Author: B. R. Rose PM
They're alone on the ice with little hope for survival. Not like the movie Titanic, but focusing on a girl and a boy in first class stranded after the ship sinks without a life boat. Oneshot.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Adventure - Words: 362 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 2 - Published: 12-27-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3086478
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Welcome, welcome to the life where nothing is real. Where velvety sky stretches thick and soft with spiky stars piercing the darkness and the moon, silent and grim haunting the frigid, unforgiving air. Where you wrap yourself in thin, gauzy layers to pull you into thinking clearly. Your arm…it's bleeding. Red is warm, slick and running down your body. Press your other hand to it. Why's it not pressuring? Too cold. Stumbling across the ice. What happened? Ship…..sinking. Titanic. You blink, trying to clear the swimmy blue colors from your vision. They focus and warp again. Cold. Cold. Cold. Need to get…..warm.
Who saved you? You were drowning, wet and numb, scratching in the water for oxygen. No air, so much pressure mounting on your over exhausted lungs. Then arms, warm arms gripping around your body pulling you upwards like a counterfeit angel. They were arms that you'd seen before, but not felt. It was Peter! The Russian. Russian boy lifting his Mother's bags on the deck. First class – wearing suspenders and bow tie, relaxing and fixing his rich brown eyes on yours. You flush and cover your face with your black, lace fan. Delicate and a show of wealth. Danger and warnings seemed to sheath him. But you didn't care. Meeting him in a near-abandoned hallway in the night, you in your nightgown but him still dressed. Him pushing you against the wall, kissing you and that rush energizing you. It was real, and you liked it.
You might have even loved it.
Then he saved you. Where was he? You spin around and see a crumpled figure on the ice, struggling to get up. You scuttle over to him.
"Are you okay?" you whisper to him. Your breath, only marginally warm, melts the frost on his ear.
"Amelia…" he says. Thank God, he's okay. You get him up where he sees your partially-undressed state, your silk nightgown shredded and the bottom. He hands you his jacket. You refuse it.
"I'll be fi-" you start, then see your surroundings. It's pitch black with the moon hiding behind clouds. You're only fifteen. He's seventeen. You can't survive. There's ice everywhere…..