More days …
Jon and I have a serious argument – one of the first in a long time. He tries to restrain himself, but his patience is not what it has been. So much for our deals and freedoms and gifts to each other. All misplaced, covering up … how much we need to work on.
“You have got to get yourself together. If nothing else, then for the kids.”
Focus. That’s it. Don’t forget lunch boxes or drive recklessly, when I have the car. I know what he is afraid of. He knows my fragile mind. What it can do.
And I know he hates himself for having fallen to this level. For not being able to be the helper he always is.
The man … the rescuer.
But we both play the game and get the shouting done, and then make amends. Later that night we have sex for the first time in a month and it is very good. Surprisingly good.
But it solves nothing. There is no ending to the story. And it takes all my willpower not to think too much about Lin again.
She just broke into my life again – or the ghost of her did. And I can’t get rid of it. I can’t.
It came back, after years and years, and I know why.
I should have stopped her.
I should have seen how unhappy she was. I should’ve predicted …
Stop it, Carrie. It. IS. Bullshit.
I couldn’t predict she’d shoot so much cocaine into her veins so it’d kill a herd of elephants. Why am I trying to be a fucking martyr here? It is pathetic.
But why can’t I then leave the story, without that ending?