It is by Sarah 15 March 2004

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, James Cameron does. No connections with him or any other for that matter.

Rose had always wanted to see Paris, but not like this. It felt to her that they were visiting Paris only because that was the custom. It was the custom of her scene. This is where her scene met! They met on the Ascots, in the fashionable shops in Paris and by the pyramids in Egypt. Rose had never personally been to Egypt, but she knew plenty who had. And the funny thing was they talked about it like it was necessity, just to say I was there…
   And now, like a mindless child she was being dragged from one museum to the next. But Rose had always enjoyed art in some form or another. But the old clumsy paintings did not appeal to her. They did not speak. Her mother did speak, not about the painting but about the other people visiting the museum.
   - There is Mrs Werths; she held the most dreadful dinner party last year… The food was a complete disaster.
  Rose bit her tongue and tried not to panic. This was her life. Trapped with a narrow minded mother as only company and… At that moment Caledon stepped beside her and took her arm. He did not either enjoy art, but to please future mother in law he had taken them to the famous museum. He had even bought Rose several pieces from an artist of the street. He had laughed her straight into his face and made fun of her the entire day. She had no taste blah blah… Don't dare to put these finger paintings up in our home, Rose! They would scare away our guests, unless this Picasso character become famous of course…
  This was the man that she was going to marry, a man that did not respect her. And now he was walking down the gallery with her, her arm resting steadily on his. She looked with delight when they entered the modern art section. But Caledon sighed and directed her away from it.
   - Not the finger-paint section Rose, what would you mother say about it?

Her hat was thrown on the sofa where she sat and held a painting by Picasso in her knee. She examined it, the dancing ballerina. She had danced herself in the past, but the stiff forms of ballet could not make express her feelings. Everything in her world was so stiff. So organized. The mindless painting that they called art, the dancing and the conversation… How do you do Miss DeWitt Bukater? I'm fine thank you. Tears were beginning to form in Roses blue eyes. This was her life, no matter how much she hated it. She knew she would have to deal with it. But she knew she couldn't. How could she hang on when there was nothing to hang on to? Everyone took her for granted, they took everything for granted! She threw Degas down on the floor and walked quickly over the floor in her luxurious hotel room. She threw herself on the bed and started shaking. Could she call it all of? Could she? But she remembered her mother words: It you don't marry him we'll end out on the streets! Could she do that to her mother? But could she do it to herself? She cried quietly. It must not end like this, she hoped. This is not my life!

She had fallen sleep and she awoke when someone knocking on her door.
- Rose?
She could hear her mothers voice coming on the other side of the door. She arose quickly and went to open the door. Her mother looked stunned when the door was opened. Dressed in a blue dress featuring light grey lace. A string of pearls lay around her neck.
- What on earth has happened Rose? Close the door quick before someone sees you!
Rose did as she requested.
- I fell asleep mother. I was tired after visiting the museum.
Her mother nodded and walked over to her wardrobe where the maid Trudy has hanged all her clothes with care. The jewels on her mother's rings glommed as she searched among the dresses. Then she pulled one out and handed it over to Rose.
- Now put this one and join us for dinner downstairs. And put on some rouge, you look pale!
Then her mother disappeared out of the room and Rose was left alone with the dinner dress. She sighed, started undressing knowing that it would be yet another horrible evening.

On the plate laid before her was a tiny little fish with a lemon stuck in its mouth. The sight of it made her feel ill. She looked around at the others at the table. They all seemed to have a great time and ate with appetite. Rose felt disgusted, and she knew it wasn't just for the horrible fish. She put down her fork and knife on the table.
- Aren't you hungry dear?
Caledon whispered into her ear.
- No…
- But you haven't eaten all day. Rose, please eat something!
- But I'm not hungry.
- Rose, eat your fish for god sake!
- But I said I was not…
- Eat!
She looked at him trying not to give him a disgusted look. Then she picked up her knife and fork and started eating her fish, as he pleased. She was his pet dog; it was like he had burned her in her forehead with a mark. This was not her life. It was his.

Rose was sick all day after that dinner. Her mother was not pleased when she was forced to cancel the appointment with the seamstress. But she couldn't do anything about it since Rose was in bed, sweating and throwing up constantly.
- Wedding nerves, had Ruth told Cal, I was the same when I married Rose's father.

- Take it in another five inches.
Her mother walked around Rose and looked at the dress carefully. The assistant pinned the dress even more and Rose could feel all the needles sticking into her body. They wanted to kill her. They wanted to kill her with not just their words and ways - but with their innocent weapons as well. The seamstress looked pleased at Rose.
- Does it fell all right Mademoiselle?
Rose nodded, even if the dress were so tight that she could hardly breathe. But could she complain? No! Who on earth could she even speak her mind. What was there to speak about since no one would ever listen? They never did!
- Excellent!
Her mother stood with her hands clapped together and admired Rose with a strange look on her face, she almost looked pleased.
- It will surely do to wear at the engagement ball in two weeks! I almost got a heart attack thinking what would happen if it wouldn't be finished! Oh Madame Ouville, you will get it finished do you? You are our only hope in this matter!
- How long are you staying in Paris Madame?
- Another three days and then we head for London.
Madame Ouville nodded.
- Oh yes, it will be done in time I assure you.

Her mother lingered at Madame Ouville´s so Rose walked around the shop, admiring the beautiful creations. She liked clothes, but not like her mother. Her mother seemed obsessed. Rose took down a hat, it was a wonderful creation. A broad dark green piece with lots of feathers, green feathers. She loved feathers. They seemed so free. When she breathed it like Tumbleweed flowing in the wind. She put it gently down on her head and pulled down the veil and stared into the mirror. She looked so old. So worn. And yet she was only seventeen.

Cal was standing so close. She couldn't back either, since she was stuck to a wall.
- Come on Rose…
She smiled briskly and tried getting away. She sneaked under his arm and was almost at the door when she heard: - Don't leave me so unsatisfied… He grabbed her arm and pulled her closely to her and kissed her. Rose felt another burst of disgust plunging over her. His hands started to touch her back. Rose put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him away. He looked quizzed at her.
- Not yet, not yet…
And then she left the room.

The left Paris the next morning, heading for London where Cal had some business before they were leaving for Southampton. They were taking the Titanic home, only the biggest and luxurious was good enough for Caledon. So he had to take the largest moving object on the world home. And at home waited her new life. Her world and her scene. And her marriage.

London was rather cold, not like Paris. Well, it was April. London was for Ruth, shopping. She dragged Rose and Cal out on the fashionable streets to see every shop. Rose and Cal was did not share her enthusiasm. So Ruth ended out walking ten steps ahead of them, trying not to look amazed when she walked pass the windows with hats and jewellery. Rose thought she looked like a child in a candy store. The cold weather made Rose shake and Cal consisted on taking her hand all the time, she let go of it all the time. But eventually she gave up and held his hand. He looked pleased and so be it.

Her room was like any other room she had slept in during this visit to Europe. It had been the same in Vienna, in Berlin and in Paris. Different, but still following a close pattern that all luxurious hotels seemed to follow. There was no sign of individualism. In a corner stood a large comfortable bed, a beautiful dresser and a large wardrobe. On the floor laid a carpet, hand made from the Far East of course. The walls were covered by paintings with no expression. Filling no need but looking silly. Rose sighed and the door opened. It was the maid, Trudy. She was carrying a was of flowers, a dozen red roses. She put the was down on a small table and turned to leave.
- Wait, from who are they from?
- They are from Mr Hockley miss!
Trudy left the room and Rose walked over to the flowers. She picked one of the roses up and held it closely. It was like a…
- Do you like them?
She jumped. And the flower dug deeply into her hand and gave her a wound. Soon her hand was covered with blood. Cal walked over to her, pulled out his handkerchief and took her hand. His hand was gentle, not a trace of labour was upon them. His hands were used of when signing papers. They never go dirty. But now her blood was pouring on them. He pressed his handkerchief upon her wound.
- It'll be ruined!
- Well, it doesn't matter...
Rose looked upon him. She didn't expect him to say something like that. He looked up from her hand and their eyes met. His hand pressed hers closely. Caressing it softly.
- I wanted to give you roses, to my sweet Rose. But I guess it was a foolish idea…
- Why is so?
- I don't want to see you hurt darling. Not ever.
She looked away, didn't want to meet his eyes even if he so desperately was seeking them. The let me go, she was thinking. You would stop hurting me if you let me go! She pulled her hand away and gave him back the handkerchief that he had put on her hand.
- Thank you Cal, but I'll be all right.
Cal, who though this opportunity of compassion might have defrosted Rose a bit, was unsatisfied. Was this it?
- I darn well hope so…
Then he walked out of the room, furious for Rose's rejection.

- No dear you cannot wear that!
Rose gazed at Cal. What on earth was he meaning? She put her hand by her waist and sighed.
- I am old enough to dress myself!
- Obviously not!
She snorted at him and he shook his head.
- I will not have you dressed like that!
- Well, what is wrong with it?!
- What is wrong? Well look at it!
Cal took a piece of her skirt in his hand and ripped it. The sound of the fabric ripping apart made her freeze.
- You can't wear it now, can you?
Rose looked at her ruined dress.
- No, I guess not…
Cal looked pleased. He then walked over to her trunk and pulled it open. He picked out a white skirt and coat.
- I'll leave you to change. And hurry up dear or we'll be swimming home!
He slammed the door behind him. She closed her eyes and trying to focus. This is not my life. This is not my life. She opened her eyes. It is. She undressed and took on the skirt and coat. She placed a broad purple hat on her face, hoping it would conceal her face. She didn't want anyone to see. Not anyone.

The black hull was coming closer. To her it was not a ship of dreams like the papers had called it; it was her slave ship taking her back to America in chains. Her master who bought her was named Caledon Hockley. And she - was a dead woman…

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