getting a rude comment from me, like Calvert, if he didn’t vacate the bench quickly. My look didn’t seem to faze him, however, and he actually had to nerve to order when the waitress came back asking if this would be a joint bill. I assured her that it would not, and then the little weasel butted right in, saying that he would like the same thing that I was having. Finally, after I didn’t say anything for about three minutes, he stuck out his hand across the table. Tentatively, I grasped it. His hands were warm and clammy, but nonetheless, I shook his hand diligently.

"Name’s Kevin Berkley, but everyone just calls me Berkley," he introduced himself pleasantly.

I withdrew my hand quickly. "Rose," I answered softly. Okay, so he knew my name. Now, will you please go away?

But he didn’t move. "Pleasure to have lunch with you, Rose."

That did it for me. I stood up, rather insurgent-like, and moved from my bench. I was not having lunch with this complete and utter stranger. And to make matters more justified, I had once again lost the trifle amount of appetite I had possessed. Throwing a couple of dollar bills on the table, I started to leave, pausing only to say, "Good day, Mr. Berkley. Feel free to take my Coke." And with that, I was out the door.

As I walked home, my mind began to replay the scene in my head. Why on earth had I acted like that? First with that Elliot, and now this Berkley guy? It was as if I was eternally stuck in the week before my period. God, I was such a fucked-up mess. I felt disgusted with myself, completely and utterly appalled. Had Jack not given up his life for me to get away from all this? I immediately froze in my tracks. No. Don’t think of Jack. He’s not what this was about.

I could feel something begging to well up inside of me, so I shut off my mind and hurried home. I was stronger than this. I could make it. I was fine. Really. Fine.

Chapter Four
Stories