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characters blah blah blah, please review- you know the shtick.
I rolled over in bed for the tenth time in six minutes. It must have been about two in the morning. It was May, but the room felt so unusually hot I could have believed it was the dead heat of summer. Somehow though, I don't think it was just the heat that bothered me. In my own way I felt guilty about Jeanne. Yes, she was my wife and I should have stayed with her, but she was my wife in name only. Before I had run into her, catching her with that thing she so deeply adored, I hadn't seen her for months. So really, I rationalized, it wasn't my problem; it was the problem of this other man (whose name escapes me and I'm glad for it.) But it was undeniable that I had left her, and that everything was at least partly my fault. Jeanne had never been a woman who was easily persuaded; it was in fact that very characteristic which drew me to her. But sometimes she'd become an unstoppable, furious force, and when she acted like that there was no reversing it. She simply had to get it out of her system and then move on. But she always hated the consequences. And in any case, I was upset with her. She was after all still my wife, but she had never, ever touched me. Trivial as it all sounds, this paired with my constant racing after her so that she wouldn't get into too much trouble began to be irritating. She was my wife, yet showed no real interest in me- only in my name, and she wasn't interested in that anymore.
Turned over again. I finally reached a decision that as guilty as I may have felt or been, Jeanne was still the leader of the conspiracy, and though fond of her, this unfortunate arrest seemed to bring out in me all of the thousands of tiny complaints I had. Being her husband I had once loved her, but love is blind, so naturally I assumed that these problems were exactly the things that allowed her to be so attractive. But over time it became absurd. One night, she'd scowl and tell me how upset she was, that it was obvious I didn't love her anymore because I had given up with my advances, yet when I then offered them she had no interest and accused me of being ridiculous and disgusting. She was always changing her mind. Just the thought of it all made me finally get up. I was sick of lying in bed and I decided that I wasn't going to get much sleep anyway. I got out of bed and took a long gulp out of the bottle by my bed (it always helps.) I set it down as quietly as possible and walked over to the open window. It was still dark out, so it couldn't be much later then about three in the morning I figured. I tried to look out the window to see if even the smallest bit of sun was traceable. I saw none. I took another drink. I sat there for quite awhile, thinking about Jeanne, her arrest, the situation I had run away from. I was a coward, one of the most dishonorable men even I could think of. Yet of them all, I was the only one who was now safe. That made me beyond guilty. But it also meant I had survived- survival of the fittest. Now that I had survived, I had to say goodbye to all that. No more Jeanne, no more terrible marriage. Now I was on the border of Spain, and the part of my life that was France was just a sad memory of everything I had done wrong, everything that I had made mistakes on. That's why that night I decided to start again, still as Nicholas but not the same at all. I was changed, however slightly, and this time I'd never think about the events of France again. Spain was ahead- and there I could mend my mistakes.
I rolled over in bed for the tenth time in six minutes. It must have been about two in the morning. It was May, but the room felt so unusually hot I could have believed it was the dead heat of summer. Somehow though, I don't think it was just the heat that bothered me. In my own way I felt guilty about Jeanne. Yes, she was my wife and I should have stayed with her, but she was my wife in name only. Before I had run into her, catching her with that thing she so deeply adored, I hadn't seen her for months. So really, I rationalized, it wasn't my problem; it was the problem of this other man (whose name escapes me and I'm glad for it.) But it was undeniable that I had left her, and that everything was at least partly my fault. Jeanne had never been a woman who was easily persuaded; it was in fact that very characteristic which drew me to her. But sometimes she'd become an unstoppable, furious force, and when she acted like that there was no reversing it. She simply had to get it out of her system and then move on. But she always hated the consequences. And in any case, I was upset with her. She was after all still my wife, but she had never, ever touched me. Trivial as it all sounds, this paired with my constant racing after her so that she wouldn't get into too much trouble began to be irritating. She was my wife, yet showed no real interest in me- only in my name, and she wasn't interested in that anymore.
Turned over again. I finally reached a decision that as guilty as I may have felt or been, Jeanne was still the leader of the conspiracy, and though fond of her, this unfortunate arrest seemed to bring out in me all of the thousands of tiny complaints I had. Being her husband I had once loved her, but love is blind, so naturally I assumed that these problems were exactly the things that allowed her to be so attractive. But over time it became absurd. One night, she'd scowl and tell me how upset she was, that it was obvious I didn't love her anymore because I had given up with my advances, yet when I then offered them she had no interest and accused me of being ridiculous and disgusting. She was always changing her mind. Just the thought of it all made me finally get up. I was sick of lying in bed and I decided that I wasn't going to get much sleep anyway. I got out of bed and took a long gulp out of the bottle by my bed (it always helps.) I set it down as quietly as possible and walked over to the open window. It was still dark out, so it couldn't be much later then about three in the morning I figured. I tried to look out the window to see if even the smallest bit of sun was traceable. I saw none. I took another drink. I sat there for quite awhile, thinking about Jeanne, her arrest, the situation I had run away from. I was a coward, one of the most dishonorable men even I could think of. Yet of them all, I was the only one who was now safe. That made me beyond guilty. But it also meant I had survived- survival of the fittest. Now that I had survived, I had to say goodbye to all that. No more Jeanne, no more terrible marriage. Now I was on the border of Spain, and the part of my life that was France was just a sad memory of everything I had done wrong, everything that I had made mistakes on. That's why that night I decided to start again, still as Nicholas but not the same at all. I was changed, however slightly, and this time I'd never think about the events of France again. Spain was ahead- and there I could mend my mistakes.