Chapter four:

Perhaps that was the fear that Rose had already. The fact that a stranger knew much more about her than her own fiancé. A man she had met three or so hours ago; a man who had talked her out of suicide, saved her life and then lied her family about it to protect her. A man who had sought her out, knowing the repercussions to ensure that she was all right. A man who knew of her utter misery, stress and hell and yet, in his eyes she never saw any pity. There had to have been some, surely?

''I know what you have been thinking,'' she lowered her tone, gazing at the wooden decks, with barely a scuff on them.

''What?''

She raised her eyes to meet his. ''What a poor little rich girl, what could she know about misery.''

His face filled with concern. ''No, no. That isn't what I was thinking. I was thinking what could possibly happen to a girl to make her think that she had no other way out.''

Perhaps there was no pity in his eyes. There was something though; the way he seemed to look right through her as though he had known her a thousand years. It was unnerving and made her very aware of the contents of her own head.

''And now that you know?''

Jack exhaled sharply. ''I am glad that I came to make sure that you were all right.'' She sensed that he wanted to add more but he didn't. She seemed to be able to read him too, a little more than she was accustomed to.

''Yes,'' she seemed to soften, ''well, thank you.''

''You're welcome.''

''For your discretion, also.''

Rose felt filled with absolute exhaustion. She was tired, beyond any means and yet her bed seemed to be the last place where she wished to lay this evening. It would smell of Cal, his cologne and their failed attempt to consummate their engagement. He would wait for her; even if she didn't go to him tonight, there would be tomorrow and then the next night. He would want her and now that she had exposed her body to him there would be no going back. Rose had almost sealed the deal with him and the worst part was that when the time would come for the deed to take place again, she knew that she would be filled with such dread.

''I can feel every single thought rattling around inside that head.'' He broke the temporary silence and it was then she realised that he had been studying her. She flushed, hoping he hadn't known the thorough content of her thoughts. She felt as though she was in some sort of exaggerated therapy in which she would have to empty her guts of every feeling but instead of the immense pressure to get it out, she could take things at her pace. He would listen, and she could trust him. That much she knew and it was frightening. It was alien to a woman of her standing to be in such a situation and not just socially. A woman never spoke of her desires, her inner most thoughts and when he had found her at the rail, she was almost embarrassed to be seen in such a state.

''Do you always like to observe strangers?''

He laughed at her comment. ''Not often,'' he raised his eyebrows, ''although I do observe the body and the way it moves often.''

Rose furrowed her brow, not understanding. ''Pardon me?''

''I like to draw. I see what is in front of me and put it on the paper.''

Rose softened at his admission. ''I see. So, you're an artist?'' She was surprised and yet, as she studied him, she could tell he would have some talent. A talent which she was deeply inspired by. Art, painting, pictures; whatever it was called by the professionals these days, it was all beautiful. Suddenly, there seemed to be another way in which he was calling out to her.

''If you would call it that.''

''Would I have heard of your work?''

He laughed aloud. ''Not likely.''

His laugh echoed out on the empty decks and out into the distance of the ocean and she liked the sound. It was rare one laughed so raucously and even rarer for it to be allowed; even as a child. It was so exhilarating to hear it

''Perhaps you would allow me a peek, sometime.'' Her interest was genuine. It would allow her to have a small hobby outside of her circle to indulge in, perhaps they could grow to speak of such things as art and travel. Although he wasn't educated, he appeared to be knowledgeable. Education was overrated these days. The only thing which a person required to be interesting, in Rose's opinion, was their own values, their own voice and an interest in something. A passion. And not for politics, or the latest fashions or the pianoforte... but for the work of artists, of poets, of even composers. Why should interests be singular? A lady was expected to be proficient in dance, in singing or in flower arrangement. What would possibly happen if a woman should like a sport, or took what would happen to be a male's occupation? When a woman was strong enough to voice their opinion and take matters into their own hands such as the Suffragettes movement in England. They were using more aggressive tactics to get people to listen. This included breaking windows, planting bombs, handcuffing themselves to railings and going on hunger strikes. Many protesting Suffragettes were arrested for law-breaking and many went to prison. In further protest, Suffragettes would go on hunger strike in prison. To stop them from becoming ill, they would often be held down and force-fed by prison staff in a particularly unpleasant procedure.

''I don't think they might be to you taste, but sure, if you like.''

Rose was intrigued. ''Why should they not be to my taste?''

''I don't draw flowers, or buildings or landscapes.''

''Then, what do you draw?''

''I draw from life.''

''You mean people?''

''Yes, mostly. Or the most beautiful parts of a person.'' The way he hesitated the latter, Rose felt herself blush without really knowing the reason why when moments again, she had been thinking deeply of the women's right movement and now, all she wished to do was inspect the inside of Jack Dawson's mind and sketches.

''I see,'' she smiled, ''such as eyes, you mean? A face.''

''Sometimes.''

Rose wished to comment further, but without actually seeing the pictures in question, she would have to wait to see what his means intended. ''I see.''

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the same tin as he had done earlier containing his cigarettes. He took one and placed it between his lips, rolling it about with his tongue for a second before he struck a match. Sensing Rose's eyes on him, he hesitantly held out his tin offering it to her.

''I don't suppose you do smoke?'' He puffed on his own cigarette; a cloud of smoke surrounded them before floating off into the air. The smell was wonderful and enticing.

''Occasionally.''

''Care for one?''

A little unsure, she fingered out a stubby little rolled cigarette and glanced at it. Jack sensed she had never smoked before, or if she did, it wouldn't be half as strong as the tobacco which he smoked, but still he allowed her to take it.

''Would you light it for me?''

''Sure.''

He took the cigarette from her fingers, placing his own lit end against the exposed tobacco of hers and within seconds it was glowing orange as he handed it back to her.

''Thank you.''

With a deep inhalation, smoke filled her young lungs. She didn't cough, splutter or do anything except for enjoy the taste. Any bits of stress which was lingering seemed to disappear momentarily. She didn't know if it was the cigarette, the air upon deck or the fact that she was with a total stranger but everything else seemed to fade away for the time being. She felt at ease, like a young girl should. To be in the company of someone her own age, someone who was interested in her views and words was very different and she had to enjoy it whilst she could, despite their differences.

''Where did you study art?''

Jack had started to take footsteps slowly away from the entrance and aft of the ship, Rose followed slowly beside him without even knowing that they had started to move.

''I didn't.''

''Oh?''

She exhaled the smoke again, allowing the breeze to take it away.

''No.'' He narrowed his eyes as he watched the way she walked, almost beside him but at a slower pace. ''We didn't have the money to go to school. Pops had me writing every day, reading every night and we would draw in the afternoons, go fishing, out on the farm. I learned everything I needed to.''

Smoke exhaled from her mouth, flowing out into the night air and off the side of the ship. The trail disappeared after a second or so before Jack's trail of smoke joined her own.

''Is that the only skills a man may need?''

''I would say so. he taught me other stuff; mainly how to work on the farm. To take care of myself. Handle myself in a fight and how to cook basic stuff but aside from what I have now, what else would I need? I carry everything I need with me. Air in my lungs. Blank sheets of paper. A change of clothes.''

''You make it sound so very simple.''

''Well, it is. I mean, what else could I need aside from a bath and finding a barber when the time comes.''

Rose smiled, as he moved the hair from his eyes and she was about to comment but couldn't, finding that when he flipped it away, she felt so very still outwardly but inside, her stomach soared.

''So, where exactly do you live?''

''Well, right now, my address is the RMS Titanic and after that, I'm on God's good humour.''

''How is it that you have such means to travel?''

''I make my way around the country on tramp steamers. I stowed away from New York to Italy and then, I just rode the rail through Europe. I met my friend Fabrizio in Paris, where I was just before I came to England.''

''Well, well, do you get around, for a poor-'' Rose ceased herself from speaking further, ashamed of just how utterly rude she had become.

''No, go on, you can say it. A poor guy.'' He laughed, and smiled with him.

''A-person of limited means.'' Rose corrected herself, not as smoothly as she would hoped to have.

''Well, that's the beauty of living on the streets. I'm like a tumble weed blowing in the wind.''

''And what was in Paris?''

''Well, I started in Montmartre, to see what the real artists were doing and it turned out, not so much. They didn't think too much of my work there; too busy with dottism and cubism and that stuff just has no heart. What I wanted to do was to experience the life there and then put it onto paper, do you know what I mean?''

''Yes.'' Rose hesitated, her fascination, growing. ''Well, no, but I can see the appeal of thoroughly submerging yourself into something so deeply.''

''They live so freely. Bohemians. They don't apologise for who they are. They smoke, they drink and they make love and there is no reason or need to explain anything to another damned person.'' Jack was so enthralled with his passion of Paris, that if he noticed Rose's cheeks simmer at the mention of making love, he said nothing and instead, he inhaled the last of the cigarette and discarded it overboard before thrusting his cold hands back into his pockets.

''So, I see that was the appeal for you.'' Rose raised an eyebrow, as she smoked her own cigarette which was now almost burnt out.

''The women out there were the most beautiful that I had ever seen. And that was another of the good things about Paris, lots of girls were willing to take their clothes off. They would just lay there, so open and raw and I was in awe of their confidence, of their vitality, y'know. I filled page after page and it was some of my better work just seeing how unapologetic they were. Flaws and all; they saw their own beauty.''

Feeling the stab of something within her belly, Rose threw her own cigarette overboard and came to a stop near the edge of the rail as it went down towards the Well Deck.

''I think you must have had several love affairs.''

''No, no, it was never like that.'' Jack laughed, coming to stop there with her.

At this moment, Rose felt he was her saviour. Just the sight of him before her seemed to be enough to make her feel safer than she had in a long time. Why was he the one to enable her to feel that way?

There was not one person out on the decks. It was slightly foggy and rained spitted now and again. The deck was illuminated slightly by the small lamps dotted about and they seemed to illuminate Jack's face in some ethereal way.

''What was it like then?'' her voice came out smaller than she expected it to.

''They were prostitutes. Some were living on the streets without so much as a drink of water or slice of bread.''

''Oh-oh,'' she stuttered, as though reality sank into her and the thought of these women made her feel grim. ''Well, you must have a gift, to truly see people.''

''I see you.''

''And?''

Jack said nothing. He simply came closer to her, his boots clattering on the wooden deck and then his hand was slowly reaching up to her face. She didn't wince; didn't even waver. His slight and delicate touch caused tingles but there was something else there; which made her eyes flicker closed.

''You wouldn't have jumped.''

Rose's eyes opened and met his; the concern and softness of his gaze melted her instantly but then she felt the urge to run and run, away from all of the frustration, the confusion and the pain. Everything which seemed to pin her down to Cal. She grabbed her dress in her left hand. This was what she had needed. Freedom.

She needed the freedom.

''Everybody thinks that I am delicate but I am not! That I must simply sit. Even you, you judged me to be such a person!''

Her body shook; adrenaline soaring through her entire body like an electric charge. Why must there be so many barriers for her? Why could they not be torn down in one single swoop to allow her to be as free as she possibly could be.

The few hours she had spent with Jack; speaking of their dreams, their fears and their lives, that had been the only time in her young life in which she had felt remotely free. He allowed her to be like that. He listened; he cared and watched her with such adoration at times that her stomach hurt.

'I know that you are not delicate,'' he responded, his voice low as he turned from the rail to her. They felt so far apart and the need to stand closer to him pulled at her. The wind howled at times as it blew, biting her stinging face and whipping her hair about. ''But-'' he went to continue but he stopped himself.

Rose's pale green eyes glazed over; the wind causing them to water and blur.

''Perhaps I did deserve to jump after all,'' Rose fired back, ''that would have shown them. I am the woman engaged to be married. I was the one who lied of my whereabouts. I lied to my fiancée and my mother. I allow the stranger to walk me unchaperoned about the deck. I was the one who has allowed myself to become swept away in—in-.'' Rose stopped. What was this? Certainly not a friendship and nothing more than an acquaintance for that matter and yet they knew more about the other than anyone else.

''There is nothing to be ashamed of.''

''No, but I have to take some of the blame. I haven't entirely felt myself since the morning we boarded Titanic. I felt as though I was about to be led to the stocks to be executed; I may as well have been, it led me to want to die. The sheer boredom, the lack of life within my world has driven me to want to jump from a moving ship.''

Jack remained silent as he listened. Did any other person ever listen to her? He already knew no one else ever had.

''You stopped that. You pulled me back from dropping to my death and when I decided to live; I almost fell and that was what scared me the most.'' She inhaled to take a shaky breath and it hurt her lungs. ''You saved me.''

Jack clasped his hands together in front of his stomach. The cold wasn't helping either of them but it felt as though they were rooted to the spot and this exchange between them was important; it would lead somewhere important. It would lead them to their destiny, somehow.

''I had to make sure that you were all right.''

Rose bit at her lip, her eyes blurred and the feeling of sheer vulnerability nipped at her.

''I told you that I was and that was a lie, I am sorry,'' she whispered. ''I said that I was all right and that your observations were clearly deranged.''

''Was that a lie as well?''

''Yes, but you already knew that, didn't you?''

Rose shifted her gaze out to the endless black sea. The colour was like hell when once she had loved the ocean and how it called out to her, as though it was her own saviour in times of need.

''Yes, it was a lie.''

There, the first barrier had been torn wide open.