I own nothing but an exhausting obsession.
I stayed up for the rest of the night preparing my precipitate departure. My decision having been made, some of my burden fell off my shoulders and I felt more at ease. After days of morose moping and nights of smoldering sorrow, I could almost breathe again. I now had a purpose, something to focus upon, something to prevent me from losing my worried mind. I only needed to figure out the 'where' and the 'when'… and I had every intention to ignore the 'whys'. I didn't allow myself to question my reasons, I knew it was cowardly and stupid of me to run away like this, but for the moment, it felt right. I couldn't bear to spend another undetermined period of time surrounded by silent witnesses of my lost happiness, vainly waiting for something, anything to happen, waiting for him to return. As if something good could come out of it.
Every now and then, my thoughts returned to the unbelievable, absurd situation I was into, but I tried to my best to divert them. So I cleaned the bathroom, I discarded the remains of my phone, I dusted everything, I scrubbed thoroughly every kitchen cupboard until the morning finally came. It wasn't really necessary since I had been living on my own like a ghost for quite some time, and since there was someone paid for doing household chores, but it kept me preoccupied and helped me through the night.
On numerous occasions, my longtime friend Angela had invited me to visit her and her daughter in Europe. She was now living in Sweden, as consequence to an ugly divorce and a bellicose ex-husband. She had finally found her peace of mind there, since she was speaking so warmly about her adoptive country.
So I emailed Angela, announcing my intention to visit her at her earliest convenience, because I was suddenly available as a result of one of my husband's prolonged business trips. I kept a light tone, trying not to let my real mood surface between the lines. I hoped for a prompt reply.
After that I began to pack a bag with a few essentials…some practical clothes I should feel comfortable in, some toiletries. That scarcely filled a suitcase. There aren't many things that money cannot buy in almost any place of the Earth, so why bother with heavy, useless luggage? I did have some savings of my own, enough to ensure a reasonable living for a few months. Ok, maybe the more appropriate word was 'modest', but that wouldn't be a problem for me; I used to shy away from the luxury so easily affordable thanks to Edward's wealth anyway, since it made me feel uneasy and sometimes, frivolous. I was leaving, after all, on my own personal pilgrimage, to rediscover my identity, my true self. On such a journey, money should be the last concern.
"Yeah, right…" I snorted to myself. "So now you're a pilgrim... how far does your delusion go? You're a limited, stay-at-home wife whose days are filled with the meaningful task of waiting for her husband to come home and fulfilling his every need. Apparently, you aren't that good either, since he is now so obviously seeking satisfaction elsewhere. You threw away your life's potential for any significance! And running away at first signs of marital crisis, with tail between your legs, won't get you anywhere…"
A sudden wave of nausea hit me. Those mean words swirling inside my head like the mockery of a mad clown made me physically sick. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. Although I hadn't been properly eating in days, I still threw up. My hands grew colder, clenched on the edge of the toilet bowl, while my repulsive gasps echoed in the tiled, steel-cold room. It was acridly painful and it hurt both my throat and stomach. I remained on my knees, metaphorically embracing my misery, my new status until I began to shiver. After I regained some composure, I stood up on shaking legs, washed my face and rinsed my bitter mouth. Unwillingly, I faced myself in the mirror.
None of my inner chatter was true. Alright, I wasn't exotic, sophisticated or even beautiful enough for Edward, but I was a good wife. I offered him my entire being. I made his house a home; I could see his tired face slowly growing serene, peaceful and comforted every night when he returned from work. That expression in itself was worthwhile. And I had the ambition or the necessary education to make anything else of myself, but I solely wanted to be his wife. To devote myself to him, to love him, obey him and honor him in the best ways I could. It was a full-time job, anticipating his desires, his necessities, encouraging him, being supportive, optimistic and cheerful. That was my role as his wife, to make him happy. I was his partner, his friend, his shoulder to cry on… I was his lover… I tried to be his everything, as he was for me.
Obviously, I had failed.
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror for the longest time. I looked like hell - pale, with dark circles under my eyes, exhausted by lack of sleep, with uncombed, dropping-wet strands of hair. I looked like a stray and my self-esteem was in shreds. In assumed diffidence, I lowered my head, my hair hiding my face like a curtain of shame. I stared at the perfect polished sink faucet instead, taking in every little detail. I had missed a spot.
The silence surrounding me, the lifeless objects became menacing; that familiar, but suddenly hostile environment seemed to my disordered reason more and more terrifying. It was like a horror movie cliché when the walls are beginning to slide inward like a trap, to squash inside the intruder. Once more, I felt the urge to flee.
Dragging my feet, I returned to the bedroom and zipped closed my bag. After a few hesitations, I furtively added on top Edward's silver framed photo. It felt like stealing it, but I wouldn't give it another thought. I was tired of analyzing my actions. I halfheartedly checked my inbox next, only to find to my surprise that Angela had already answered, replying enthusiastically that I was welcome to come as soon as I could. The first available Seattle – Stockholm flight was the following evening, but I would have to change planes in Paris. That shouldn't be too bad, now, should it? What better place to be alone and heartbroken than the classic city of romance?
I booked and paid for my ticket and sent Angela my flight details. I now had ahead of me thirty-six hours of impatient waiting and a restless mind. I ogled intently the whisky bottle…
The guy next to me kept annoying the flight attendant with inane questions and he made me very nervous. A ridiculous-looking bright yellow cap hid his eyes, and his entire body emanated some evil vibes; or it was maybe just my imagination. I did have a vivid imagination lately.
I put as much distance as I could between us and tightened the grip on the blanket clutched in my lap. I closed my eyes, tuning out the surrounding sounds and focusing on breathing deeply. After a while, on their own volition, my thoughts returned to Edward.
I pictured him in Rio, strolling on the streets of that sultry, agglomerated city, in casual summer clothes, perhaps in a white linen shirt and light, loose-fitting pants, relaxed and wearing a tan, laughing, enjoying a drink and holding hands with his mysterious mistress… Yeah, a walk on a balmy moonlit night was perfect for seductive conversation and learning about each other, the hot summer breeze in the air mirroring the simmering passion in their veins.
I mentally winced but stubbornly continued my mental projection. Bits of images, almost documentary-like, so clear and detailed… his jaw movements during their kiss, his elegant, long-fingered hand trailing her back, cupping her breast, his thumb stroking her lower lip… It was insane and masochistic, but I couldn't help it. With a barely audible sigh, I made the effort to change the course of my wandering thoughts. Lingering on that sort of mental images wouldn't do me any good, and restoring some of my mental sanity was, after all, the whole purpose of this travel.
Leaving our apartment was heart breaking and liberating at the same time. I spent my remaining hours thinking whether I should announce Edward's family about my departure, and finally decided against it. This was between him and me and I couldn't let my distress and my suffering interfere with the relations with his family. I also knew that this was yet another cowardly gesture of mine, but I didn't trust myself to have a normal conversation with Esme or Alice, without revealing any of my real state of mind. I could pretend of course, that I was leaving to Europe for an actual visit to a friend, that being basically the truth, but either of them would have sensed that something was terribly wrong with me as soon as they would have picked-up the phone. I could have bet my life on it.
Only imagining Esme's tender voice on the other end of the line was enough to bring tears in my eyes. After the first spoken words, I most surely would begin to cry, sobs choking my muffled attempts of speaking, Esme would panic and everything would turn into a greater mess than it already was. As a result, more people would be involved in my pathetic, old-as-time melodrama, caring, innocent people, who were nothing but wonderful to me, accepting me and loving me unconditionally.
As far as my parents were concerned, things were easier. I left both my mother and Charlie messages, carefully calculating the time frame when Charlie would be at work, and mom, most probably, shopping so there weren't any surprises there. In a controlled, neutral voice, I told them I would be away for a couple of weeks, visiting Angela in Europe, and I would get back to them as soon as I would be settled.
That left me with only Edward to deal with… Which way was the best to let him know about my intentions? I quickly considered my options and finally returned to my unfinished letter on the coffee table. I didn't have the guts to read it again, so I only added down on the last page, with shaking hand, one final paragraph.
"As you have probably already imagined, I'm leaving for a while. I need some space to clear my mind, to figure out what to do next, to…assess myself. I'm at this point far too emotional, confused and lost and maybe some unfamiliar environment will give me a different perspective. I'm sure you also need some time alone…by yourself."
My smile was especially bitter as I wrote down that sentence.
"Below you'll find the address and the phone number of where I'll be staying, in case you need to get in touch with me or wish to send me...legal documents.
I'm unable to choose the appropriate words to say goodbye to you. I love you, Edward. I always will.
B. "
I placed the infamous photo under my handwritten pages and headed for the door. My ridiculously small suitcase was already in the hallway. I grabbed it, along with my backpack but waveringly stopped to take one final look at what used to be my home. I had carefully left everything in order, pristine, pharmaceutical – clean and neat so it wouldn't be hard for him to get rid of any remnants of my presence here. The result was a cold, frozen, impersonal scenery; this was not my home anymore. This had become my prison. I wanted this over.
And here I was, on the plane to Sweden, near some suspicious looking guy wearing an ugly cap, with vague expectations from myself, unsure of my life to be, scared and inhibited. What was I to do next? What was the plan?
I tried to build a façade for Angela, it was not her fault that I had chosen her as my runaway destination and it would be unfair to receive as a guest a human wreck. I'd used the stop in Paris to buy gifts for her and her daughter, and also to improve my looks in the airport bathroom. I could spend a few dollars on a lipstick now, couldn't I? It was, after all, for a noble cause, not to scare the shit out of my friend when she would lay her eyes on me.
I intended to stay with Angela for as long as it was politely possible, then I would search for something unpretentious to rent and take it one day at a time. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was as good as it could be under the given conditions.
I tried to get a little rest, since it had been so far a long, overnight flight. I was afraid to do so though, as I might dream and speak in my sleep. I dreaded the prospect of drawing attention to myself, but I was drained of energy. I followed with my eyes the tedious pattern on the chair's fabric in front of me until my lids stayed open no more and I fell into exhausted slumber.
In what seemed like only minutes later, I felt a light grip on my arm.
"Miss, miss, wake up!"
I flinched under the alien touch and my eyes opened on a very tall, lovely blonde woman, wearing the air company's uniform and a toothpaste-commercial-like smile, obviously a stewardess, who was giving me a worried look.
"Are you okay, miss? You were screaming in your sleep and that startled the other passengers…" she whispered secretively, plastic smile safely in its place.
"Yes, I am now, thank you. I must have had a bad dream, but I'm fine. I'll stay awake, I promise… Sorry for that…" I mumbled embarrassed.
She nodded understandingly and flashed her obnoxiously bright teeth once more, then turned around and advanced farther on the aisle. I felt suddenly extremely angry with myself for my unjustified submissive reaction and also furious at her for… I didn't know what for… for her thin body maybe, or for her glamorous hairdo. I bit my tongue not to yell at her stiff back at the top of my lungs: "Smile like you mean it, you fake, cheap blonde!" I hugged tighter my blanket instead, like it were some magic shield, and looked on the tiny window, at the blackest night I had ever seen.
It took me just seconds to realize that I was, in fact, angry at my competitor, the enigmatic, super-powered woman that had stolen my husband and consequently, I was projecting all my resentment and hatred on every fair-haired lady I had contact with. I was as predictable as mushrooms after rain.
"Smart decision, Bella! You are on your way to a Nordic European country, full of Viking descendants. You'll get your fair share of blond people, now, won't you?" I ironically criticized myself.
I sighed profoundly as I thought that things weren't getting any easier.
"Rough night, huh?"
I turned my head and met an askew little smile from my yellow-capped neighbor. His eyes were still hidden, but I felt a slight tinge of sympathy for this strange man and his unexpected attempt of having a friendly conversation.
"Yeah… I cannot even remember what the dream was about… Sorry if I woke you…" I replied quietly then continued to stare at the window. I didn't feel like chatting.
I abruptly remembered I had with me a leather-covered notebook, all new and good smelling and, since I was forbidden to sleep, I might as well do something useful with my time. I was going to 'psychoanalyze' myself by keeping a journal of this enlighten experience. "Another contemptible action of yours," the sarcastic voice in my head started, "…keeping a diary at your age… Perhaps you should also write down your memoirs, since we're here…" but excited with the idea, I was determined to ignore it. So I pulled out the notebook and began frenziedly writing in that poor light, completely engrossed and oblivious to the rest. I kept doing it, until we were told to prepare for landing.
Out, in the crowded, much too shiny airport, among the mass of unknown faces, I felt lost again. After I claimed my luggage, I anxiously headed for the exit where a slender woman with black hair falling to her waist was waiting for me. We shared a silent, tight, enthusiastic embrace then she stepped back and from arm's-length distance, took her time measuring me. Finally, she put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed me protectively.
"Come… Let's take you home…" she said softly.
Thank you for reading.
