The Sea of Silver
A/N: My brand new fiction. Enjoy!
Soundtrack: Every Night in My Dreams
The rush of icy water crashing over her head, the distinct smell of salt and water, of pain and misery, and somewhere, smoke and fire. Her mind, however, is focused on the stars far above her head that she is quite sure that she can touch if she raises her hand the slightest bit, if she blinks, if she falls asleep, if she forgets, if she leaves Jack behind while she slips into the next room…
But she doesn't want to reach the stars without Jack. She's sure of that, so sure, that she contents herself with counting them out loud.
Every night in my dreams I see you….
It's been years. Three. Or four, she isn't quite sure anymore. Time has become nothing to her, something that happens to other people but doesn't apply to her anymore, so she doesn't know how long it's been. Three, long, agonizing years, and a better part of those years have been spent wandering her own imagination. It's a beautiful place there- murky and dark and many places to fit herself into corners. She doesn't have to face death there. Or anything, really. There's a black cat that follows her around in there.
She spends every minute trying to forget, to move on, and to leave behind the sound of loud, rushing water and the icy cold that's settled permantly into her bones- but she can't- and it reminds her of him anyway. No use of trying to fight what you want so desperately. Because reality is reality, and truth is the truth, and she's locked herself away to hide from it. Hiding is her solution.
She doesn't associate him with cold, or water- he's more of a light, feathery heat- but the cold and water remind her of that night, etched into her brain and skin and lungs, her very being. She can't forget him, so why does she try?
She hasn't looked in mirror for a year. She looks different- skinnier (she stopped eating for a week), eyes larger, more frightened. But her new image reminds her of him. And it hurts. She won't admit it, but it burns like a slow, acidic fire that leaves her with no positive feelings: regret, anguish, pain, longing, fear. Fear that is she loves again she'll lose it. She loves the safe things- his memory, his smell of salt and faint alcohol and paint, his rough and soft skin, the greenish color of his eyes.
The lurch of the ship under her feet, the warm air, the wind blowing and ruffling her dress as she attempts to spit over the side of the boat…
Her flat is somewhere in New York City- she can't for the life of her tell you where- but it's loud and busy there, and the shouts and giggles of people passing by below her on the street provides ample distraction. Sometimes, when she looks out her window, she sees a flash of brown-blonde hair, and her heart speeds up a couple of miles per hour (like, sixty) beatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeatbeating, and then she catches a glimpse of their face and it's not him. At times like these she slams the curtains shut over her windows and escapes her reality.
Sometimes she sees seas of silver and green, just faintly over the horizon, and it's the only time she'll feel safe.
She hears the sound of Molly climbing the long, impossible steps to her flat. She wonders dimly if the old Rose would've sailed down the railing, dress or not. Probably, but the old Rose doesn't exsist.
The door opens with a bang. The noise doesn't even scare Rose. After seeing a monster ship sink, almost nothing can shock or scare her.
"I'm SICK of seeing you mope around like this, Rose! I understand better then anyone why you're doing this to yourself! I know! But you can't spend your life locked away up here with only his drawing for company! D'you think he'd want this?" She flung an arm out to indicate the bare, barely furnished apartment. Rose flinches, not at the sound of her raised voice, but the mention of him.
"I'm not moping," she says softly. Molly narrows her eyes.
"When was the last time you ate?"
"Rose, it's five in the afternoon. You mean to tell me you didn't eat breakfast, lunch or even an early dinner? Rose, that's it."
"What's it?" she asks nervously. Molly doesn't bluff. Whatever she says she's going to do, she will do. Molly drew out her other hand to show her the two tickets in her pudgy fist.
"I'm sending you back to Europe," she announces to the shocked silence. Rose says nothing, gaze fixed on the two tickets.
Tickets. Boat tickets. Ship tickets. Ship, boat- did it matter- because suddenly Rose can hear the loud rush of water, the smell of smoke, and his icy grip on her hands.
"Never let go."
"I love you."
"Yes, you can be a brat…"
"He does landscapes."
You jump, I jump. We're in this together now."
"NO! NO! NO NO NO, HELL TO THE FUCKING NO I'M NOT GOING ON THAT GODDAMNED SHIP, MOLLY, SO HELP ME, I CAN'T-"
And then she's not shouting any more as her eyes go blank and she all but collapses into herself. Molly, who's expected this, sighs. "I know what's best for you. You need to forget."
"I've been trying," whispers Rose into the folds of her dress. Molly smiles sadly at this.
"Better be up at four tomorrow. My husband works on ships you know, and is pretty strong, so I'd suggest you'd be downstairs by five."
Rose smiles at this. It's not a real smile, more like a stretching of lips over teeth in a sad, pathetic parody of a smile, and says, "Are you threatening me?"
Molly leaves breezily. "Assume what you may" is all she says before the door clicks shut behind her.
A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter! Please review!