Harold Lowe has managed to claw his way up the career ladder of the British merchant marines, rising from a ship's boy to a master mariner with one of the world's elite passenger lines. Along the way, he's learned to master not only his craft, but...
So, to recap: Harry wants Corrine, Corrine wants Harry. But otherwise, they are at loggerheads. She wants to lose her virginity to him as soon as possible; he wants to preserve it as long as possible. She's convinced that the only way to deal with her trauma is to drown herself in him... and he's convinced that the only way he can retain his humanity is by resisting her. She's terribly insecure, and he's fighting demons she can't see.
I mean, what could possibly go wrong?
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The air was different between them after that.
Harry still came to visit that night and sit beside her bed, but he was withdrawn, distant. There were several awkward pauses in the conversation, followed by long silences. He seemed cold, closed off somehow, and she didn't know how to reach him. Corrine wasn't sure if it was because of their pending arrival in New York, or because of what had passed between them earlier. But for the first time since they had met, she felt uncomfortable around him. She wanted to cry, to beg him to tell her what was wrong, to plead with him to return to her, to himself, but the words stuck in her throat.
Eventually, he said a stilted good night, lightly kissing her forehead but carefully avoiding every other part of her body. The click of the closing door as he left sounded like the turning of a key, locking her out of his heart.
After he left, she picked at the blankets anxiously, a thousand scattered thoughts racing through her head, all eventually converging on a single point:
What was wrong with Harry?
It was as if she didn't know him anymore; in the span of a few hours, he had become a stranger to her. That small, mean voice from earlier spoke up again. Maybe he's tired of you already, it told her. Perhaps you were a mere infatuation to him... and now that the novelty had worn off, he's ready to move on. Especially now that he's become famous... and likely has his pick of proper, socially acceptable ladies to choose from. Maybe that's why he didn't respond favorably to your advances earlier-
She quickly pushed those fears down, refusing to indulge in the temptation to feel sorry for herself and wallow in melodrama. Instead, she tried to quell her disquiet with too-bright reassurances. Whatever's bothering Harry, he'll confide in me when he's ready, she told herself firmly. After all, he's in love with me...
...isn't he?
She lay staring at the ceiling for a long time that night, her mind flitting back and forth like a frantic bird beating its wings against a cage. And when sleep finally overtook her, it was fitful, plagued by fragmented dreams, disturbing visions, and a vague, unspecified dread.
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The morning they were due to arrive in New York dawned dreary and cold. She could see mist swirling outside the porthole in her room. Everywhere, crew members, passengers, and survivors were preparing. She could hear them moving around outside, knocking about and conversing in both cheerful and somber tones, depending on the group. She knew she, too, should rise and start preparing. Although she had little in the way of possessions to pack, she did have a few people that she would like to speak with before they parted ways forever in New York.
