Matters of the Heart

The Ill-Fated Night

My heart is pounding in my ears as sweat drips from my brow, the heat and steam combining with the soot from the boilers to permeate my every pore. My back aches, every muscle in my body protesting as I keep feeding the fires. I glance over at Charlie beside me, meeting his gaze as we weave between one another, his brown eyes twinkling despite the reality of what's about to happen to us, to the rest of the Black Gang, and to everyone that won't be fortunate to escape on one of the few lifeboats. My breath is becoming ragged and I know time is running out, the water in the boiler room inching higher with each passing minute. I finally stop, glancing down at my soft leather gloves, once white, now stained with soot nearly to my elbows. Charlie leans on his shovel beside me, his own breathing labored, his face and hair covered with sweat and grime. Despite the noise of men shouting, the clanging and scraping of shovels, and the unnerving sound of rushing water, it feels like we're the only two in the world.

"Adal," he begins. "It's time for you to go." He smiles softly, though it barely reaches his eyes. His beautiful brown eyes, normally warm and full of life, are now tired and conflicted, no doubt a mirror of my own.

My mind turns to Matteo, waiting for me in the engine room so we can make our harrowing trek through the ventilation shaft. Matteo, I sigh to myself. Despite everything we've been through, and everything that happened between he and Charlie, he understood and respected why I needed to stay behind to say goodbye. My heart is still torn between the two, Matteo's jade and gold brooch shining on my chest a reminder of that fact. But now, I'm even more torn. Part of me wants to go, another part can't bear to leave Charlie. Not now. Not like this. Against my own better judgment, my heart begins to speak, rather than my brain. "I don't have to go."

Charlie shakes his head sadly, "Yes, you do. This isn't your time. Matteo is waiting for you." I know he's right. I avert my eyes briefly, and glance back up as he continues, "Find a way to survive, Adal. Live your life. Do great and amazing things. Make the world a better place." He picks up his jacket, draping it over my shoulders, his hands brushing over my bare skin as he leans in to give me one final kiss. When his lips touch mine, I return the kiss with as much passion as I can muster. I couldn't tell if the kiss lasted seconds, or minutes, as everything had started to run together. When we slowly part, Charlie smiles gently, "And, from time to time, spare an occasional thought for a poor English boy who loved ships. Do that, and I'll be happy."

My heart and stomach are in knots, unable to put the emotions I feel into words as I lock eyes with him for what is likely the last time. I wrap my arms around him and lean in, pressing my lips to his. I taste the soot and sweat on his lips, and attempt to convey everything I feel, everything I hope, and everything I wish I could say into that one kiss. It's anxious and hurried and passionate, as if we're both fitting a lifetime of need into a moment. We slowly break the kiss, my eyes fluttering open when Charlie gently brushes his hand over my cheek. He looks into my eyes for a long moment before wordlessly turning to rejoin the rest of the trimmers and firemen, while I turn toward the engine room where Matteo waits.

My heart and my brain are at war. I know I daren't look back, my brain screaming at me to go, while my heart aches, tugging me in the opposite direction, back to Charlie. I take a few more steps, and despite my brain's protests, I slow to a stop, looking behind me into the boiler room where Charlie, John, and the rest of the Black Gang toil in the rising water, the steam, and the soot, to afford the rest of us a better chance for survival. I watch Charlie for a moment, his form barely identifiable through the thick steam, and it's then that I know. I don't simply want to survive; I want to live. And, though I haven't even known Charlie for a week, I can't imagine a life without him, not now; Not after seeing a glimmer of what life could be with him.

Unable to turn away from the boiler room, I feel tears beginning to sting my eyes, and as if of their own accord, my feet start moving me back into the chaos. None of the men stoking the boilers seem to notice my presence, all focused on the immediacy of the task at hand. I return to Charlie's side, replacing his jacket over the railing, and pick up my shovel. As he turns to heft another shovelful of coal, his eyes widen in disbelief, "Adal! You can't be here! You need to go!"