There!

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…right in the middle. In the middle of Grand Central Station I will do it.  I will fall on the cold, hard, glinting steel and I’ll punish him and be rid of everyone and of myself.

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Grand Central Station.  I will go. I will find him- no I will do something. I will not just sit here and let him dictate everything. I will act.  This is too terrible. Ahhh, everything is too terrible. My heart cannot reconcile this pain and this love.  I love him and I hate him.

I am on my way to Grand Central.  I will catch another line to get to his mother’s.  I will rush in demanding that he honor and respect me.  I have that right. I have his child. He has everything that is mine.  Yes, yes I will go to him.

I have just received word that he will not come.  He will not leave her to come to me.  He knows I am desperate- he knows that I am hurting, ahh hurting so much and yet he cannot take the time or tear himself away. That settles it.  I will not let you torment me.

 

Dolly cannot understand. No one can. I saw Kitty. So what? I despise everything and everyone.  How dare she treat me like I didn’t have a right to be there- to see Dolly? I have a right to be loved, to have friends.  I am a good woman.  This is ludicrous.  They would all just be glad for my unhappiness. No. They do not love me. No one does. My son does not. My daughter is not even my child.  Alexei doesn’t love me anymore. I have no one. I don’t want anyone. No one knows me. I don’t even know myself.

What did he want from me?  Did he ever love me? No, he just saw a beautiful success, the silent respect for this scandal.  I just complimented his vanity- an accessory to his youth.  He was proud of me.  I was an accomplishment.  A notch on the bedpost.  For who would think that someone so young, so daring, would come along and sweep me off my feet?  He captured a chaste, seemingly loving wife and mother.  He tore her world away from her- no, I gave it.  Willingly.  And that is his triumph. I lost everything, EVERYTHING for him.  He just grows farther apart from me. He would be glad to be rid of me.

I’m not ridiculous.  I’m not jealous. I just can’t get the satisfaction.  I deserve it! Everyone deserves to be loved.  It isn’t unreasonable to want to be left weak in the knees, to have someone tell me they need me.  Everyone should feel this way.  Why is it that I, I who have paid the ultimate price, it elludes me? If he loves me it should be so easy, so so easy.  But he is on autopilot.  His gestures of love are old and choreographed.  We dance around eachother because we know how the steps should look but it isn’t real.  It is habit. It is duty. It is obligation.  It is not love. It is not real.

Dolly. I will go visit Dolly. It is all I have. She is all. She always knows, always knows.  She still loves me, she does not hate me. Yes, yes, to Dolly.

He’s left. It is really over.

No, no there must be a way to call him back. I’ll text him. I’ll call him. I’ll email him. I’ll page him.  I’ll have a messenger sent around to his mother’s. He will come back to me.

He did not come.

I awoke from the most terrible nightmare.  A little man, muttering in French, bent over something iron, cold, hard and glinting, doing something horrible.  I don’t know what.  I have that feeling of deja vu- that I have this dream constantly.  It gives me the chills- I’ve woken up in a sweat.

Everything seems so unclear.  Did we really fight over that? We are leaving tomorrow. I must get ready.

 

And before I could even post this I saw a girl out in front of the apartment. Trustfund Barbie.  He can’t come to me but he can make time for her?  She has come by the apartment now, no longer content to sit in wait within that lair where Vronsky’s mother crouches? Ugh.

I am not going anywhere with him. I will not live like this.

He says I am “unbearable,” that this is “unbearable”

…he will regret that.

Ahhh it pains me that he has left for the day and we are still in a fight.  Is there a chance we can resolve this?  Can we be saved?  I’m going to bed to rest.  This is all-consuming and exhausting.  I will have the doorman tell him that I am in bed with a headache.  If he comes in to see how I am, to care for me, to make things right all will be well.

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He refuses. We are not speaking.

He doesn’t want to leave. He has to go his mother’s for some “paperwork” or something.  I know she is just trying to set him up with that trustfund Barbie.  I won’t have it I won’t have it!  We leave when I say or we cannot  be together.

We have to leave the city.  I can’t stand this. I will speak to Vronsky at once.


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