18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Mirrorball by Taylor Swift
April 13, 1912
Sarah and I make our way back to the cabin to get ready for the evening. As we pass by one of the first-class lounge areas, I see Charlie out of the corner of my eye. He appears to be carrying a box of clean glassware toward the supply closet next to the lounge. He notices me as well, but quickly looks away. I want to speak with him, to hear his voice. I know I shouldn’t, but I just can’t help myself. My heart is clouding logic and reason.
“Sarah, go on ahead. I want to grab a book from the reading room for later. I’ll join you momentarily, okay?” I make up any excuse to find myself alone, and luckily, it works. She nods, although I have a feeling she thinks I’m up to something and continues down the hall without me. I quickly check my surroundings, confirming no one is within eyesight, and duck into the supply room Charlie entered moments ago.
I enter the small room and quickly shut the door behind me. Charlie doesn’t even turn around at first. He seems to just assume another steward has entered the room as well and continues to go about his work. It isn’t until he hears me latch the lock on the door that he becomes suspicious. He takes a deep breath in, and I realize he can smell my perfume. He must know it’s me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says coldly, without turning around. “If people saw…” His voice trails off as he stops stacking the glassware.
“No one saw,” I promise him. “I don’t care if they did. I just… I had to see you.”
He swivels to face me. “Did you need something? Miss Murphy, isn’t it?” His tone is lifeless, all business as he pretends we are now strangers, nothing more than a steward and a passenger.
“I deserved that.” I am painfully aware of the hurt I have caused him. He’s trying so hard to come across as unemotional, but I can see the pain in his eyes. He may imbue his voice with coldness, but his eyes give away his true feelings. I deserve every sting or barb his words could hurl at me, and I’m prepared to take them as a deserved lashing. Instead, he just stares, as if he cannot bear to inflict pain on me, even though I have drawn the first blow.
“I have to get back to work,” is all he can quietly muster before he attempts to move past me toward the door. I grab him by the hand to stop him and he inhales sharply.
“Charlie, please.” He stops moving and locks his eyes into mine as if my touch and my voice calling his name have the same effect on him as it does on me.
“Just let me get this out, and then I’ll leave you alone. I’ll stay away. I promise.” He doesn’t answer me, but he also doesn’t cut me off. I take that as a silent indication that I can continue. “Look, you don’t need to accept my apology, or even believe it. But you need to hear it. Charlie, I’m… I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks as I shrug. I inhale deeply, attempting to regain composure over my emotions. “It was never my intention to hurt you or to burden you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that, nor could I ever ask for it. I don’t expect anything from you. And I know these are all just words to you now, and maybe you find it impossible to believe anything I could have to say after such dishonesty. And I deserve that. I know I do.”
I take a step closer toward him, trying to find his eyes so that he may see my seriousness. “But Charlie, if there was anything, even just one thing, you could choose to believe, please let it be this: what we’ve shared the last few days and the feelings I have for you, that has never been a lie. I just need you to know that.”
I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes and I can’t bear to cry in front of him, to make him somehow feel even worse than I already have. I don’t want him to feel obligated to say anything just because I got emotional. He has every right to feel betrayed or angry, and I don’t want to take that away from him. I quickly leave the closet before he can say a word. I’m not even sure if he was going to respond at all. I just had to get away before I completely broke down.
I hurry down the hallway so that I am out of sight before he exits the closet. I enter through my private room of the suite, hoping to avoid Ben if he is in the sitting room. I just need a moment to myself to collect my thoughts. I lean against the door behind me and begin to fully cry. My solitude is interrupted when Sarah steps out from the bath facilities and notices me.
“Ali?” Before I can even speak or pull myself together, she walks toward me with her arms outstretched. “Oh, Ali. Come here.” She pulls me into a hug and instead of going limp, I wrap my arms around her and just allow myself to be held.
We don’t speak for what seems like ages, but likely was only a few minutes. She just lets me cry. It felt good to just let it out. She brushes my hair off my face, examining the damage done to my hair and makeup.
“We’ve got to get you ready for dinner, Ali. Do you think you’re up to that?”
I sniffle a little and nod. I don’t want to spend another evening in Edward’s company, but I also don’t want to send Ben into the lion's den alone. I can easily sit there and go through the motions.
Sarah helps me switch into an evening gown for dinner. She selects a steel blue silk gown with a silver crystal beaded overlay with draped sleeves. It’s beautiful, but the color feels melancholy and seems to match how I feel inside. The steel blue with icy gray undertones makes me feel like a rain cloud. She helps me pull back my hair, securing it with a silver crystal comb that matches the overlay of my gown. I slip on the long white satin evening gloves that make me feel imprisoned and slouch down into a chair to wait for Ben. Somehow every evening I’m waiting for him to be ready, even though I have far more preparation than he does.
Ben escorts me to dinner, where Edward and his party are waiting. As I cross the room, I lock eyes with Violet. She sits with John and their party a few tables away, and she flashes me a sympathetic smile.
As our table carries on in varied conversation, I disassociate and stare at a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Large and exquisite, the crystal droplets shine brightly and reflect angles of light around the room. What would happen if that chandelier were to fall, I wonder? Would anyone even notice it thunder to the floor and shatter into thousands of glistening pieces? Pieces that still shine, but now as angular shards, can pierce at any touch. Beautiful, but dangerous.
I feel quite similar to that chandelier at this moment. Nothing more than a grand, lustrous ornament. Everyone has their eyes on me. Not to marvel at me or watch me shine. They’re waiting for me to fail. They’re waiting for the car to crash so they can watch it burn.
What I’m realizing now is that this feeling isn’t just about the shimmering facade I’ve been maintaining this week. This has been my entire life. I have always tried to make it look like I have everything together, like I don’t need anyone else’s help. I’ve operated on this “fake it till you make it” mentality for so long that it’s hard to distinguish between truth and reality anymore. I strive for perfection in everything I do, not because I want to succeed. I want the validation and the assurance of not upsetting someone or letting them down, because then they’ll leave me.
But I am exhausted. Pretending that I am strong has left me no strength to actually be strong. I feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world, or at least the weight of everyone else’s expectations, in my arms. My muscles ache. My mind aches. I want to drop it. I’m tired of pretending to be perfect. It’s all a performance. A circus. Don’t accidentally swallow the sword. Don’t fall from the tightrope. Don’t make a single mistake, because they’ll notice that. They won’t notice you shine, but they’ll sure as hell notice when you’re tarnished. I’m tired of showing everyone the versions of me they want to see. The dutiful daughter. The successful historian. The strong and independent woman. I want to let it fall to the floor and shatter, along with everyone’s expectations.
I am fully capable of breaking at any moment. Would anyone even notice if I did?