My Clarity

Chapter eighteen

The ship left a wake of white foam, above her the sunset was perhaps the most wonderful which she had ever seen, and Rose ignored the stunning view in favor of studying the deck at her feet. She didn’t mind the concentration it took. Instead, she relished the temporary distraction from her confusion. Finally reaching the bench, she dropped onto the wooden planks and pulled her shawl further about her. She prayed for the sound of the waves lapping against the ship to soothe her as it cut its way through the ocean bound for its destination. Praying for her mind to be taken away, on another adventure away from her own world. Just months before, she would be able to easily open a book at a page and become lost in the poetry, in the words of another place and time which existed purely in her own mind and yet, now, it seemed the only thing which she was capable of allowing to consume her mind was him.

Rose recalled the first moment she’d laid eyes on Jack Dawson. She remembered how her breath had caught in her throat and how hot her skin had suddenly become, how her breathing and heart rate had quickened until she thought she might swoon. Those had not been singular reactions. She had felt them many times since then and even just that morning when he had smiled at her, all masculine beauty in church. She couldn’t live like that, couldn’t see how anyone could live consumed by a lust that seemed insatiable. Unschooled as she was, she hadn’t known a body could crave the touch of another the way it did food or air. It wasn’t just the touch of his, or a single look, it was the conversations which they had together. The way he promised her things, she trusted him so easily and with her entire life. A man as seductive as Jack Dawson was dangerous to a girl of her station. He could ruin her, and in part it seems that he already had. She was falling over everything just because of a first-time spark. He was a bad habit; conversations with a stranger who she had barely known and yet, when she looked for a way out of him, there appeared to be no escape for either of them. Mr. Dawson was beneath her skin. To consume her more. To leave her breathless every single day of her life would be a disaster. Her life had become dangerous; almost like a plot within a book to kill the heroine. She was the ‘damsel’. He was the hero on the white horse. She laughed at her own utter foolishness. One man tried to seduce her, another wished to marry her. Hockley was the one who had almost become her husband and yet, he was nowhere to be seen in this entire mess. That was the ultimate danger. Caledon Hockley did not stir so much as a glance within her stupid, unresponsive body. Would that solve all of the problems though? If she could fall in love with the man she was engaged to marry? If she could envision this grand life laid out for her and him to relish in until they became old and grey? No. That was the true answer. For even if she ever did learn to love Cal, she would never be free fully. Never be able to live within her own limits. There would always be restrictions. Always be a door closed for her.

Tilting her head, Rose closed her eyes and rested her cheek against her palm. Why couldn’t Jack simply stay away from her? There had been nothing but utter grief of the engagement as well as the sheer, all-consuming spell which Jack Dawson had placed her under. Instead, now she was waiting eternally. Waiting for him to return to her, fearing each and every time he left her side. Images of him brutally kissing her lips as though it would be the last time. Bubbling beneath the surface had been the absolute instinctual urge to place her hands beneath his shirts and allow him to lead her to lay beneath him. In times of need, her infatuation for him had multiplied. The animal sense within her seemed to come alive. Literally everything about him intoxicated her, brainwashed her and made her believe that he was the one who she was meant to live her life with. She was angry. At herself. At Jack. At all involved. She had come here to collect her thoughts before returning to dress herself for dinner at the captain's table where she would have to endure yet more mindless chatter. If she screamed out now, in an abandoned area of the ship near to the bow, would any other hear her except God? Even he wasn’t interested in the slightest of her misery. If he was, then surely, he would offer an answer of some kind.