A/N: Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for the wait on this, I've been on vacation and I also wanted to put forth more effort into this chapter. Tell me what you think. :) enjoy!


Rose's eyes were as dark as the city's night sky, starless and dull. Her lips were as red as the blood that she wanted so desperately to feel running in her veins, but lately she felt numb. She stumbled along the sidewalks, slightly intoxicated and pondering her life. The night had been wild, but even extravagant parties full of sour, bootlegged liquor and bitter cigarettes could not fill the crevice in her soul. She pulled out another ciggy from her small purse and struggled to light it, eventually getting frustrated and throwing it onto the highway, watching it crumple beneath passing cars. This gave her a strange sort of satisfaction, watching the thing pitifully collapse into the pavement. She stopped to take in the scene. The road was slick from earlier rainstorms, making the lights of the city mirror off the black asphalt. The reflections were distorted colors, reds and whites and yellows, blending and warping in the ways of an impressionist painting. God, she loved art. If Rose was gifted in that branch of talent she would recreate this scene, right here, right now. She didn't know why, because she had seen so many nights like this one, but something about it just needed to be transferred onto canvas.

A loud car horn brought her from her thoughts, and she turned towards the source. Aunt Ada's black car sat underneath the theatre's lights, and getting out of it was that poor excuse for a chauffeur.

Rose had dealt with many drivers in her day, but she had never met one as uncouth as this one. He was pompous, overly casual, and fairly annoying, with that stupid smirk on his face. As he exited the vehicle, he shut the door and leaned up against in, hands in pockets and one leg crossed over the other. He was tall and lean, with a mess of blonde hair atop his head. Somehow this annoyed her too, and she almost wanted to reach out and fix it, slicking it back or something to look a bit more presentable. Oh my god I sound like my mother. She shook the thought from her mind. Rose began tentatively making her way towards him, trying not to miss a step with the world around her slowly spinning.

"Rough night?" He called out.

She knew she looked like a mess, makeup running and hair in tangles, but she couldn't even come up with a reply. The ground felt farther away than usual…

Suddenly she was right in front of him, and he was staring at her like she had two heads. There was a little crease between his eyebrows.

She wanted to smack it off.

Or maybe kiss it.

What's his name again?

Did he ever tell her his name?

"Are you alright? You seem a bit out of it." The man said, the stupid smirk long gone. She kind of missed it.

"Y-Yeah yeah I'm fine I just- what even is your name?"

He laughed, well not really a laugh more like one of those little puffs of air that people let out when they find something amusing. Nevertheless, it made the smirk return on his lips.

"Alright Rose, I think it's time for you head on home," he guided her into the back of the car.

She stared at him, "Did I even tell you my name?"

For some reason, Rose's questions greatly amused him. He did one of those half-laughs again, not answering her question and climbing into the front seat.

"Will you just answer the stupid question?" Rose asked hotly.

"You are so easy to annoy." He began to drive the car away from the theater, not looking back at her. She could hear the smile in his voice.

"That's because I can't stand you."

He sighed, turning his head for a second, "Jack. My name's Jack Dawson. I heard your Aunt and Uncle call you Rose, so I just assumed."

"Fair enough. Rose Dewitt Bukater is the full thing."

He laughed at her lengthy name, "I'm gonna need you to write that one down."

"That's something you should remember if you're going to be my chauffeur, Mr. Dawson."

He shook his head disapprovingly, "Just call me Jack. Mr. Dawson makes me feel like an old man."

She giggled. Giggled. God, she hated the sound of her laugh when it was like that. It's girlish, high pitched form came out whenever she had a little bit to drink, and she wasn't drunk enough to not be aware of how stupid she sounded. "Giggle water" was what some of her theatre friends called alcohol, and fittingly so.

"Jack," She mused, as if trying out the sound of his name on her tongue. It suited him. One syllable, his identity: brief but strong. Jack.

"Rose," he parroted, mocking her airy tone.

Scrunching up her nose, Rose reached across the seat in front of her and smacked his shoulder. It must not have hurt, because he barely even flinched.

"That wasn't lady like."

"Shut up."

And he did, for a while. Rose stared out the window and watched the world move past, blurs of muted color darkened by the lack of daylight. The familiar crunch of the Lennox property's gravel road could be felt beneath the tires.

"I take it you weren't really at the theater," he spoke, a weirdly cautious tone in his voice.

"What makes you say that?" Rose asked, not really listening to him.

He sighed again. Why did he seem so worried about her?

"Well first of all, you weren't at the theater when I got there, you were walking back to the theater. Second of all: with all due respect, you're kind of a mess right now-"

Rose audibly scoffed.

Jack pulled over to the side of the empty road onto the grass. There were too many trees surrounding them to see the mansion, but it couldn't be very far. He turned around to face her, an almost condescending look on his face, but more out of a protective nature than a controlling one. He ran a hand through his messy hair and took a deep breath, "Look I'm sorry. I know that you're used to people who work for you that only speak when spoken to and have manners and what not, but I'm not like that. When I said you look like a mess- ugh, I meant like, ok Rose it's obvious you've been drinking. I really don't want you to get in trouble with your family. That's kind of what this is about."

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. "Jack I appreciate whatever you think you're doing but I'm a big girl and I'm capable of handling myself. I don't need you scolding me about drinking bootlegged liquor-"

She was cut off by the sound of him laughing.

"Rose, you misunderstand me completely. I don't give a damn if you go out and party all night and get drunk. I'm worried about how well you're gonna hide it from your folks. It's lookin' pretty obvious right now."

She laughed too, "Don't you worry, I'll tell them all about my massive headache and hurry right to bed before they catch another glance. Oh, the pain!" She fell back into the back seat, hand to her forehead in feigned distress.

They both burst into a fit of giggles.

"You're an actress, all right." He sighed, continuing to look at her. "Before I drive you back to your palace of hell though, what would you want me to tell your Uncle? Because he wanted to know what you're up to and-"

"Same story I use my darling," Rose told him, leaning her elbows up on the back of the front seats, "Theater work is ever so busy."

A wide grin cracked across Jack's face, almost as if he were impressed with her. Rose hoped so. Impressing people was something she found joy in.

They both sat there, staring at each other as their smiles began to fade. Their faces were closer than before, and Rose's eyes kept wandering down to his lips.

He really does have nice lips.

How can such an annoying man be so pretty?

Rose coughed to break her hypnosis over his face. She smiled tightly and leaned back into her seat, sitting back up. He did something similar, giving her a brief smile before getting back into a driving position. They sat in silence until the car pulled up to the mansion.

"Goodnight, Rose."

As he was helping her out of the car it took every fiber of her being to not make eye contact, for the risk of gazing into his pretty blue eyes like an idiot.

"Goodnight, Mr. Dawson" It was a reflex, but she didn't bother correcting herself.

She hurried inside the house, her face feeling warm.


The sticky early summer air was so hot that it felt like Rose was moving through liquid. Her dress was far too thick for the atmosphere, clinging to her skin and suffocating her pores. She thought about how nice it would be to strip down for a nice cold swim. The last time she swam was three summers ago, when she was fourteen. It was the last time she saw her cousins, who were related to her on her father's side. The water by the Dewitt Bukater vacation home in the Hamptons was crystal clear. She could still hear their delighted shrieks as they splashed through the ocean. Somehow this memory made her sweat even more. Every now and then a delightful breeze would make its way through the trees, but in between the small gusts Rose felt as if she might pass out from the heat. She toyed with the pearls around her neck absent-mindedly as the visiting ladies chattered around the table, dressed in summery whites that made their skin look even paler and their lips look even redder. Her aunt had insisted on having tea outside today, because "the sky is just so blue!" Now here they were, six ladies sitting at a wooden table in the middle of a garden, sipping at delicate porcelain teacups and praying that they didn't get a tan. Rose drowned out the conversation in her mind, listening to the distant trickling of a fountain and the occasional bird song.

"Ladies," Ruth piped up, "do forgive me, but you must excuse my daughter and me for a walk to discuss some important matters."

The ladies gave gentle smiles and understanding nods as Ruth rose from the table.

"Come, Rose."

Dazed, Rose followed her mother with an air of confusion. The two walked away from the others, trying their best to seem casual, but Rose could tell when something was bothering her mother. As soon as they were well out of earshot from the others, Ruth began to speak.

"I know what you're up to."

Trying to keep a poker face, Rose could only muster up "Oh?"

"Rose you're not just going to the theater for work every night, I'm not an idiot."

Did Jack tell her? No he couldn't have he left after bringing me home… Right?

"Really?" Rose tried to appear collected, "Then what am I doing every night Mother?"

Ruth scowled, not bothering to scold her daughter for her rudeness, "Those liberal theater friends of yours are buying bootlegged liquor and you all are getting drunk together like a couple of common barmaids. This is unacceptable behavior Rose."

Well it's not as bad as the truth.

"And you know that your engagement with Mr. Hockley is still on."

"I haven't seen that man in months!" Rose protested. He was away in Europe for business or something else dreadfully boring. She never liked the guy, even though he had been trying to woo her for almost a year now. He had money though, and as long as a man had money, he could be 85 years old and her mother would still sell her off without batting an eyelash.

"That's beyond the point. He is your fiancé, Rose." Ruth stared at her daughter, horrified that she would be the slightest bit unhappy with the arrangement, "This is our only chance out. Our only chance! Do not mess this up by being a drunken fool when he returns. I will not have you ruin this. Which is why I've decide to give you a curfew."

"Pardon?"

"You will not be allowed out of my sight when the sun sets, you hear me? Not until Mr. Hockley returns. Hopefully by then you will have come to your senses."


A/N: What did you guys think of this chapter? Was it better than the first two? What do you think about Mr. Hockley coming to town? I'd love to know :)

Thanks for reading!

-E