My Clarity

Chapter twelve

Every endless night, had a dawning day. She was the brightness. The beauty of the sky which overcame the shadows of the darkness and allows the rays of the sun to penetrate through to the illuminance of the morning.

And, she was innocent. Wild. Fiery. And he, Jack Dawson, had walked away from her. Walked away from something which felt as natural to him as, perhaps, breathing did. It wasn’t just the idea of toying with her, bringing her away from the serious elements of her life which she knew and showing her just how to play. How to jest. How to take moments away from the protective layers of her world and step away just long enough to open her eyes to see beyond them, even just briefly. It was something deeper rooted. Whether or not it was her involvement with Hockley, he could not say, but it was as though she had sunk beneath his skin, down a layer or two and now, it was hard to pull her out, especially, when he wondered if part of him wished for her to be there.

Surrounded by few other gentlemen, one in use of the rowing machine, dressed in gymnasium whites and the other was towelling down his perspiring face before ceasing use of the electric camel. Jack, himself, took another swipe at the punching bag, with sweat already drenching his face. He wasn’t attired for the use of the gym. He wasn’t fit for much other than easing the frustrations. Other than allowing himself to be consumed in something other than almost losing himself with Miss. DeWitt Bukater on the floor of her damned sitting room with his hands at her waist.

The Gymnasium was just aft of the forward Grand Staircase along the Starboard side of the Boat Deck. It was described as a wonderful innovation for an ocean-going liner at the time. It was a brightly lit room with white-painted oak panelling and tile floors. Along the wall opposite the entrance was a carved oak installation with an illustrated cutaway of an Olympic-class Ocean liner and a map depicting the travel routes of the White Star Line throughout the world. The room was equipped with state-of-the-art exercise equipment manufactured in Wiesbaden, including two electric camels, an electric horse, a rowing machine, a punching bag, a weightlifting machine, and mechanical bicycles. The onboard Physical Educator T.W Hawley was back against the wall, encouraging other gentlemen and was about to assist with the weight machine.

Hitting the bag again, Jack felt nothing of the relief which usually followed a strenuous activity. There was fencing, which he had retorted to in London. There was running, which he had done in Paris, along the river Seine each morning before spending an hour in pure serenity by the water. Adrenaline just seemed to pump, endlessly and there was no use slamming his fists into the brown leather ball, for it just seemed to come back for more without any release. Where was the damned euphoria of breaking free of such stresses?

Perhaps a swim in the heated pool, but then it would only give his mind free time to roam of Rose, there, with him. She would shriek in such fits of giggles as she swam about his arms, trying to escape his chase but would then give in, surrender to his arms and allow him to kiss her there, sloshing about carelessly in the water. Perhaps, she would frolic the same in the sea in California?

Jack tried to sort through a tangle of emotions, as he continued to beat the ball. He had never known jealousy before, but when he had seen Rose and Caledon Hockley walking together earlier, Jack had experienced a violent urge to strangle the bastard. Every instinct raged that Rose was his, his alone to protect and comfort. But he had no rights to her. Hockley was the man engaged to her. She was to marry him. If she truly didn’t wish to marry him then surely breaking off the engagement would be the way to go. Perhaps she needed to learn to love him. Learn to be with him. Beyond the barriers of the societal rules, Rose was trying and he, the kind which she would never be with, should accept that. Rose would be better off with her own kind, rather than a half-bred sort. Half-gentleman. Almost...

Jack could be better off, too. Good God, was he contemplating spending the rest of his life as a peer, bound in domesticity? But then what? He wasn’t about to marry a seventeen-year-old just because he was more than mildly attracted to her. There was no room in his life for any woman. Not Rose DeWitt Bukater, nor any woman. His life before her had been so carefully planned out to not leave room for such a thing as love. He hadn't left room for anything other than the work which he had submerged himself into; primarily helping others. It left him not a single second to think of himself, or any needs aside from bathing, eating, sleeping and attending the tailor and the barbers when the time called for a trim and when the seasons fashions were called upon to change. These were the things which he had needed to continue his work, his life and so anything else had been discarded.