She was running.
Her grunts and heavy sobs sounded frantic to her ears and they frightened her deeply. That pricelessly pretty face of hers was damn well taking its toll and even her own mother would turn her head in disgust at the contorted expression she wore at that moment. Her heart bled anguish from her stormy eyes; so rough and nervous to the calm she usually was. Or, numb. However you wanted to look at it.
She thinks that this will be the death of her. She feels the cracking of her soul against the tightening of her corset every morning before breakfast; she feels her heart crash against her rib cage and smiles against the cry that threatens to wrench itself from the depths. If she can hold on, she tells herself - if she can just hold on a little longer, she will definitely not drown. But she just can't suck the air in anymore. She's exhaling too much and too fast for her body to catch up, but her legs will not stop running; won't even slow down, though she begs them - as though even her own body considered her wishes insignificant.
The sobbing quietens to short gasps and fade into breathlessness. Her lungs are on fire with protest and tell her to 'breathe - for the love of God - breathe!' but just before her eyes begin to slide out of focus, from the darkness there appeared a cliff. A high cliff with the sound of waves crashing far below in a more disturbing void than she has ever met before. But she is too tired to save herself now. She panics weakly and wistfully prays that the edge will not rise to meet her and the winds will pull her back from the seductive shadows.
Alas, she can no longer feel the ground beneath her. Her legs have carried her to her end and there is no one here but the great black mist swallowing her. With closed eyes, the tears finally broke with the silence and she squeezed them tight in terror. 'No...'
Suddenly, that was when she felt a peculiar sensation; a warmth enveloping her frozen form... The despair shrank confusingly and the woman felt a calmness return to her thundering heart. Once she had caught her rampant thoughts in a net and fished them back into her consciousness, she mused that death was surprisingly serene and even rather pleasant. It doesn't feel like falling anymore, but a gentle floating as the breeze kisses her exposed hands and neck, blowing escaped strands of auburn hair from its pins against her pale cheeks.
Still too afraid of what she might see, she relies on her other senses to guide her. She feels sunlight caress her face and turns her palms up to it, reaching out desperately, hoping that she doesn't have to be imprisoned in the shadows anymore. Her eye lids brightened steadily with the light she is too fearful of and she wants to cry with relief.
She isn't alone anymore; someone is there now - behind her, and he wraps his arms around her waist. She lets loose a soft sob, thankful that she won't fall...somehow she knows that he won't let her fall.
'...thank you!' she cries, smilingly.
'Do you trust me?' The man questions; his voice was serious and confident - it commanded her attention and asked gently for her answer. There was a softness in it that she trusted, and she answered surely and with complete faith.
'I trust you.' Her answer shook a little with anxiousness, but he heard the strength of her voice, and it told him firmly, that she placed her trust in him. With that, he covered his hands with each of hers and intertwined their fingers, bringing them close to her torso. She blushed, as he almost embraced her and he slowly guided her arms up and spread them out at her sides. She gasped, and dearly wanted to huddle her arms around her vulnerable body, but his fingers laced with hers begged her not too.
'Are you nervous?' He asks, but this time she catches a faint strain of amusement in his boyish timbre and is very tempted to smile with him.
'No.' she answers simply and frowns as she squints unfamiliarly at the sight laid out before her. The brightness of the day takes her with full force; the wispiness of the mist around her reminds her of clouds, and the orangey hue of the backdrop makes her think that if she were home, she would be getting ready for breakfast. It is at that moment that she realizes she is hanging dangerously in mid-air, with only a pair of flimsy arms supporting her! 'Oh!,' in panic she starts to flail, and the man grabs her wrists as she turns, He laughs heartily as she buries her head in the crook of his neck. His chest rumbles as he continues to chuckle and she has closed her eyes again, tightly. He holds her close and she feels safer than she's done in a long time.
'Rose! Miss Rose - please wake up! we'll have none of your shenanigans this morning! there's twenty minutes 'til breakfast and Madam Ruth will not have any of it! Come along, now!' Sarah bustled as she rushed in and out of the closet with the day's dress wear and undergarments. Rose bolted up-right facing the varnished headboard and spun, bewildered by the abrupt end of her bizarre adventure. She found herself in a sweat-soaked bed, in her own room and facing the shining morning light through her large windows.
'What?...oh. Sarah, for pities sake - don't fuss, it's not impossible to be ready in ten minutes...' distractedly, Rose bailed the warmth of her covers and quietly paced the room to the bathing room and went about her daily rituals. Sarah, watched astoundedly as her mistress brushed and washed, helping where needed before tending to the correct lacing of the tedious undergarments of upper-class ladies. She often mused that, the clothing must probably be tedious in order to warrant the assistance of maids because it was a sure way of telling the upper class from the poor working class; working folk had no use for complex clothing whatsoever.
'Come on Miss Rose, let's get you to breakfast!' soundlessly, Rose obeyed and stood from the chair that faced her vanity. She stared at the reflection, not seeing much in it and headed toward the doorway, remembering fadedly the eyes that were the same colour of clear skies on a summers day.
'Sarah, I'll be needing my coat and things - I will be taking a walk today.' Rose stated over her shoulder before leaving the room entirely. Curtseying in acknowledgement, Sarah wondered what had gotten into her young mistress.
XXXXX
The Previous Evening. . .
'You know I don't like that, Rose.' a slithering insidiousness came, from across the expansive drawing room. It's walls were a bright and lustrous green with flower designs in the dove-white coving, offering peace and comfort. It was really too bad that the only comforting Rose took from this room was locked steadfastly within its colour and not in her companion that evening.
'Mother, she was pretentious. I find it tiresome when ladies condescend that way.' Rose replied, keeping her eyes on the book with a studied air of concentration, to hide the anxiety she felt around this woman that was her mother.
'Regardless. If you and Cal Hartley are to be joined, we must keep up immaculate relations - at least until the wedding is over.' Ruth reasoned before sipping her lemon tea. Rose flinched invisibly at the word that sagged in the air.
Marriage.
'Surely, the m-...that...will take time to proceed with? Surely we don't expect him to drop to a bended knee and propose within the fortnight, or something!' Rose chuckled nervously. It was then, that Madam Bukater placed the polished china down with a gloved hand and met Rose's eye, with steely nerve. Rose knew that look very well indeed. It held a maternal oppressiveness that exceeded the strength of the walls that encased her, like the keeping of a delicate porcelain doll that she was. Everything inside Rose roared with indignancy as she prepared for her existence to change. Everything she knew would change with those moving lips of Ruth Dewitt Bukater.
'Your marriage has already been finalized between our families. For a few months at least. This was a business agreement between your father and Cal's father. Cal has been recently informed and gladly accepts your hand, that I had promised on your behalf. At the Hallows Eve Ball, your engagement will be officially announced. You will wear the red evening gown, dear. I'll have Sarah make the necessary amends.'
'Months...my marriage has been arranged for months! and you finally tell me now?' Rose outraged, jumping to her feet in disdain. Ruth but moved to pick up her tea, again, obviously not wanting it to get cold. 'I can't believe you mother! how could you do this to me?' Rose cried.
'On the contrary, I did this for you.' Ruth narrowed her eyes at Rose's heaving state and motioned immediately to calm her foolish daughter. 'You are aware of the situation this family is in, are you not?' Ruth went on, deathly calm.
Rose began to shiver with the conundrum of unleashed sobs. Instead of breaking, she glanced momentarily into the fire, seeking out the flames for the warmth and defense they provided.
'Your father has drank away our fortune! Your inheritance - do you even comprehend where that leaves us! Do you think you can still afford to keep maids and beautiful gowns and expensive furnishings? Are you so blind, that you don't see that we have nothing to our name? Mr. Hartley Senior is willing to protect us the way your own father can't. No, your father lies listlessly in bed - waiting to crawl back to the drink that toils with all our lives! You ignorant girl!' Ruth chinked the china onto its saucer and turned away from Rose, barely containing her frost-like rage. 'retire for the night...my poor nerves have had more of you than I can bear.'
Rose watched sadly as her mother remained looking at the wall, knowing full well that her tirade had served no favors. Of course, no one knew better than Rose, the business with her father...or, felt it wash over her heart before she went to sleep at night. Rose was her daddy's little girl and no matter how she blossomed and changed, Mr. Bukater was now only a bittersweet memory of the love they once shared.
Ruth kept him in a room on the other side of the estate, attended solely by his nurse and sat with him every evening for a half hour. Rose had visited often at first but stopped going after the third time he had tried to beat her. His drunken ways having shriveled his strength and glazed his bloodshot stare to a poorly concealed ruse that he was looking at you when you spoke to him. He was very easy for Rose to evade, but it broke her heart to have to do it in the first place and she wound up with a bruise or two anyhow. Oh, yes - Rose knew what was troubling her once pristine home. There lingered ghosts of past miseries and sore hearts in the rooms she walked as a child. She walks them now, as a young woman; a slave to the name she was born to, and a prisoner to the family that owned her.
Rose let the depravity drown her for once, as she walked the darkened corridors toward her bedroom and bit down on her lip to stop it from trembling. She was conflicted: what was asked of her was something her spirit shrank away from. She was cornered and there was nothing she could do about it. As Sarah silently helped Rose out of her clothes, she put on a frothy lace night gown and removed the pins from her hair methodically, shaking out her luscious curls from their up-styled combs and clambered into bed. She lay awake that night after Sarah had blown out the last candles, just listening to herself breathe. As Ruth had forcibly reminded her before, her obligation was to the family and her own wishes were menial and rather trivial in the "grand scheme of things". She drifted along a dark stream of thoughts that night and eventually sunk deep into the mattress, quite literally hoping to be swallowed up before morning came.
XXXXX
The lake shimmered dazzlingly in the mid-morning sun of this October day. Many people enjoyed riding bicycles and mothers taking their children in their strollers along the banks. As the cold air nipped at their naked flesh, many took the care to bundle up warmly. Rose fashioned a pale pink coat that reached down to her calves. The black vine embroidery at her collar and shoulders made her the envy of a few young women she politely acknowledged on her way. With her hands clasped at her lower back, she walked unseeingly along - not really noticing the splendor and far too engrossed by the nightmare on her private plane of existence. The Autumn leaves waltzed in the air, like an array of dancing couples in an endless ballroom. The amber and blood shades of leaves pranced the ground as the wind swept them up in swirls of mini hurricanes of vivid colour.
XXXX
In all his 22 years of life, he had never seen a more beautiful girl. And he could even boast at seeing at least a dozen girls he'd sketched on his travels - even as far as Europe. His eyes followed, mesmerized, as she stopped a little further down the bank and leaned one gloved hand against a tree, gazing out at the water and a slight frown marring her pretty porcelain face. Barely taking his eyes off the angelic creature, he drew a fresh page from his sketch book and began her outline, wishing reverently that she might stay like that for a good half hour...
After twelve minutes, the hairs on her neck stood on end - but she'd known she was being watched before that had happened. The frown that tainted her was now from annoyance more than anything. She glanced at him, as he glanced down at his lap in the same moment - both aware that the jig was up. She was used to being appreciated, even gawked at sometimes - but today was not a normal day. In fact, it was a really, really BAD day and this poor sod, was going to be the blame of it all. She seethed at his obliviousness to his prevailing doom and immediately walked toward him, not making eye contact at all.
'You sir, are extremely rude!' She began hotly, looking down at this fair haired man that was squatting on the far side of the bank. He was dressed in a careworn jumper and light brown raincoat, with a cigarette poised between his lips. He glanced up at her before adding a few touches to the picture and standing up - throwing the cigarette to the ground.
'I'm ah, really sorry Miss, if I offended you.' He twanged in a softer accent than that of a native New Yorker. He shuffled his papers distractedly as the woman took in his appearance - snootily, he imagined.
'Offended me? You've been watching me, for most of the time I've been at this park! I am beyond offended!' She jutted out her chin in defiance, her cheeks warmed and her eyes sparked, as this man seemed to stare at her in a less that polite way; sort of like he was observing her quietly. It unnerved her almost as much as Ruth did.
'Believe me, Miss - it was unintentional, I meant no harm by it. I'll leave, if that'll make you feel better...' Rose scoffed, and instead of walking away as she had originally planned, she held out a gloved palm and gave him an expectant look.
'Give it to me. The picture - I want it. Now.' She ordered him, only to watch him raise his eye brows and fail to hide a smirk as he innocently made to open the portfolio.
'Are you absolutely sure, you wanna see this?' He asked in a mock serious tone, 'Cause if you do, be prepared - I don't want the blame for anymore trouble...' he peeled out the dreaded paper in question and handed it to her.
Rose found herself confused and gazing at something she really did not expect. Further to that, what confused her most of all was the poignant sadness in her heart at what she saw. She hurts, deep inside and feels more lost than before she had noticed this strange man.
'...What is this, some kind of joke?'