Cal is back in all his hotness, lol. ;) I missed him last chapter...Anyway, sorry for lack of steady updates (again!) But I think about this story at school, at work...I can't wait to have it all written. :) Pretty happy with this chapter; let me know what you guys think if you want. :D Thank you guys so so much for all the great reviews; you guys rock! :D
Cal could not think, breathe.
Rose could not think, breathe.
He was still so shocked, so whirl-winded. She...she was alive! She...she was really here! If this was just some sick, cruel joke, some sick twisted dream, he thought, God was cruel.
Along with his shock, and...somehow...happiness...immense, immense happiness.....there was anger. Hurt. This was such typical Rose...he could not fathom she had faked her own death, just to escape him. And her mother.
How could one girl be so selfish, so self-centered, as to put two people through such unimaginable suffering, no matter who they were? But of course, she had always been that way...always thinking of herself before others...And...looking closer, judging from her dress and appearance...she looked like a common whore. A prostitute!
But still...seeing her up close, after only seeing her in blissful dreams and every waking moment, his heart pounded as he looked at her. Despite her injuries, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
Somehow, as if in a fog, he longed to kiss her, embrace her. The notion was both wonderful and repulsive all at once.
Looking at her, he was lost for words. What the hell was he supposed to say? What...what was he supposed to do?
Rose, for her part, was shocked. How the hell did he, of all people, manage to find her, when she so didn't want to be found, had done all the right things, had covered all of her tracks. How? She almost felt like crying.
Looking at him up close, he was as handsome as ever, dressed in a suit, hair down and gel-free, and he looked just as shocked as her. Scared.
Of course, he was on business, she assumed. He had always taken such trips during their engagement, much to her pleasure.
Still. She could not believe it. Heart pounding, she looked at him. He looked at her, and finally, he spoke.
"You...You're alive," he said quietly, cursing his voice for cracking.
She looked back at him, and finally, she spoke. "Yes," she said stiffly.
He looked at her, and cursed his heart for pounding so hard he felt sure she could hear it. "One question...how? And...and whatever are you doing here, of all places?"
Hating herself for answering, not running away, she, somehow, found herself answering. "I...I hid from you, on the Carpathia. I faked my own death. And I...I...my goal was to find a job, but after much difficulty, I...I turned to prostitution. I...I wanted to gain money, to...move...to Santa Monica."
Why in the hell had she just told him all of that?
He looked at her, and suddenly, he was smirking. "Of...of course you did. Of course."
Suddenly he spoke again. "For how long?"
The silence hung between them like a fog, impenetrable. "Maybe two-three months today, at least."
He looked at her, and she felt like she was drowning in his eyes. Then suddenly, he moved, and she was so frightened, so bewildered, she gasped.
He bent down, on one knee, and gently offered his hand to her. Stiffly, she accepted, and he was pulling her up, steadying her. Her head was still spinning from the reality of it all, the sheer volume of the situation. The sheer irony.
Finally he spoke. "My...my hotel is not far from here. I...I leave tomorrow evening. Come with me. I...you are in no condition to return to work this evening, and you...you look like hell."
Eyes flashing, she almost insulted him back, but instead, let herself be led away by him.
As they walked, she fantasized about running away, fleeing, running back to the brothel. But then she thought: Sleeping in that dirty, rat-infested building for another lonely night, or sleeping in a luxurious, warm hotel? The decision was an easy one, though not one she made happily.
They walked, and suddenly, he was taking off his coat and wrapping it around her securely. She almost appreciated the protection of her modesty as she realized he was hailing a cab. As she got in, her heart pounded.
The ride to his hotel, of course the biggest, flashiest, fanciest hotel in New York, was long. Too long. She could feel his eyes upon her, and she tried to avoid his gaze. Why wouldn't her heart stop pounding?
Soon enough, after an eternity, they arrived. He paid the driver, they got out, and soon enough they were on the fourth floor, the suite.
He opened the door, and the black room beckoned them. She suddenly had a derisive vision of him murdering her, simply hacking her body into little pieces, strangling her, stabbing her...the list went on and on.
He hit the light switch, shut the door, and she suddenly flung his coat off of her, so repulsive was it. She didn't need anything from him.
Instantly, she regretted the decision. Her already-immodest dress was completely ripped open, exposing her undergarments (or lack thereof), and she had never felt more unclothed.
Instantly, she saw him go to the decanter and pour himself a glass of amber liquid. God how she longed to escape...but her knees, legs, felt like jelly. Wobbly.
He turned towards her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze head-on.
But she couldn't seem to stop the inevitable blush.
As he looked at her, somehow she felt something in the pit of her stomach...something odd. Something almost akin to a crazy excitement at the sight of him, his eyes upon her, scanning her body, lingering on her...but of course that was absurd...Goodness, what was wrong with her? She felt ill. She felt like fainting.
Rose blushed as Cal took in her appearance more closely-her torn dress, her undergarments showing, and the bruise now squarely on her face, as well as her split lip. She felt naked, somehow, in front of him-and she may have well have been.
He noticed her blush, and, to her surprise, averted his eyes and focused on her eyes.
"Does this sort of-thing happen often to you, Rose?"
She grimaced at him. He had no right to pry into her own personal life, not after everything he had ever done to her on Titanic...
Realizing he was expecting an answer, she spat, "No, never to this level. Now will you please just shut up and leave me alone!"
He only smirked. "Ever the martyr, aren't you, Rose darling?"
She only glared at him. "I honestly don't even see why you're so concerned at what that man could have done to me...after all, I thought him very similar to you. I mean, you yourself aren't above such conduct..."
To her surprise, he started smiling bitterly, and rolling his eyes heavenward as he laughed, she saw a brief flash of pain in his eyes and cross his face, before he turned his eyes on her again.
"Oh, and I see you are ever grateful to the end, Rose. Not to mention, spoiled, selfish, self-centered, narrow-minded, independent to the point of laughter, stubborn, bratty, and...well, I suppose we can actually add whore literally to the list now, darling," he said.
She seethed. "You bastard! How dare you! Me? Me self-centered and-"
He came close to her and gripped her shoulders firmly, though it was not a tight grip, nor even an alarming one. She could smell his cologne, and hated that it smelled good. "Yes, you are you insolent girl! Did you ever, ever stop to think, through our entire engagement, that I loved you, had feelings for you, wanted to give you the entire world, wanted you to at least talk to me? But no, you never gave me a chance, and had to go running off with that-that gutter rat and treat me like a piece of garbage. And did you ever stop to think of the suffering you put your mother and I through? I...I looked for you. I wanted to repair the damage, the rift between us so terribly. I would have done, said, been anything for you. All for you, you ungrateful little brat, and do you even know what it did to me, to look and not find you, to think, to realize that you were...you were dead? Do you? Not to mention your mother...That evening, I went into my little room and drank myself into a drunken stupor."
Here he lifted up his sleeve, and Rose saw a deep, sickening looking jagged red gash. He smiled. "I did that to myself, darling. I did. I drank so much that it didn't even hurt initially. To remember, to realize, to know that you were dead and I would never get to marry you, that you were just a faceless body somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic. That was all I could think of. And it consumed me. I could not even comfort your mother properly...I was too numb to do anything. She was inconsolable...and as for me...late at night I went out and just stared into the ocean. I was numb to the world.
"And do you even know how it felt to have to bury you, to feel the pain of losing you forever? And to remember your words, remember how you hated me, always had..."
Here he seemed to stop, breathing hard. But it was only a mere moment later before he started speaking again.
"And really, Rose, you are so stupid! You'd rather be a whore literally than live with me, live any sort of life of comfort. And what happened to you tonight was a very close call...I'd not be surprised if you have more of these sorts of confrontations in the future. But of course, you're so stubborn and stuck-up you think you know everything, know absolutely everything when you are nothing more than a defenseless, stubborn girl! You're never grateful for anything anybody ever does for you..."
Stopping somewhat, he only looked at her for what seemed a long while before speaking. "You know, Rose, you could very well end up dead for real if you keep this up. And if that's what you want to happen, then by all means, keep it up. But just know that eventually, nobody will help you." Laughing slightly, he looked at her, though it was not a happy laugh. "And in your little outburst, you forgot my name. It's unimaginable bastard, darling."
Rose only looked at him, stunned. She still hated him, still couldn't reconcile herself with him..but...it struck her. He...he really had loved her. Perhaps did love her, though his insults spoke otherwise. But still...
She only spewed forth the venomous words she had always longed to say, and now finally could. "Well even being a whore is much better than ever being your wife."
He only blinked and finally, smirked, though she could sense it was somehow forced. "Well Rose darling, if you need some more money, you'll have to earn it from me. I'd be very willing to...how shall I put this...sample your jewel that is more precious than life, but even you probably aren't worth that much."
She seethed inwardly, though she could feel her face flush, both from embarrassment and anger.
"You really are an unimaginable bastard, aren't you?" She finally said.
He only laughed as he took another draught of alcohol, the golden liquid swirling in the glass. Rose was somehow mesmerized as she watched it...how wonderful it would be to just disappear inside, from this room, and never return...
Finally standing in silence for a good long while, she finally spoke again. "You know, you could at least apologize, for how you acted on Titanic."
His eyes flashed, and he only looked at her. "You really are such a self-centered little fool, Rose. You could apologize for what you did, though I know you never will. And fine, I'll say it. I am sorry, Rose. I truly am. But if the fact that I looked for you fails to tell you that I am, I don't know what else could."
The truth of the statement hit her, especially when she remembered how he had mistaken another woman with scarlet hair for her, how dejected he had been after realizing, how hopeful before...
As he stared at her, she felt again that flush of something hot and vital over her. A particularly painful jab in her lip made her start and quickly put her hand to her mouth, gasping.
He came over to her and took out his handkerchief. "Sit down, Rose," he said gently.
Hating obeying him, she did so, stiffly, and was stunned at how gentle he was as he wet it in the sink and came back and sat beside her, pressing the cool cloth against her face.
"Don't pout, Rose darling. I know you quite like to, but that won't help it feel better."
Glaring at him, she relaxed her face and closed her eyes as his warm hands gently tipped up her chin and he pressed and dabbed the cool cloth against her face.
Eyes snapping open, she was shocked. Why was he being so tender?
He felt ridiculous, shocked. Why the hell was he being so tender?
Finally, dabbing her face one final time and pressing her wound hard enough that he sincerely hoped it did cause her a bit of pain, he put the cloth on the table in front of the couch.
Cal was quiet.
Rose was quiet.
Finally, he spoke. "Rose...I...I don't quite know how to say this, ask...so I just will. This...this is no way to live. I can't even imagine why you would want to...Come back to Philadelphia with me. We...there would be no obligation, no marriage, no commitment. No strings attached. Just...I...I will not be your antagonist, your jailer, Rose."
She stared at him, shocked. Go back to...with him?
He stared at her. Finally she spoke. "No...No. I...If you want to help me, you...you can buy me a ticket to Santa Monica."
He scoffed. "Oh goodness Rose, you are so childish, as childish as ever. So damn naïve. You really think Santa Monica wouldn't be the same situation you are living in now, if not worse, simply because it's Santa Monica?"
She sat stiffly, hating the fact that he was probably right. But still...she was stubborn. Santa Monica would be simply magical, simply perfect. Wondrous...
He smirked finally as he took another drink. "Fine, Rose darling. If you really have your heart set on Santa Monica, I will buy you your ticket for it first thing tomorrow. I truly will. You have my word. I will even give you some start-up money. But, once that money runs out, and you are desperately searching for a job, and nobody is willing to help you, and you are stuck, as you are now, if you write to me, begging for help, a rescuer, a savior, I will not help you. It is your decision; frankly, at this point, I do not care which you choose."
He got up, refilling his glass. He smirked at her, winking. "I'd offer you one, but you are still technically on the job, or am I right?"
She scoffed, rolling her eyes. He was so damn sick!
She thought. And thought. And thought. And thought. Part of her, well, really, all of her, wanted nothing more than to take his blessed offer and be on the first train to California tomorrow. She would prove herself, become a famous actress, and write to him, laughing in his face that she had won.
But...damn. The horrible realization, the vision of her being jobless, starving, without hope, half-dead, only this time in California, and not New York, struck her. What if he was right?
Digging her nails into her thighs, she groaned inwardly, absolutely despising her decision.
It would almost be like Beauty and the Beast, remembering the old book of fairy tales her favorite governess, Martha, had read to her when she was a little girl. She had always liked that story most.
She hadn't even realized she had spoken aloud until he looked at her, face expressionless, almost serious.
Then he smirked, winking at her. "Rose, you are nothing if not entertaining, my darling."
Finally, somehow, in the end, some way, she found herself saying yes.