Luke doesn't want me anymore, and he shouldn't. I've been horrible. I've been selfish. I've been inconsiderate. I haven't deserved him. I don't deserve him. He's miserable over me. He's miserable, and he's saving himself. Isn't that what I was trying to do? Isn't that what I failed to do?
He needs his chance at happiness. He already fucked up with one fucked up woman. He doesn't have the time or energy for me. He doesn't deserve to go through that again. He doesn't deserve to be second choice.
Yes, I love him. I want him. I need him. But that isn't enough, is it? It isn't enough that I could make him happy when I've made him so miserable. It isn't enough that I love him when I hate myself. It isn't enough that I want to help him when I want to destroy myself.
Do I really deserve love? Do I really deserve passion? Do I even deserve to get myself back into some kind of treatment?
I'm never going to be happy like this, but do I really deserve to be happy?
Luke gave me as much as he could. He gave me all of himself. He gave me plenty of chances, and I failed to grab them. I can't take any more of his time or his love or his attention. I can't take any more from him.
He's a good guy. He's funny and charming and considerate. He deserves someone who can be everything to him. He deserves someone who won't make him miserable. He deserves to save himself.
He deserves a life without me.
And, now, all I can really do is survive.
Or not.
Ryan gets home late. He's wearing his suit. He must have been at the office. He doesn't ask about my day or my hike or how I'm feeling after yesterday. He just sees my puffy red eyes and bloated cheeks and leaves two Ativan on the counter.
“I hate seeing you like this,” he says.
“I don't want them.”
“Please, sweetheart. You'll feel better.”
But I don't believe him.
Chapter 34
Everything between us is tense and awkward. I try to give Ryan what he wants. I eat with him. I sleep in his bed. I kiss him, and touch him, and fuck him, trying so hard to feel something other than the dull hurt that permeates my body.
But I don't.
This is the bed I made for myself.
I walk past Luke's apartment on my way to work and drive past his house on the way home. It is always quiet, no matter the time of day. I don't even hear the low lull of the TV.
My days on set are long, but there is too much waiting, and it gets harder and harder to block out images of Luke's misery. I hurt him. I dragged him down with me. I have to stop this destruction. I have to stay away from him.
Ryan insists I come to the party. I try to weasel my way out of it, but Ryan will have none of it. It's his birthday, and he's not going to let my indiscretions get in the way of our life together. He's not going to let my infidelity mess up any more of his life.
The only thing I look forward to is my acting lesson Saturday morning, but, when it arrives, I am out of my league. My coach lectures me for skipping lessons. Sure, I'm on set now, too busy to come during the weeks, but she has a grea
t Saturday afternoon advanced class. It would be good for the other students to work with me, she says, and what's my excuse for skipping practice the last year? She doesn't take my eating disorder treatment as an excuse. Acting would only be good for me. I need a way to express myself, to work through my feelings on stage.
“Okay, my dear,” she says, “enough tormenting you. Here's a monologue. It's great stuff. Right up your alley. I'll be back in sixty minutes.” She hands me a stark white piece of paper, double-sided with an incredibly long monologue. “Remember, this is not a lot of time to rehearse. You need to follow your instincts. You need to make choices and stick to them. Remember, acting is making choices.”
It's her motto. Acting is making choices. She says it every chance she gets. She says it as if she's mocking me for my pathetic indecision.
I read the monologue. I don't recognize it. Probably something from some play no one has ever seen. She loves plays no one has ever seen. They're her favorite.
I read it three times before I start memorizing my lines. It's about a girl moving on with her life, her ex-boyfriend holding her back. Or is it? Does she still love him or does she hate him? Is she in denial or is she running away from her feelings? Conflict is good. Conflict is interesting. I need to make the choice I can play. A happy girl with nothing between her and her beloved isn't interesting. A girl unable to move on because of her asshole boyfriend, maybe in denial about her feelings, that's interesting. That's a choice I can play.
And I understand it all too well.
I get to work on memorizing my lines. I repeat the first line four or five times, until I have it down pat, then I work on the second, the third, the fourth. I check the clock. Only 15 minutes left. My, how time flies. I run through the monologue, just trying to recite the lines. Once I say it perfectly a few times, I try to explore the nuances. I try to follow my character's instincts. Is she happy here? Sad? Angry? All of the above?