“I just thought . . .”
“You thought wrong. See you tonight.” I hang up.
Idiot.
Because a massage or a pedicure is so fucking riveting. Does he even know me at all?
I throw the phone onto the couch and begin to pace. I’m so bored that I can hardly see straight. I want to be positive and love it here, but deep down I already know.
This isn’t who I am.
This whole city-living life just isn’t me.
I want to work, but then I don’t want to commit to anything until after the three months. If we do decide not to live here long term, then I don’t want to let anyone down.
What if we stay?
Hell . . . the thought of living here forever is traumatizing. No grass, no sun . . . not one thing to fucking do. I had all these hopes and dreams of opening my own animal husbandry business when I got back from traveling. I’d been working toward it for years. I was going to get an apprentice and perhaps hire a stable to work from.
But now what?
I walk to the window and look at the busy city way below . . . there are no animals here. Not a one.
Except for the paparazzi, of course.
I exhale heavily, disappointed that I feel this way. I want to love it. I want to support Christopher and be the good girlfriend that he deserves, but it’s as if every day that I stay here, I feel like I lose a little more of myself. As if minute by minute I’m watching my hopes and dreams slowly drip down the drain.
If he had just told me who he was.
I know that I’ve said that I made peace with Christopher for lying to me, and I realize that he had a valid reason for doing it.
But deep down, I’m resentful. His life is chugging along just great, while mine has come to a complete standstill.
We don’t have an equal exchange of power. It’s all about him and his life and his job . . . and how I should fit into it.
What if I wanted him to fit into my life . . . could he do that? Of course not. It’s not even an option, and I mean, it’s ridiculous to even want that because he makes so much more money than me. Of course his job should come first.
The thought is depressing.
I fell for a simple cleaner and ended up with a workaholic . . . the two men I love are worlds apart.
10:00 p.m.
The movie is playing, but I’m not watching . . . I mean, I’ve never been one to watch a lot of television, but now that it’s my only company, I’m beginning to really despise it.
I glance at the time on my phone: 10:00 p.m. . . . god, it’s late. That must be some motherfucking long telecall to Paris. Poor Christopher, he’s been at work since eight o’clock this morning. I hope he at least had something to eat before his meeting.
He works too hard.
I exhale heavily and hold the remote up and turn the television off.
I’m going to bed.
I close the automatic drapes in the apartment and watch as all the twinkling lights of London slowly disappear.
I brush my teeth and climb into bed. I smile as I smell the freshly washed linen.
At least I achieved something today.
I stare up at the ceiling as my mind wanders over the week ahead. I might go to a bookshop tomorrow and stock up.
I haven’t read a book in a while. Maybe I’ll read War and Peace and all the other books I’ve never had time to read.
It’s the weirdest thing. When I was back at the farm, it felt like I no longer belonged there, like I’d grown out of it. But now that I’m here, this feels even more foreign.