Chapter One : The Ship of Dreams or Nightmares
Rose's Point of View
I stepped out of the copper colored car, grasping the hand of my debonair finance, Cal, the silk gloves, hugging the porcelain skin of my hands. I walked forward, the shuffle of my pink skirts breaking the tense silence between him and I. My auburn hair was gently flowing underneath my peach colored bonnet, fastened to my chin by velvet ribbons. I grinned at him, hiding the melancholy that was warring away inside of me.
I gazed up, my blue irises comprehending the sight of the huge metal machine sitting before me. The ship looked magnificent in size, but far too small in comparison to the Mauritania.
"This ship is rather quaint. Why couldn't we have boarded the Mauritania when we had the chance, Cal?" I was almost pleading with him to let me stay ashore, and not board that metal death trap. My bottom lip quavered on the last syllable I had spoken.
"Rose, the R.M.S Titanic is over one hundred feet longer than the Mauritania...and far more luxurious." He smiled, like he always did when he thought he had spited me. I pushed out my lower lip in protest, but thought against fighting him in public. Knowing Cal, he would scream, and possibly strike me.
As I scurried away from Cal, the disappointment glowered on my face. I followed the beats of my pastel heals climbing up the board, calming my heart rate down. An officer met me at the top of the stairs, escorting me to first class. I nodded my head in gratitude, stepping backwards into the incredible suite. Paintings were already strewn across the room, on chairs, couches, and even the floor. I gasped that my Mo nae was just lying there on the floor. I rushed over to pick them up and dust them off, setting them gently against the satin furniture, and gazing at the assortment of colors and shapes. Sitting on my knees, I felt a heavy hand on my left shoulder. I pinched my eyes closed, dreading who it might be. My money-crazed, psychotic mother perhaps, maybe even a servant offering some assistance, but the worst possible, was Cal, wanting to argue about something, or protesting my portraits, commenting on my lack of taste.
"Now what kind of lady are you to be resting upon your knees, Rose?" That deep demanding voice rang in my ears. My eyes flew open, knowing exactly who it was. I exhaled deeply and put a commercial smile upon my face. Turning around was a nightmare, seeing his mocking face gazing at me, blank of emotion, lips outstretched in a flat line, nostrils slightly flared. I concentrated on his jet black hair, slicked back and parted to the side, I didn't want to focus on his face, not just yet.
"Er...my paintings...they were on the floor, I was just dusting them off." I was still gazing at his hair not wanting to know if he was angry, or questionable.
"Look at me when I am talking to you, Rose!" My eyes shuddered from atop his head, and into his eyes. They matched his hair, jet black. They rippled with anger, and despair.
I stormed out of the room, rushing to the balcony, desperately needing air. I leaned over the edge, looking upon the faces of all the lower-class people. My blue irises stopped on the eyes of a man, returning my gaze. I looked at him, surrounded by two other men, one Hispanic and another white male, his golden hair fluttering in the light breeze, his molten chocolate eyes serious and alone. I turned around, trying to focus on something else, but the monster was returning my gaze yet again.