Sylvie

Alex Vause's therapy sessions. Making amends with myself, with the past, with the people I've hurt.

This is part of my routine. 9-5 job. My place of work is three blocks from Berdie's office, so I arrive 5-10 minutes past 5. Every Thursday at 6 PM I leave the office and come home from my session. I'm supposed to go twice a week, but it became overwhelming. Berdie, my therapist, agreed to this modified schedule. But she squeezes the life out of me during our 50 minute session.

These past sessions we've been talking exclusively about a single person from my past that I've hurt. I must detail what I did that was wrong and how I feel about it, and what possible course of action I should take to make it better.

I have to talk about this despite Piper hating it. Even if Piper isn't present in the sessions, I feel she hears everything, because this time around I find it impossible to hide things from her. I'm transparent now. She would hate talking about Sylvie because of what we did to her, and this is one of the subjects she likes to avoid. But it comes with the therapeutical agreement I have with Berdie, and my true need to settle things and have some clarity and peace of mind. Some of my friends pre-Piper, and even my mom, never understood my relationship with Sylvie. She was five years older than me, and we began dating soon after I joined my shady business. She was a regular at the bars I used to frequent, part of an out group of women that I never managed to be friends with, since my non pc humor used to offend most of them. Plus, the bars already were my business setting, and I was beginning to dissociate fun and relaxation from them.

I never noticed Sylvie in particular. Or any of them, for that matter. But she managed to get approach me, to constantly make herself present, and during the early stages of her open and direct flirting, she was in fact very seductive and had a great conversation. I had been with older women since my early teens, so Sylvie's experience and verbosity didn't impress me much. As a teenager my motivation to be with older women was purely sexual. At 22, I already knew what I wanted in that regard. I was totally confident and the least thing I expected was a long-time relationship. Personally, I didn't feel ready or in a rush. It was true I didn't know what to do and didn't like the idea of having to explain my day-to-day activities or share them with someone in a way it became a routine. Professionally I was sure it would be problematic, since my job consisted, at least in the beginning, of a lot of convincing via flirting, and sometimes more, to be frank. The idea of being tied or subjected to jealousy was a total turn-off. I was protective of my freedom, even proud of it.

I was beginning to escalate in the organization; money and travel were coming to me, and as I was earning my success; I also found myself alienated from old friendships and mostly, from home. I didn't see mom much. She'd hardly accept my travel invitations or anything else that I could provide for her. She was stubborn and prouder than me. I was excited about my new life, but in the big city, it could get lonely sometimes, even for a person with thick walls of defense, such as myself. And Sylvie was always there. She was persistent. It seemed like I had nothing to lose. She was intelligent, witty and an attractive and fiery redhead; very confident, which made her even more attractive. Our first encounters were all laughter and sex. I tried to keep it like that for as long as I could. She went through many rejections and there were times where I wonder if everything about her was a façade and in fact she had very low self-esteem. But her persistence worked because much more than vulnerable, she caught me bored and saying to myself: "fuck it, let's try this". So we became "official" in the last days of November 1999.

The first months together were good; we avoided the u-Haul thing like the plague (it horrified me), but she could be clingy in private and in public. She demanded public displays of affection when we were with our friends. It made me feel uncomfortable and could only happen after my 6th bourbon. That duty was for other people. In public I enjoyed being charismatic and not being bothered by anything or anyone. I did talk about this with her when we were alone, and she'd resent it. I said I couldn't be forced to become a different person and that she knew what I was all about. For a few weeks she's reduce the demands, but then she'd be clingy Sylvie again. I thanked and felt lucky that my frequent business trips gave me a much-needed break from her.

When I was traveling, I had to force myself to remember to call Sylvie. With all the partying, the booze and the foreign beauties who more than often would offer their company in my suite, I'd forget I had a girlfriend back home. The problem was the girlfriend concept didn't stick with me and neither did the home concept, despite having had acquired a luxurious loft in the city, filled with possessions that were dear to me, such as my books and the antiques I'd bring from my trips. It still felt weird, impersonal. My home, if I had to have one, was my drive to stay on the road, to prove myself how well I could deliver a job. To scheme and plan things that I'd tell others how to approach. To boss around for once in my life. My home was living every day as if it was the last one, because I was always aware of the risks I was taking. I was on the edge and maybe it was the rush of the adrenaline what didn't make me think properly.

When I was away, Sylvie moved into my apartment. Once I returned to find half of my closet occupied by her stuff. And I'm not a 100% sure of this, but I think it was her who somehow made a copy of my key, because I had no plans for living together at that stage. When I saw all this, I felt more overwhelmed than angry, but at the same time I had been thinking that it wasn't ok that at 22 I was incapable of having a serious relationship. So, I just went for it. It felt weird giving into her, being passive about a situation like that. Sylvie had some business of her own going on; she was an administrator of warehouses and did some accounting. She was good at it and certainly didn't need me to provide for her. Moving in was her blunt way to push me to take our relationship seriously. To call it a "long-term relationship". Once in, I learned the routines as best as I could. So this is what it's all about, what everybody dreams of. It felt so forced. Was there anything wrong with me? Was I just naturally sullen? Is it the only-child thing? I kept trying the relationship scheme. It had to work and if I was lucky, I'd end up believing it.

When I told my mom, she was surprised because I never talked to her about Sylvie. That was a red flag. In our three years together, my mom knew almost nothing important about Sylvie, but she got to know her from the distance during her drinking problems, after a trail of disgraces with her family and her business. There was worry but also annoyance in my voice, and suddenly everything in the relationship was about the drinking problem, her increasing violence, her screaming and throwing things around. To be honest, sometimes she could be frightening, out of herself. I didn't know what to do. My first instinct was to kick her out of my apartment, because I still thought of it as mine, but she clearly has established it as her territory. So, there I was, trapped in my own apartment. The only times I would snap out of it were the business meetings I'd conduct with Fahri and other people from the organization. She knew she had to get out of the house and that it was non-negotiable. There was this one time when she was inebriated and couldn't stand up. Fahri was in the house observing quietly. He later commented that our job wasn't ideal to carry extra baggage and I took it as a threat.

From that moment on, I established order and rules for Sylvie. I was afraid for her safety, but also annoyed that my boss had seen this part of me, this weakness. I wasn't accepting the truth yet: Sylvie offered routine, but she was beginning to feel like dead weight. I wasn't gonna allow anyone to mess with my job. Sylvie was out of my life while still hanging by a thread. I was too lazy to tell her. I was too lazy to put the minimum effort with her. I put myself on autopilot with her for months. Mom noticed my discomfort on the phone, but didn't mention it. She knew I lived with Sylvie but she didn't matter to be. Mom also began hearing a lot about Sylvie a few months later, when Piper came into the picture. She even said, in her joking kind of ways, what a contrast it was for her that in less than six months she felt like she knew everything about Piper, but in three years, she couldn't even remember Sylvie's last name. I guess that says all about my relationship with her. My mom's verdict. Three years felt like forever, and probably anyone would think it was serious since you need to really commit in order to have a successful relationship. That's all appearance. Our time together was the laziest kind of comfort and an illusion of security. A test for me, but I think she was in love with me, at least for a good part of those years. This made me feel sorry for her because she wasn't corresponded.

I tried to be as supportive as possible, though. Our last year together, when her drinking problem got really bad and I was gone for business, I'd call frequently. When I was back and we'd go out, I had to discipline myself with the alcohol consumption, as I couldn't touch a drop of it in front of her. This was a disaster for my business, so I made sure both of us were never together at bars or parties. Alcoholism is a harsh disease. When I was home, everything was about that. Hiding bottles, making sure she wasn't around when I wanted to enjoy a simple bottle of beer. I had become her nurse and for a good part of our last year together, we weren't intimate, not really. My mind had left that relationship, but I was still loyal, supportive. She managed to get clean and while I was happy for her, I knew we couldn't save our relationship, but I still didn't know how to end it. I felt embarrassed, maybe guilty.

I was pretty straightforward in my business, but surprisingly, I couldn't tell Sylvie I wanted out. I didn't wanna hurt her and part of me felt comfortable of having someone to come home to. I think I could've stayed longer with that deal, because it was convenient on many fronts, but then I met Piper. During my three-year relationship, I had agreed with Sylvie that, because of business, we couldn't be exclusive and even if I had no business excuse, I wasn't interested in monogamy. Sylvie had to grow used to this, but she hated it, she was always jealous and possessive. When I took Piper home that night, Sylvie and I had had a terrible fight during that week and I thought we were on a break, one of many we had taken. I hadn't seen her for days. Her attack on Piper was surprising, but her aggression is something that had been escalating for a while.

She could get very physical when she felt cornered, and during her drunken years... let's just say I had to leave my own apartment to avoid abuse and flying objects. I felt so guilty about my fall-out that even after that night with Piper, I still gave Sylvie another chance. Or more like I allowed our thing to die on its own. I just couldn't bring myself to end it. An argument with Sylvie would leave me drained. Deep down I hoped she would become bored of us and be the one to leave. That was the "complicated" situation I explained to Piper a couple of weeks later at the Burlesque show. It was complicated mostly on my part, because where did this sense of guilt come from? I had never given a shit about relationships in my youth. I can only attribute this to my loneliness and a need for something familiar, despite my free woman façade. I don't know where it came from 'til this day.

That first night at the bar, when I met Piper and we spent something like five hours talking, flirting and laughing, I finally went home with complicated feelings because I felt exhilarated with Piper, but had a sense of dread of opening the door and seeing Sylvie. What the fuck, Vause? Why couldn't I solve this right away? I knew this was fucked up and I knew it in the way that I even hid it from my mom; but mom could always detect my moods even from the distance, just interpreting my silences on the phone. The next couple of weeks after our first encounter, Piper kept "appearing" here and there… bars, bookstores, even once when I was sitting on a bench, having a smoke. She called and texted, and all of it was a goofy and nervous mess. I described in detail the encounters and mom said I hadn't sounded so excited in more than a year. She was so intrigued about "this new girl". I said: how can it be that something so random turned awesome? My god, Sylvie was so out of my life by then. But I wasn't thinking of replacing her with Piper. The replacement word is what bothered me. Replacement, abandonment. Yeah, I'm beginning to realize where this comes from.

I loved those encounters with Piper, the fact that she was so keen on me and that she could be so goofy and even tender. A total contrast with what Sylvie had become. But I didn't want to become too excited; I knew her type: a cute girl with an adventure phase who's used to having everything she's wanted. A girl like that wasn't gonna play with me; I knew them too well. It was me who made a living out of playing with girls like her. I remembered this whenever I felt enthusiastic about Piper. I can honestly say I wouldn't have moved a finger pursuing Piper after the Sylvie punching disaster. But the way she came to me, how she basically possessed me almost in front of Sylvie, caught me off guard. I couldn't believe it, in fact. I had underestimated her. How she came to me that night was all it took for me to stop considering her a disposable girl. I admired her straightforwardness, and it didn't hurt that she had the face of an angel, and her eyes felt like fire on me.

I fell for Piper so incredibly hard, immediately. Every aspect of us was exciting and intriguing. She was passionate and she was tender; she was erudite and humble. She was a fucking sweetheart, and I couldn't stop looking at her, touching her, thinking of her. And now she was mine in a way I had never understood. Not a possessive way, more like she fell from the sky. I was so into her that I didn't care we did the U-Haul scheme within weeks. They say when you fall in love you just know. No second guesses. So, I was in love for the very first time in my life and I let her know. I was afraid but I couldn't keep it in me. I never felt that intensity with Sylvie, not even the first couple of months of us together. I even felt bad for having stayed with her just out of habit. I was missing so much. Piper came into my life like a hurricane and my head felt crazy, my heart would pump so fast. I felt almost drugged, unrecognizable to myself, because I had always been in control of my emotions. This was new. And I wasn't crazy to leave her behind just because of business responsibilities.

I was so in love that I was blind to the dangers I put her in. But what could I do in that situation? I had no idea. My mom wasn't exactly an expert. She said that I should follow my heart. My heart wanted Piper with me all the time, even when my business got in the way. Our relationship was brief but incredibly intense, and then it got troubled and there was so much pain. That level of pain was new to me, too. When I knew I was losing her I played it cool, but my insides were desperate. No one in my life has had so much power over me, and that's why she finally destroyed me. I got to talk to Sylvie about this, many years after my breakup with Piper. She was sympathetic. I had no idea of Piper's whereabouts, but I was still hurting. I was haunted.

Sylvie and I didn't exactly remain friends, but I felt I could talk to her from the depths of my suffering. She had been in her own hell for years, after all. There's a humility that comes from despair. A mutiny that takes away any prefab phrases. The last time I saw her she gave me this advice: let it hurt until it fades away. I thought it was working, and then the indictment came, and Piper was in my life again, and soon we were locked up in the same prison. And it was like no time had passed. Sylvie wrote me when I was in Litchfield. She made no judgements and offered help. It's not like we were going to become pen-pals, but I did write back, called back, enjoyed talking to her about our problems, and sometimes we could joke about it all. I had to let it freeze recently because of Piper's jealousy. But I saw Sylvie with different eyes. We weren't talking as an ex-couple but as two people who have been broken. A talk with its own codes. I wish I had this sometimes.

#Sylvie

#ex-girlfriends