Author's Notes: Short and (maybe not-so) Sweet!
Chapter Nineteen
June 21st, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Dear Jack,
Each day continues to pass. And new things happen all the time. But still, I can't help but cling to the things of the past. The need to hold on to these memories and these desires... it's the most important thing to me. It's the only way I can manage to continue living for another day. Knowing I've been trusted with your soul and spirit, it's a great honor. To carry you with me let's me know I'll never truly be alone, even when my life skirts the rocky depths below. You'll always be with me, Jack. Having to come to terms with a world without you is a difficult thought. Just months before, I had never thought about a world with you in it. But now, I can't imagine it any other way.
I'm sure you're looking down on me, thinking me to be quite silly. I diligently write you these letters with no way to send them to you. The postal service would never travel the lengths to find you. If I could be like the boy with the magic bean stalk, I'd climb to the high heavens to find you, Jack. I'd never return to earth if it meant I could lay in the clouds with you, basking in the sunlight. Though I can't be there physically, my mind is up there with you. My thoughts are always foggy from the high altitudes I fly to find you. But when I reach those heights, I can finally be alone and curl up beneath my quilts with your soul gently carressing me. I can feel free again, despite being locked in my cage. You're the tinder that keeps my fire lit, Jack. You're the one who shows me the way.
It's such wishful thinking, but sometimes I dream of people calling my name on the street, Jack. They would be calling after me and I'd be slow to respond. I would simply be relishing in the fact they're calling me Rose Dawson. Rose Dawson... it has a nice ring to it, don't you think? I would have gladly taken your name, Jack. To have been your life partner... well, do you think it could have been a possibility? If the Titanic hadn't sank, would you have happily taken me with you? They already thought you to be a sexual fiend, how could kidnapping be out of the question, too? I would have been so glad for you to take me away, Jack. I so desperately crave to see the world through your eyes.
Forever yours,
Rose
...
June 24th, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Dear Jack,
I find myself so dreadfully bored these days. I am expected to hunker down in this large estate and simply wait. For what? I wish I could accurately describe what I fear awaits me. September 1st is not far off. It's approaching so rapidly. It was the furthest I could stall things, Jack. And as dreadful as it sounds, I have not warmed up to the idea of being marched down that aisle and proclaimed to be Rose Hockley. Such a name I wish I wouldn't have to carry with me. The weight in it... it burdens me, Jack.
It's so peculiar, however. It seems that as time has carried on, I've become less afraid of Cal. But more weary, in a way. It's makes no sense even to myself. Once I start thinking about that man, I find myself trudging in circles, absolutely perplexed. Something changed in him, Jack. I have no doubt the accident has affected us all in many different ways, but the change in Cal... it's worrisome to his character. I am so used to an ego-inflated man. A man who walked like had a crown of jewels on his head. But now, I'm looking at a man whose no better than the beggars he would laugh at. Cal has found himself on his hands and knees, such as those men, scrounging up whatever coins and bread crumbs he can find. It's an odd sight. Rather unnerving. And I don't know what to think of it, Jack.
Do you think he's playing tricks on me? Is it, once again, all just some elaborate rouse? These are those frustrating moments when I wish you were here, Jack. I'd love nothing more than to make pouring confessions to you. To unleash the frenzy of words that have barraged my mind for years and years. I yearn so deeply to confide in you. To trust you endlessly. I feel no matter what I could tell you, you would smile and offer your wisdom of a thousand years. When you were near me, everything made sense. And with you gone, I can't tell left from right. And my instincts remain in the dark.
Do you think our lives are pre-determined? The moment we are conceived, does a timeline unfurl in this universe for us? Every little mistake lined up, the happy times arranged, and the people meant to cross your path sent the right direction? With so many coincidences in this world, so many ways things can play out but don't; I have reason to suspect there is no meddling with this universe's affairs. Despite my thoughts of how absolutely perfect we could have been together, there's a thought that comes to my mind. Was there a reason why we weren't given more than three days together? Does something else await us in another life together?
Every night I go to bed, I can only hope I am one day closer to you.
Forever yours,
Rose
...
June 29th, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Dear Jack,
Breakfast, early snack, afternoon tea, and dinner. Over and over again. Wash and repeat. The daily monotous life rolls on for me, Jack. I hope you're having a grand time wherever you are. But I hope that you can see me. The only thing that brings me comfort is knowing that through everything that has happened: from being arranged to marry Cal and dragged through Europe; through it all I gained a guardian angel, Jack. Someone, finally, who actually gives a damn about me. Someone who notices my missing presence. Someone who makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the world. You gave it to me. And I let it go. It sank into the Atlantic Ocean and now I can only stand by and grab onto the few shreds of the feeling that remain. No matter how much time passes, the intensity of my feelings will never weaken, Jack. I will love you until the end of time, transcending my own death.
And that is what is so damning about you. In the matter of 72 hours, you threw every other man out the window for me. In just three days, you proved to me you were all I wanted. You were everything I needed, Jack. Now nobody can compare to you. No one could ever make me tremble like you. Or give me butterflies in my stomach. Or pull deep from me the strong and vulnerable girl I could always be. No one could even dream to possess the gift you had. Despite never having anything, being ignored by a world that never deserved you, you still saw the good in people. I only wish I could be like you, Jack. Maybe it would be easier to just say 'yes' to Cal; to my life as I know it.
And yet, something still holds me back. Never before in my life have I felt this burning desire to run, Jack. Every day, in the back of my mind, I swear I hear this voice whispering to me. It's telling me of all the escape routes I could take. All the trains and cars that could carry me away. It counts each mile off to me, each liberating step I would be allowed to make. But at the same time, I've never felt such a horrendous tug of war before. I so desperately crave to leave and throw it all into the wind. Yet... something makes me stay. I could laugh at the idea of having hope, but perhaps that's what my mind has in store for me. What do I have to be hopeful about? I only wish the clues could come faster before I find them all and realize it's too late to turn back. It's too late change. It's too late to be myself.
But I must persist. Even if I'm only doing it for you, Jack.
Forever yours,
Rose
...
June 30th, 1912
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Cal blinked his dry and groggy eyes rapidly, looking around his dim room. Just outside his bedroom window, he could hear the cicadas chirping brightly as night waned on. In that moment, Cal returned to reality around him. The sounds of the clock found his ears again and slowly, he became aware of the beating heart in his chest. In front of him, littered across the table, were again several empty bottles. He simply couldn't help himself once he was finally out of sight in the evenings. The need to do something for himself was great, but he felt his options were severely limited.
He sighed and cleared his throat as his eyes drifted down towards the journal opened up in front of him. Cal had been so curious about what Rose had dutifully written about since coming to the Hockley estate. She was never keen on sharing, but she simply left it on her desk. It was begging to Cal to be opened. And he felt he should know, especially if her mental health was in question.
But what Cal had found confined between the covers of the journal made his stomach tie itself into knots. Her beautiful handwriting, so delicate and fragile, cut Cal to the very core as page after page were only love letters to a man who had died and been forgotten about. But, of course, it was only Rose who didn't forget Jack Dawson. Never before had Rose written so eloquently, so passionately to him. Never had she even spoke to him in this way. And lying here before Cal were those words, that he felt were meant for him, directed at some man she didn't even know for three days.
How!? Cal cried, nearly pleaded, in his mind. How is this even possible? I've spent so much time devoted to her. Doing my best to provide in the ways I know how. But she simply rejects it. She always has. I was beginning to believe she was completely devoid of the ability to reciprocate love. Cal came to his feet, knocking a few more bottles over. He didn't care how late it was. He paced nervously around his large and spacious room. Cal then fumbled in his pocket and lit himself a cigarette, raking his hands through his hair.
I've shown Rose I will do anything it takes. Anything. If we can just go back to how things were. I can make things better if she'd just give me a damn chance, Cal shook his head, turning sharply in direction and causing his head to spend. He laughed out loud before putting his cigarette between his lips. She doesn't trust me, but she trusts him?! How can this be?! Cal slowly cast his eyes down to the shiny wood floors that gleamed from their morning scrub. Why is it like this, Rose?
... Does it have to be like this?