TRAPPED IN THE PAST
Chapter Six

During late July and early August, my crusade began in full force. I had to make myself get through this without medication, on my own, free from anything or anyone. Because once you lose that something that is keeping you sane, what have you got left? Restraints had ruined me before; the last thing I wanted was to become suicidal again. Freedom was too important to me, and I didn't want that independence to be based on whether or not I had taken a little tablet.

Without the pills, I hardly slept, and tried to keep myself appear normal through a careful system of lying. I became good; I managed to keep Katherine satisfied for a while. But I became restless. Once it seemed I had read every book in the house and had finally given up on my idea of learning to cook and clean properly, I decided it was time to get out and explore the big bad world a little more. The fact of the matter was, everything in the house reminded me something I didn't want to be reminded of. The clock, the bed, even the staircase or a shoe all became prompts of another time and place. And they were becoming too damn hard to simply ignore. I needed escape.

The thought of leaving the house frightened the hell out of me, though. Everywhere I went made me feel uncomfortable. It always felt as if people were staring at me…and sometimes they were. I would wear a jacket because I was always cold, and half the time I didn't have any sort of expression on my face, just a blank appearance. I wasn't sure what to think…of anything.

I wasn't trying to be a complete social outcast. But hardly anything moved me anymore, and when something did, it generally related to Titanic. These effects were not encouraging. I would usually end up shaking on a floor somewhere or running home as quickly as possible. I never cried. And as long as nothing got to me, I was almost completely fine.

Finally, I enrolled in an acting class downtown that was being advertised. Drama was always something I had been interested in, but, like the majority of my other interests, it had been frowned upon. Acting, I was told, was not a practical skill for any good society wife to have--how ironic. Thus, I was not to be involved.

But I could do what I wanted now, and so I got drawn in. The first day I was even a little excited as I showed up at the theater. However, I was also dreadfully nervous. Acting meant showing one's emotions; I was afraid all of mine had died with the other half of my soul.

Rain poured from the sky as I opened up one of the two heavy wooden doors to the theater and stepped inside the building. Before me was a small lobby, and past that, an open set of doors. Pulling my hood off my head, I shook my hair and teased it a little with my hand. It had grown out a little, but it still hovered around my shoulders. I took a deep breath and nervously walked toward the opposite doors.

The soft murmur of voices greeted me as I entered the dim theater and found myself walking down an aisle. My heart, pounding as if it would burst through my chest, was nothing compared to my head, which was racing in overdrive. There was too much to take in at once--all these new faces, the thrill of doing something new. For once, I felt that old spark of adventure fill my soul. But it disappeared as quickly as it came when nervousness completely took over my body.

Trembling, I sat down in one of the plush seats, sitting away from the group of people. From my position, I studied them with curious eyes. While most seemed to be around my age, a few of the students seemed older, and even more seemed younger. Most seemed to know at least one other person and were happily chatting with said person. As I was staring, a man turned around, and then, to my horror, waved and got up from his seat. He approached me as I fought the urge to run away. And then, strangely, the only thing I could think about was a good smoke. Oh, Jesus.

Sitting down next to me, he extended his hand. "Hey, there. Name's Danny O'Connell. Why don't you come sit over there with the rest of us?"

I slowly shook his warm hand, feeling the stark difference to my own skin. "I-I'm not sure," I stumbled in return. "And the name's Rose…Rose Dawson."

Danny smiled, bearing white teeth that were a big contrast to his fiery mop of red hair. And I never thought anyone's red hair could be brighter than mine. "Well, welcome. You'll like the class…this is the third time I've taken it. I just can't get enough."

Smiling weakly, I tried appearing impressed--and interested. "I'll take your word for it, Mr. O'Connell."

"Why don't you come over with us? I promise we don't bite. Well, maybe that rascal Tom over there…the one with the curly brown hair and ugly jacket."

His comment made me smile a little, helping in turn to calm my nerves. Shakily, I rose from my seat and followed Danny over to the group. He introduced me, and then I sat down, right smack in the middle of the lot of them. They struck up conversations with each other, and more or less, I was ignored once again. Danny asked me a question or two, but he soon gave up. Probably because I was rude and unfriendly. I didn't want or mean to be, but I couldn't help it.

The rest of the day pretty much continued like the morning. Our instructor, an awful man resembling a plump cow, made us go through a long series of basic drills, most of which I either messed up on or didn't do well enough, which got me yelled at. One time, after one particularly stupid incident when I went upstage when I was suppose to be downstage and was criticized in front of everyone, Danny cleared his throat loudly, and when I looked over, he was making the most absurd face that made me laugh. It felt good to laugh.

It was still raining as I left, so I pulled the hood over my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, preparing for the long walk home. I hadn't brought any money for a cab, and was otherwise not in the mood for small talk with a driver of a cab. Besides, a good walk would most likely do me some good.

I was hardly three yards out the door, however, when I heard my name being called. Pausing, I turned and saw Danny jogging toward me.

"Which way you going?" he asked, slightly winded.

"Ah…that way," I said, pointing to our right.

He grinned at me as he pulled his own hat over his head and buttoned his coat up. "Want some company?"

No. "All right."

And so we took off in the rain, both of us silent. It was strange to be having a connection with a human again, even if it was just a shared walk. I felt peculiarly comfortable. I had no idea who this Danny man was, but something about him made me trust him. I couldn't explain my ease one little bit. Then again, the more I thought about him being a complete stranger, the slightest bit of nervousness began to form in the back of my mind.

Don't do this now, Rose. You were doing so well…

"You did all right in there."

"Hmm," I murmured, at a loss to what else to say.

"I mean it, " Danny continued. "I've seen a lot of first-timers crack under Jones, but you held your own."

"I'm used to it," I answered, avoiding his gaze. I had spent most of my teenage years being yelled at by one person or another.

It was quiet after that. I didn't particularly have anything to say to Danny, and I'm pretty sure that he was worried about talking to me. Then again, he did ask to walk with me. Sighing inwardly, I was beginning to want a cigarette again. Damn it, was I addicted to the stupid things? More than once over the next few minutes, I thought about ditching the poor guy, realizing I just wasn't ready for friendly relationships other than with family right now. Lily had been one thing; and if Danny had been through hell and back I probably would have been more comfortable around him. But I felt so disconnected with people now. They just didn't understand. No one could know what it was like to stand at the edge of something horrible, witness it, and then have to return to normality…unless you actually had. It left you with a very strange feeling, like you didn't deserve to be there, or that you cheated. And unless Danny started telling me a story real quick, I was two minutes away from leaving and returning to my own world of solitude.

Maybe what happened next was a miracle.

"Want some?"

Stopping, I looked over and saw Danny holding out, of all things, a flask. My eyes widened…alcohol. Oh, sweet Jesus. If I couldn't get hold of nicotine, this was the next best thing. My expression must have been more excited looking than I thought, because my companion started laughing.

"Here, from one Irish to another," he said, and handed it over.

Pushing the fact that I was only a quarter Irish out of my head, I greedily took the flask and took a long sip. It was straight up vodka…probably ninety-eight or ninety-nine proof. The real stuff.

"Do you just walk around with this stuff?" I asked, after the initial burn had worn off and the liquid had slid into my stomach.

Danny took his flask back, stood a swig, and then shrugged. "Sometimes. I find it to be useful in some situations." Then he handed it back to me.

After a few more hearty swigs, I handed it back, and we started walking again. It took a few minutes, but before long I felt the effects start to hit me. No one could ever say I was not a cheap drunk. I could feel myself beginning to loosen up.

"Have you lived in Chicago all your life?"

I think my question surprised him--probably because it was the first I had spoken without being talked to first.

"Nah. I moved into the city not too long ago."

"I, as well!" Wow…a definite sign I wasn't thinking right. And what's worse, I started giggling. "You'll have to forgive me, Mr. O'Connell. I haven't had this much to drink all at once in a while."

He started laughing again. "I probably shouldn't have offered it to you, then."

"No," I said, pausing in mid-step. "I'm glad you did." I resumed my walking; at least I could still do that properly…in the rain, too, might I add.

"Where are you from, then?"

This question was not easily answered. Technically, I suppose I was from Philadelphia. But since I now lived in Chicago, I considered that my home. I sneaked a glance at Danny; he was waiting patiently for my response.

"Not too far from here," I finally answered curtly. "And you? Around here, too?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. I'm from Quincy." He paused, and shot me a quick glance. "Quincy is over near Iowa--"

"I know where it is," I snapped, without meaning to.

"I know what ice fishing is!"

Now I was the one who paused, in speech as well as in step. Everything around me started to turn a funny shade of gray as all sound drifted away.

"Sorry. You just seemed like…ya know…kind of an indoor girl…"

"God damn it," I whispered, shutting my eyes and shaking my head quickly from side to side. No, no, no, no, no…make it stop. I don't need this. Not now.

"Hey, you all right there?" Danny's hand on my arm brought me back into the wonderful world of color and real sound again.

Without thinking, I reached over and grabbed the flask out of his hand. With one giant gulp, I drank enough to make the back of my throat burn and my eyes water. Then I calmly handed the flask back to Danny. He gave me a strange look as he once again took it in his hand, but he didn't say anything.

"I've got to go. I'm sorry, Danny," I whispered hoarsely.

"Are you going to be back next week?" he asked, as I had started to walk forward. He remained in the spot where we had both just been standing.

"I'm not sure!" I called, before breaking into a run. The rain poured down my face, offering no redemption for what I was feeling. But I didn't let my emotions get to my head. I simply ran. The effects of the alcohol were no longer the cause. The only reminder I has was the burning sensation still present in my throat.

When I reached the house, I desperately ran into the door--literally--and screamed when I couldn't get the knob to turn. I needed to get out of this accursed rain, needed to be alone, away from anything that might cause emotional turbulence beyond my control. With fumbling hands, I retrieved a key from my jacket pocket and opened the door, stumbling inside.

The only sound that met my ears after I closed the door was the quiet pounding of the rain on the roof and the sound of my own heart, loudly beating beneath my breasts. Attached to the back of the door, with a tack, was a note. I ripped it off of its holder and quickly opened it up. In Katherine's neat handwriting, she explained that she had a date and wouldn't be home until later.

I collapsed against the wall. I had been counting on her being here to help me gain some touch with reality. But instead I was alone, again.

Tiredly, I trudged upstairs, no longer in a mad rush to get inside the house. My room was cold as I entered, but I had become so used to the temperature that it seemed perfectly normal to me. Immediately, I crossed the room to my dresser and pulled the bottom drawer open. Peeling back some layers of skirts and digging way in the back, I found a small bundle I had hidden months ago. Removing the shirt I had wrapped around it, I soon found myself holding the Heart of the Ocean once again.

It was the first time I had looked at anything I had from the ship since I had arrived at Katherine's, other than the jacket, which I still wore to bed sometimes when I couldn't sleep. Oh, the secrets that the necklace had locked deep within its luminous stones. I chose not to dwell on such thoughts. They were too painful. I simply stared into the blue abyss, as if the answerers I needed would transport through its radiance.

*****

I was still awake when Katherine arrived home shortly before nine later that night. She called for me, but I didn't answer, and simply rolled over in bed, facing away from the door. I had spent the last couple of hours here, wrapped up in my nightgown and a blanket, once again trying to make sense of this whole thing. But like so many times before, I didn't know what to think.

I heard Katherine pass by, her heels clicking noisily against the floor, and then the defiant shutting of her door as she went into her room.

A half hour later, I still could not sleep. My mind would not rest for some reason. So, without thinking, I pulled myself off of the bed and left the room. I kept the blanket wrapped around my shoulders as my feet shuffled against the floor. With a quiet knock, I pushed open the door to Katherine's room.

She was sitting up in bed with a book in her hand and light illuminating from a lamp on the bedside table.

"How was the date?" I asked, my voice hoarse from so many hours of not speaking.

Katherine smiled weakly. "It was all right. Nothing too special."

I didn't bother to reply. Nothing I was going to say would be of any usefulness. I didn't want to tell her about my disastrous day. She had been so proud of my determination to get out of the house, to begin to experience life once again. I just couldn't let her down in this way. I couldn't tell her that people still scared me and that the thing that I should be over still haunted me in some bizarre way that I knew nothing about.

I sighed heavily and crossed the bedroom floor, crawling onto the bed next to Katherine. She watched me the whole time, her eyes following me, watching me, studying me, much the way a cat absorbs everything around it. And when I closed my own eyes, I heard her quiet sigh and then the rustle of pages as she opened her book again.

Her bed was comfortable, warm and feathery, and smelling like jasmine. I buried my head in the soft folds of the blankets and pillows, desperate to once again hold onto something tangible and real. I needed security, and he was gone.

A lump rose in the back of my throat as I pulled my head out from its warm burrow, my eyes flickering open to meet the light.

"Katherine?" I asked in a whisper.

Her eyes met mine as she turned her head. "Yes?" she asked, looking at me intently. I knew she knew. Something about the way she was staring at me told me that she knew I was a disappointment and that I was lost. I was glad she recognized it, because I didn't know how to tell her. My mind was such a mess of confusions and emotions. I wanted nothing more than to figure it all out right then and there. But it’s hard to escape from a cave without a guide, flashlight, or clue as to how much further the end is from where you are standing.

"Never mind," I whispered.

"Let go, Rose, please. Just let go," Katherine said back, still staring at me.

Let go of what? I stared right back, another unexpected lump rising in the back of my throat. I swallowed the emotion, determined not to cry. For crying was for those who were weak, which I was not.

"Let it in. Don't lock it out."

Katherine's words were beginning to frighten me. What did she possibly know that I didn't? The only ghosts in my past I had were laid to rest when I had stepped of the Carpathia on that rainy April night…right? That was it, the end it of. I didn't need to ever think about it, it was finished.

Without another sound, I rolled over and shut my eyes tight. No more of this. I just wanted to sleep. I didn't want anymore of Katherine's ideas or words. Jack was dead. What more could there possibly be to know relating to the issue? He was gone, and I was left. There was nothing difficult about figuring that out. So why was I having such a hard time?

Don't lock what out?

What could I possibly be doing to myself?

Chapter Seven
Stories