Chapter thirteen:
Rose's body felt achy and heavy, well used. For a long moment, she lay there, absorbing the odd reality of waking up to a man beside her. It was surprisingly pleasant, reaffirming the intimacy established through lovemaking. It was growing dark outside. The sunlight that had shone through the window earlier was dimmed now. Hours had passed, as had several shattering orgasms. She hadn't known her body was capable of repeating a climax so soon, or that a man's body was capable of such sexual stamina. Perhaps she wasn't even aware that she could connect emotionally on such a level whilst with a man; both it appeared were innocent to these notions.
Jack snuggled Rose against his bare chest. He ran his fingers through her blonde hair, kissed her, and caressed her. Anything to take that lost look from her eyes-yes, he was even learning to read her expression. Rose ran a single finger down his right arm, veins raised to the touch; deep and purple and above it two or three now faint spots.
''Is this where you would inject the morphine?''
''Yes.'' His jaw was tight. His voice unwavering.
''What was the feeling like?''
Jack wasn't sure he could tell her without breaking down from the sheer impossibility of it all. Stress had once driven him to the needle. Fear. Sheer absolute gut-wrenching heartache. He thought to be immune to it now but then Rose had given him the most indescribable joy that he could have imagined. Wasn't that all that mattered now?
''This guy I knew, Peter, he always had a Gladstone bag full of cocaine, morphine, opium, and heroin.'' Jack started to recall. ''He saw that I always half way down a bottle of something strong and never would the demons leave me be.'' He traced a circle about her shoulder. ''One day he told me to try it. It's just what the doctor would use, he said, if I was to see a damned professional to chase away the demons. Then I tried it and for the first time since the war, I was lighter than a feather. High as a kite. I touched the moon for a time and then I fell into the deepest sleep until I injected again.''
If Jack looked hard enough, he could probably find a syringe that he'd hidden away for a rainy day, even now. He'd liked to do that-send little presents to his future self, knowing he'd be either too doped or too desperate to think about such things in the moment. Now, his foresight might be his downfall. His hand shifted, started to tremble, even thinking of the damned stuff and soon, it was fisting in Rose's hair, almost pulling at it. She felt it there, and stroked his stomach to soothe him, somehow.
''Was it just the car crash and meeting the doctor that got you clean?''
Jack paused. ''Yes. Well, no-'' Exhaling he returned to stroking her hair. ''I believe so, yes. If I hadn't had met him, I might have killed myself somehow by now. I was tormented. I was in a rage-''
Jack could not let her down. Even regaling his own tale was painful. So, very painful. It made him judder for no reason other than his own memories.
"Shh," Rose purred. "Be still, Jack." Her long, dark lashes fluttered over her cheeks. She was so young and beautiful. There wasn't a line on her face. Despite ten years of hardship, there wasn't a grey hair on her head. Give her ten years with him, and she'd be a tired, downtrodden woman. She'd likely look twice her age then.
"Sometimes, I think you'd be better off if you had never met me."
Her blue eyes shot open. "Why would you say that?"
"Think about it, Rose..."
"Oh, I have! Without you, I'd be married to Cal, breeding his damned kids for the sake of it. Just another poor, unkind upper-class bauble, attending every single social gala going," she explained. "Without you, Jack, I'd still be a girl trapped in a woman's wasted body. Now, I know about love. Though I lost you. I would never even consider having never met you. Even when I thought I'd lost you, I never regretted our meeting. I never thought I'd find someone who would love me." Her eyes lined with tears. "You are my life."
Damn her. He was trying to do the right thing, and she wasn't listening to his warning. "While we were lying here-just now-I was thinking about morphine. I was wondering if I could still get it now.''
"Who put these thoughts into your head?" she asked, sitting up. The silky strap of her night dress fell from one shoulder. Her left breast threatened to spill over the slackened neckline. Her hair was wild, and her eyes glittered like ice. She was his angel again, and she was hideously beautiful.
He swallowed. "The Devil, I think."
"If you want your morphine so badly, then go to it. No one can stop you from doing what you want to do."
"You can..."
She twisted her lips into a frown. It was exaggerated and ugly.
"No, Jack. I can't. You must make the decision -if only for tonight. Will you have your morphine?"
"Why only tonight?" he asked.
"I can't expect you to control the future. Tonight, you must decide. Tomorrow, your answer might be different, but I can't punish you for that now."
"How will you punish me?" He'd already made up his mind, yet he had to ask. Had to know whether or not the answer was what he thought.
"I don't know. Perhaps I'll leave."
Jack reached out to run a finger over the neckline of her pale pink night dress. "Where will you go?"
She let him dip his fingertip beneath the fabric. "Home-I still have one, I suppose."
"I know." He rubbed his blunted nail over her hard nipple. Jack needed to know that she was strong enough to deal with this, with him. What if the instinct for the needle came back, harder than before? What if that was never enough? It terrified him...
Jack allowed him to tug the silken fabric down over her left breast. It was high, rounded, and damned perfect. Her nipple was dark against the ghostly pale flesh that had never seen sunlight before these last few days. Her skin was almost translucent -he could see every blue vein pumping blood to her heart. He reached out to cup it in his hand, letting the pad of his thumb tease her.
''But I don't want that. I don't know if I will ever be strong enough to stay away. It's been almost three years. I feel as though I needed a distraction. Something to tear my mind away and that's when I started photographing things; anything. I took it seriously. Just to ease my mind. I learnt to see the beauty in it. In landscapes. In people. In their faces and their stories. Focusing on them made me less aware of my own life. Of my own misery. It was almost like an armour.''
Rose's heart felt heavy. ''The stage has been my armour for so long I don't know how to come away. But I have to try or I'll die having spent my whole life playing another life for other people and never living my own.''
''What do you want, Rose?''
Those eyes which knew her so well seemed to address her like they never had before. They couldn't penetrate her soul and read her mind as she so wished they could. Rose had wanted the theatre, perhaps her entire life. She had craved the freedom it brought to her. Relished playing another person. Stuart was the only other human being who understood her love for the craft as much as she did and now, it felt as though he never even existed within this circle in which just, she and Jack lived in. A cottage by the sea which wasn't even their own. British sands with beautiful sun which wouldn't last past a week or so. This was temporary. Everything around them wasn't made to last, but were they?
They had started this love affair, for two days aboard a ship and spent a lifetime in love with each other. Dying for the other. On a road which led to pain, both had tried to swerve past it but only wound up here, together, in each other's arms.
''Before I came home, before we came here. I spent the night at Stuart's after the last dance at the Savoy.'' Rose sat upright, her hair falling forward and framing her face in such an angelic way. ''I had told him at the dance that I had once or twice looked at him, and willed myself to fall in love with him.''
She heard Jack stop breathing then and there but he never removed his hand from caressing her.
''I didn't know that you were alive. I thought that I was to spend an eternity alone. When I was with the two others—it was, pleasant,'' raking her hands about her hair, she closed her eyes. ''In one way, I wanted to be with another man in hopes I could forget you, or at least it would help to diminish my feelings but it never did. I wanted you more than anything. I looked at Stuart; this beautiful, wonderful man, the only other who truly understands me and I just felt everything for him but what I felt for you.''
Her heart ached, her stomach pulled and the tear finally found its way down her face.
''I lost myself in this play for four years and now, when I return, I don't know if I can play her anymore because she was me. That part was who I was. A woman who lost her love, who mourned him forever and then he returns... home from the war. I mean, could it possibly be more absurd?'' Clutching her stomach, Rose felt like crying until her insides didn't ache any longer. ''Jack, I don't know who I am if I don't have the play. I don't know anything but spending six nights a week on a stage and the rest of the time rehearsing or reading a novel, watching a moving picture—anything which prevents me from thinking by myself.''
''Oh, Rose, you have done what you could, to help yourself. I know how that feels, just as much as you.''
''Yes. You turned to drugging yourself into oblivion and perhaps I am just the same, even though I didn't inject it. I have to be out of my own mind to feel sane.''
Mirrored there, before her, was Jack. Together, they were equally tormented. Equally broken. Shattered. This life, this decade spent without the other had been a survival story.
''You asked me what I wanted. I want you, Jack. I want a life. I want to be married. I want to be a mother. I want to carry children, just like you said I would. I want four or five. I want to wake to the sun every day and to have you wake with me, in a bed which is ours in a home which we created ourselves. A labour of love.''
Jack's widened eyes darted about her face. She wasn't sure if it was surprise but she couldn't even gain a breath before his mouth was on hers, desperately and it almost knocked her sideways. His hands came up her sides, snaking beneath her dress and then he stripped her out of it, and tossed it aside. Beads clattered as it landed on a nearby chair. She eased off her shoes, and then began to remove her stockings.
Jack stopped her. "Let me." He went down on his knees. Rose held onto the edge of the bed as he slowly, deliberately rolled each silk stocking down her leg. Her heart danced as his fingers brushed the backs of her knees, the turn of her ankles. When he finished, he pressed his lips to the bared skin just below her lace combinations. She wanted him to go further. To kiss higher.
"I have no friends. Only you."
Lonely man. Her heart broke for him. "You'll make new friends. Better friends."
"Ones who know nothing about my past..."
She ran her fingernails lovingly through his thick hair. "Or mine. We'll make a fresh start.''
"Can we do that?"
Jack rose up from his knees to face her. She felt his warm breath on her lips. There was something in his voice a hitch, perhaps. He knew something she didn't, yet could not find the courage to tell her. He began to undress, instead. This, she understood. Lovemaking. Copulation. When the rest of their life was at sea, they could always come together, sexually. He was her ballast, and she, his safe harbour. To Rose, at least. These were familiar waters. A welcome distraction. She peeled out of her under things. He came to her then, snaking his arms around her waist. He, too, was naked. She felt his heated skin collide with hers.
"God, Rose...''
Their lips met. Rose's heart thundered, and her mouth opened for him. She touched her tongue to his, sending sparks down her spine. When his hand cupped her breast, Rose nearly crumbled. No man's touch had ever knocked her to her knees before. She gripped his arms to keep from falling. In answer, Jack picked her up and lay her back against the bed. Her head touched the pillow. She felt the mattress dip. He was beside her, touching her, kissing her. He nipped her neck, and suckled her earlobe until her back arched.
She gasped, and bit her lip to silence herself. It was too much. Yet not enough.
"Be patient," he said, pressing his lips to her chest. "No need to rush tonight."
"But I want...''
"I want, too. But there is no need for anything to be so fast, we have forever, now.''
He kissed all around her breasts, finally drawing one nipple into his mouth. He tugged on it with his teeth and tongue until the other ached. She pressed her own hand to her chest, rolling the neglected nipple between her fingertips. Seeing this, Jack switched sides, alternating between breasts until Rose grew dizzy. All the while, the one place he should be giving all of his attention went untouched. She didn't understand. When she'd lain with others, both men had rushed to be inside her. That was sex, a man's member thrusting into her. Why was Jack taking his sweet time?
Groaning in frustration, Rose dragged his hand from her bosom and pressed it between her thighs. She had never needed to be made love to so badly. Her body trembled with wanting.
Jack laughed softly as he stroked her. He knew she was impatient. He was making her wait...for what?
He pressed one long finger inside her, then two. He stroked upward, rocking against her. Rose felt her hips lift up from the mattress. His tender touch was torture. She burned hot, and felt cold. Her breasts ached, so she squeezed them. Perspiration pooled at the base of her spine.
She whimpered, and he asked, "Is that it right there?" He stroked once more, just to be sure. His fingertips flexed and pressed against a place that made her tremble all over. When he asked a second time, Rose nodded. She couldn't find her words.
Jack eased himself between her slackened thighs. He slid into her with none of the usual resistance. There was no bite of pain as he found his mark. How odd. She was suddenly ready. He moved with her, seeming to reach the perfect rhythm right away. Her hips rose to meet him, thrust for thrust. She pulled up her knees, resting her heels on his pumping backside. He inched deeper, again finding that strange, inner spot she liked, and she cried out. She clamped her hand over her mouth. The sound of her own pleasure was vulgar and wanting. Jack eased her hand from her face. "Don't ever stop yourself.'' The tiny, puckered scar near his temple; another wear from the war and his sweat-dampened brow, where his hair flopped over to feather her knuckles, she kissed them all. Each tiny little part of him so breathtakingly flawed and so damned perfect all at once.
"Rose." He nuzzled her hand.
She felt love in her heart, and warmth between her legs. She sensed her own pleasure building. Knowingly, Jack rocked right where she needed him the most. As his hips purposefully ground against hers, Rose felt something unfurl within. She had been driven there before, but it never felt like this. She felt no shame. No desperation. This time, when she called his name out into the blackness, he was there. Rose let orgasm wash over her. Jack followed a moment later, sobbing into her palm. She'd never dreamed it would be like this. She stroked her hands lovingly over his shoulders, and down his arms, but stopped when she encountered the puncture marks. Jack had almost forgot they were there the last reminders of his morphine addiction. He watched her fingertips explore the raised, darkened scars that would likely never fade. His heart sank. What had he done to himself? He swallowed back the shame.
"I'm sorry."
"So am I."
"Not for me, surely..."
She shook her head.
"I'm only sorry that you suffered. That your life before was so miserable this was the only way you could cope."
"Things are better now."
"Yes, they are."
It was almost too much to contemplate, even now. He kept wanting to check his back to see if the Devil was catching him up. Surely, this was all a mistake. This life was meant for some other, more worthy fellow. For what had Jack Dawson done to deserve such a paradise?