I remember that time you told me, you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine, 'cause
Part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
― Joni Mitchell
Rose's fingers refused to stay warm, white in places where they should have been red. They looked like porcelain to her, too fragile to reflect everything she'd used them for while on the Titanic, and too intact to belong to someone in need of repair. Although no one else could see it, she felt as though she'd been split in two. Her hands had become as colourless as her feelings, drained of their potency until they had ceased to produce a visible response from her at all. On the outside, she looked as lifeless as a statue. She couldn't help but stare at her fingers in an attempt to gauge how long it would take to regain the strength she'd hidden within them, too numb to register anything but grief, allowing it to seep into her skin as slowly as the water she'd been saved from. When she had grown tired of staring at her hands, she'd inspect faces instead, finding pieces of herself stitched into every person in range of her stare. For the first time in her life, she could see herself in almost every passenger on board the Carpathia, every sound, colour, and sensation too overwhelming to acknowledge. It felt wrong to her in the worst way possible. She used to feel adrift in the company of other people, physically present but not entirely there, analyzing the mechanics of her life in silent contemplation. If she allowed herself to think about it for too long, she knew she'd lapse into memory, trapped in a place where agency didn't exist, watching her life drift by while being completely untouched by it. Surrounded by strangers, Rose finally understood what living felt like. Something inside of her clicked into place and she nearly screamed in realization of it, drawing the blanket she'd been given up and over her head in attempt to shield herself from everyone else. Her heart felt like a caged thing, beating loudly behind her ribcage in protest of being locked up, flooding her ears with sound. It wasn't loud enough to engulf the cacophony of noises that lapped around her like ripples, noises originating from women and children unable to contain their discontent. Her grip on the blanket tightened in response to it, an unconscious act that reddened her knuckles until they looked as bright as her hair had become in the sunlight, too enflamed to remain that way for long. One by one, her emotions resurfaced again, staining everything she saw, smelled, and touched like blood, impossible to remove. Her perception of reality regained its vibrance and she shuddered violently, counting every breath that passed through her mouth in an attempt to remain calm.
She had never felt so alone before. The reality of it struck her like a bolt of lightning, siphoning her strength until she felt entirely depleted of it. Her life had felt rehearsed before she had boarded the Titanic, a production filled with endless costume changes and meaningless exchanges, living in constant preparation for a role she had been forced to accept simply because she had been told to. Her mother's face drifted to the forefront of her mind, embodying everything she had come to associate with her former life. It was impossible to picture her on the Carpathia but she managed to nonetheless, knowing beyond doubt that she'd mourn her disappearance in more ways than one. She could still feel her mother's fingers coercing the air from her lungs, waiting in resignation to hear her voice again as though it were an sermon, something she had grown accustomed to listening to on a daily basis. When she opened her eyes, her mother's face had vanished into thin air. Although their relationship had been constructed on the basis of Rose's engagement to Cal, they had grown used to relying upon one another in the aftermath of her father's death. The only physical indicator of her mother's influence was the dress she wore, a subtle reminder of the wealth she'd been told to place her faith in. Rose's faith remained in people. Without her wealth, she'd have nothing but the clothes on her back and an education favouring the elite, a discipline that had no place in a social circle so far detached from the one she'd been raised in. She knew she'd struggle at first but her fear of being found was worse. Marrying Cal would reinforce her mother's hold on her. Their engagement had been a lock and her mother had promised him the key. She'd miss the conveniences of her old life, but freedom tasted sweeter. Rose forced herself to breath a little easier, imagining New York City instead of Cal's heartless bribes, recreating Lady Liberty's golden torch in her mind's eye until it felt real to her, more substantial than anything he had ever persuaded her into doing. As her fears began to fade, Rose thought of Jack. Her fingers started to regain their warmth.
She knew she'd lack the strength to speak of him for a very long time. The loss of her former lifestyle felt insignificant in comparison to the hole he'd made in her life, a dark, gaping pit that felt bottomless, a place she'd hide her memories inside of until everything about her had turned a subtle shade of grey. She didn't think it was possible for a person to impact someone's life so quickly, but she knew in her heart that Jack had touched her soul, leaving pieces of himself scattered within her very person like stars, constellations she'd reflect upon in moments of quiet deliberation. Without realizing it, Rose had knitted her fingers together in her lap, allowing herself to imagine his hand around her own, sharing his warmth in the same way he'd share his thoughts and feelings, always considerate and kind. She hated how the world would move on without him. It felt like a cruel joke to her, one she didn't think he'd deserved. His vivacity for life had been contagious, something she'd continue to savour in an attempt to preserve some of it for herself, trapping it between her hands so it wouldn't escape. Jack had been in love with life. His face lingered in her mind until she could hardly stand the thought of it, struggling to remember how blue his eyes had been or how neatly his fingers had fit between her own. Her memories of him would continue to fade, white at the edges like photographs exposed to light for too long. At some point, she'd fail to recall his voice, straining to understand every syllable that slipped though his lips, pressing her mouth against his own so she could taste them. Everything she'd come to know about him had been as transient as their time together. Rose wanted to pull him from her memories and into reality, piecing him together until he stood before her completely intact, but her recollections were imperfect, failing to capture just how vibrant he'd been in life. Although her hands had regained their warmth, they couldn't replace his own. The promise she'd made rang through her head over and over again, piercing the air around her as loudly as a gunshot, forcing her to acknowledge just how broken she'd become, reluctant to survive in a world without him in it. As alone as she was, she refused to accept defeat.
Cal's voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked up, securing her blanket a little more firmly around her face. Being alone was preferable to being his wife. Living inside of her head had never been a problem, an act she'd perfected long ago in an attempt to maintain her grip on reality. Cal embodied everything she no longer desired to possess, displaying his wealth for everyone to see like the diamond he'd given to her, too large to fit on the pedestal he'd constructed for himself. As he vanished from sight, Rose couldn't help but smile. Her life had never been her own. The greatest gift she'd received was knowing that if she tried hard enough, it could be. Rose pulled the blanket from her head, watching as it slowly sank to the ground. Her hair flew around her face in a gust of wind, slightly damp from the sea, burning in the sunlight as brightly as a flame. Letting go had never been an option. She'd hold on until her fingers felt strong again, riddled with marks from the life she'd lead, proof that she'd upheld her promise. Instead of fearing the unknown and everyone that lived within it, she'd meet it head on. Her smile was a small one, but she'd remember the feeling of it long after it had faded away, significant in its acknowledgment of something better. Tears began to slide down her cheeks and she finally allowed herself to cry, freeing her heart from the cage she'd locked it in. Rose saw Jack in her mind's eye, sweeping his gaze across the bridge of her nose and over the curve of her mouth in the same way he'd done so the first time, memorizing every feature that decorated her face as though he were afraid she'd vanish before his eyes. If he had seen her then, she knew he'd smile at her. There was little she could do in defiance of memory, but she tried her best to integrate that moment into every second of her life. Jack had given her a chance to redeem herself and she refused to waste it.
A/N: I used to watch Titanic over and over again when I was a child, but I never really understood the weight of it. After a re-watch, it's truly horrifying. I doubt I'll write anything for it again because it doesn't feel incredibly right to do so, but I can relate to Rose in my own way and I wanted to write something from her perspective. If anyone ever reads this, I hope you enjoy it for what it is.