Okay, so I'm gonna try really hard to keep this ff going but I do get really busy sometimes. This story popped in my head and fully honest, I'm kinda proud of it. So I'm gonna try to add chapters as often as I can. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

- Elizabeth Elfgrove

2 days later, it was Tuesday. They had sat at a coffee table with Mr. Brade in his house, discussing everything about this book, and that if she needed help she would have to find another survivor, but Cal was far too busy, and her mother would complain. Of course, nobody said that her mother would complain, but that maybe Ruth wasn't the best person for the job, but Rose knew what Mr. Brade meant. Cal spoke for her, since she never had control of her own life and even her own words in this level of society, which made her quite upset. But, she'd always tell herself that she'd figure it out, everything would be fine. Many times, she wished to stand up for herself, but she knew it was a godforsaken thing to do in her household. And sometimes, rumors spread like wildfire. She would've thought that by now, with all the things she had blurted out of her throat, Cal would've called the marriage off. Perhaps he was so controlling that he wouldn't, he just wanted to control her to her very last words.

Thursday...

She got into the car, and asked for the chauffeur to take her to the town square, but perhaps the artsy side of it. She'd need paper, pencils, pens, erasers, and in general the lot of it. She had insisted that she don't order it, but that she should go get it herself. Cal didn't seem too fond of the idea, of course, but surprisingly he let her. Little did he know that would be the biggest mistake he'd ever make. At least, for him.

She got out of the car, and asked the chauffeur to pick her up at 3:00 PM. If she was going to be in town by herself, she might as well have some fun while doing so. She walked around for a bit, before seeing a promising art shop. On a big board above the doors was the name, Dawson's Canvasity. She decided it was worth it to at least come in, and the moment she walked in, she knew she would be coming here to get her supplies. The paper was beautiful, as if created with a love of art. The pencils, pens, chalk, clay, canvases, everything. She smiled, then walked around, gathering stacks of paper, pens, pencils, erasers, and perhaps some pastels and markers for illustration, although she had no idea how she was gonna do illustration, she was rather horrible at art. Well, at the time. ( ;) )

She nearly jumped at a voice coming from the front desk, nobody had been there before and she was going to ring the bell. She gasped for a second, and then let out an embarrassed chuckle. "What did you say again?" She said, feeling bad that she was caught up in the jump scare that she didn't hear what the person said. "What are you writing? Seems like a lotta supplies." said the person. She turned around at this, and saw him. It was a young man, dirty blonde hair, blueish-green eyes, surely not rich, but levels of society never bothered her. They were all humans. "Oh, I um... I'm writing a book about my experience on Titanic. And about the ship. Someone hired me to." Rose replied. Jack whistled. "A whole book just 2 weeks after it sank. You were on it?" He said. Rose nodded. "So was I, I just wish they'd give everyone who lost some time to grieve instead of immediately announcing even more about the ship." He said. "Well, it wasn't exactly my decision." She said, partly laughing to not make the sentence sound so harsh. "Wait, you were on it too?" She asked. "Yes, yes I was." He said, looking down, and cleared his throat. She felt bad for the young man. Had he lost friends and family too?

"Well, what can I help you with?" he said with a smile. The smile seemed so full of light, so genuine. So happy to be in the presence of others. "I'd just like to buy all of these." She said, gesturing to what she was holding. She wasn't exactly looking forward to writing it. He gently took it out of her hands, and put it on the counter, calculating the cost. She caught view of a partly open sketchbook. "Is that yours?" She asked. He nodded. "May I look at it?" She said, eagerly. "Sure." He replied. She picked up the sketchbook, and turned to the first page. She gasped. It was a drawing of boys and girls in front of a schoolhouse playing.

"Why, these could almost pass for a photograph!" she exclaimed. "Thank you." He said, smiling. "Do you sell them? These are rather good." She said, turning the page once again. "I more draw them for myself, I only sell them if we can't afford food." He replied. So he sketched them for himself. He drew genuinely. He drew out of life. He drew because it made him happy. Happiness. Something Rose rarely experienced. Something she had longed for for so long. She pushed the thought out of her head. Everything will play out fine, She thought to herself. She came out of her own mind when the young man spoke again. "10 dollars and 13 cents." He said gently. He worked with patience and kindness. He was friendly to customers. He wasn't agitatedly taking customer's money and sending them away so he could do something else. He was carefree. He was free.

She wanted to be free. Oh, she wanted to be free so bad. To be free from the grips of Cal and her mother. To be free from First Class like on Titanic. The only nice lady from First Class on the Titanic was Margaret Brown. The Unsinkable Molly Brown, as they now called her. She was a plump woman, "New money." was what Rose's mother called her. Her husband had struck gold a few months before Titanic. Molly was carefree too. Rose suddenly had a flashback to when she leaned over the railing of the Titanic on that first night. She had been debating jumping off the back of the huge ship, straight onto the moving propellers and soon dipping into the freezing, hard, needle-like water. Her thoughts were again torn away when the young man snapped his fingers in her face.

"You good?" She heard him ask. "Oh, yes, sorry. 10 dollars and 13 cents?" She replied. He nodded. She reached into her pocket and grabbed a handful, and instead of giving him 10 dollars and 13 cents, she handed him 15 dollars. She didn't even care about money, so she might as well help him out if he needed it. He was kind. "You seem... restricted." He said. She didn't quite understand. "I don't think I quite understand, sir." She implied. "You seem like you're being held back from your happiness and your full potential. I've never seen anyone act like you, nor a high class lady come in here." He repeated in a different way. "And what makes you think I'm high class?" She said, semi-joking with her chin in the air. He smirked. "The way you walk, the way you talk, your clothes and hairdo give it all away. But, I don't know. You just seem... never mind." He said. Probably because I'm trained like that, she wished to say. But, that probably wouldn't end well.

"Well, I best get going. Good day." She said, and picked up her new supplies, and headed for the door. "Hey, wait. I didn't catch your name." She heard him call out behind her. "Rose. Rose Dewitt Bukater." She replied. "Well, I'm gonna have to get you to write that one down." He joked. "And yours?" She asked. "Jack Dawson." He said. "Well, good day, Mr. Dawson, I hope we meet again soon." She said with a laugh. "Have a good day, ma'am." He said with a bit of a laugh. She opened the door, smiling, and just had to look back behind her, and he was still looking at her, smiling right back. She nodded, and started off back down the path. That made her happy. He made her happy. She shook her head, you just met the young man, you don't know him, she thought. But I've never seen or met anyone like that.

She did some shopping, getting some new dresses and hair accessories, none of it really mattered to her, but it would make her mother in a good mood with her, so she bought them. Soon it was 3:00 PM, and she met the chauffeur at the same spot he dropped her off, and she climbed in the back. She started giggling, remembering him. Jack. Jack Dawson.