The Explorer's Apprentice

38 1/2:Being Strange

Rose Dewitt Bukater

Rose is in his room before she can even comprehend where she’s going. It’s as if her very anger has taken over her brain like a vicious, deadly virus—devouring any rational thought in her that has ever come into existence. She’s read hot with rage and fury pulses through her veins like a drug. And all Rose can think, over and over, is where do I start, where do I start, where do I start.

Her hands throw open the drawers of his ebony chest and her nails sink into his clothing. It smells of him so her nails sink deeper, and she throws them. Rose takes everything in that little drawer and tosses it over her shoulder with the passion and anger of an erupting volcano, never once even turning around to see where they end up. You will honor me, he says, you will honor me the way a wife is required to honor a husband, he says, and god, she knows what he means. Not you might honor me, not even you probably will honor me-- but you will. You will, as in it’s certain. As in she doesn’t have a choice. Sooner or later there will be no way around it.

Rose almost throws up.

First drawer down, and her hands find their way to the second one, clasping at everything in it with wild, ravenous claws. She’s vicious. She’s a monster. Something dark has been released within her soul and it eats away at everything. All she wants to do, all she can do is destroy.

Destroy until it numbs the pain away.

To hell with you, Cal, you disgusting awful bastard, to hell with you and all of your things. Something salty and wet glides across her trembling lips and it takes Rose a moment to realize she’s been crying—sobbing. Suddenly her head feels light and her hands begin to shake. The world begins to spin and her skin trembles. She looks at the dark green vest in her hands and squeezes it until her knuckles turn white, squeezes it as if she’s holding Cal’s skin itself, and then Rose collapses.

Flat on her back at first with her arms and legs sprawled out like a starfish, Cal’s clothes surrounding her like the sea. She sobs and sobs and sobs until she can’t breathe, until she chokes on the heavy lumps in her throat. Oh God, what am I even doing here? Rose’s head pounds with the thoughts that race inside her brain. Dangerous throats, pathetic, aching thoughts. Why do I feel this way? Why am I not like other women? Other women would have given up a long time ago. Other women would make Cal happy. Other women would be happy making Cal happy. So why am I different? What’s wrong with me?

And she sobs some more because maybe things would be simpler if she were normal.

Rose looks up at the clean ceiling, such a contrast to the mess she’s made, and her stomach swirls. Her breath is shaky but Rose knows she can’t stay there forever. She can’t be found like this. She has to move. She closes her eyes, letting her deep sobs quiet down to little whimpers, and Rose thinks.

I used to fight back and think, ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ and I thought about this very long and very hard. I figured maybe he’d have me constantly under strict supervision, banned from a few evening dinner parties, or if I kept at it long enough, maybe he’d have me submitted into an intense boarding school or mental institution. In which case I would just get my Uncle to bail me out after a few days. Maybe she could even write about her experiences among the insane like that journalist Nelly Bly did many years ago. That story always fascinated her, so maybe Rose could be a bit like her. And maybe, at the time, that hadn’t seemed so bad.  

But God, I don’t want to face those consequences…. I don’t want to be followed and shunned and sent away. Not now. Not after…

Rose sits up and hugs her knees, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.