Incest

Contrary to what you’ll read in the end, we did go there. I mention it now because of the sabotage, it’s more logical. I open the parentheses to insert what happened after the end of the book. I didn’t know we would go to Rome when I wrote the last page. I came back and I ended it. As agreed, Marie-Christine left for Paris on December 22nd. That provoked very serious anxiety attacks again. I was once again in an unbearable state. I don’t want to revisit it. We broke up right before she left on the 22nd, this break seemed credible, there was still some hope, but very faint. I expected Frédéric the morning of the 24th. Marie-Christine was meant to return on the 25th on the twelve-thirty flight. She was hoping we would celebrate Christmas together that day, with Frédéric, my parents and Léonore of course. Even if we were separated, even if the break was confirmed, it didn’t matter, we could still celebrate Christmas together. I was impossible, I overdid it, again, I read the last two pages I’d just finished writing the morning of the 22nd to her over the phone. She got an ear infection, in Paris, and was not allowed to fly, if her fever went down, she might possibly take the train. I went to pick her up at the station with Léonore on the 25th, she had her presents from the day before, a pair of Jil Sander slacks in a bag, there was also a duvet cover, CDs, gifts from twenty-five people. She was deaf in one ear. She wanted me to be gentle and nice to her, I wasn’t, quite the opposite. In the end, Christmas went well. But things started up again the next day. We didn’t want to go to Rome. When she wanted to go, I no longer did. When I wanted to go, she no longer did. The delirium continued, the violence even intensified. We didn’t leave on Sunday as we were meant to, we were still billed for the night in the hotel. In the end, we did leave, but later, on Tuesday. In the airport we had six hundred francs stolen, it was all a waste. I was a fountain during the whole six days in Rome. I cried in the street, at the restaurants, everywhere, on a bicycle we’d rented. Again, she came close to hitting me, I said “no, I’m begging you.” She didn’t do it. It was still horrible. We really did separate on our return. It’s over. And this time, it’s permanent. It was sabotage up and down the line. We were lucky to be in Rome and we looked like we were at a funeral. One day she says to me “come, I’m going to get you a present, I’m going to buy you a Venini vase,” I lost her on the way to the shop on purpose. As soon as I lost her, I ran through the streets in a panic. I couldn’t find her. The streets were filled with people. I went to the shop where we’d seen the vases, I went to Prada, I went back to the hotel I went to another possible boutique, she was nowhere, the streets were packed, I thought she had gone for a bike ride to get rid of me. It was our last day in Rome, and our last day period. I went back the hotel yet again, she still wasn’t there. I left her a message: I’m looking for you, I went here, here, and here, I’m going out again, but I’ll be back. I went to a restaurant we liked, she wasn’t there, the weather was magnificent, we weren’t taking advantage of it, we weren’t taking advantage of anything. Our trip to Rome was screwed up just like my life. The Venini, which I wanted so much, also screwed up. It was supposed to be my Christmas present. The restaurant together, sabotaged. Claude, Judith, and their child were spoiling the landscape for me, I was having nightmares, I ate breakfast feeling nauseous. I returned to the hotel, she still wasn’t there. I lay down on my bed. The sobs came. We had two beds. She came back around three thirty. I was so happy I couldn’t believe it. But it all started up again. Before the Venini, we were supposed to go to Prada, just to see, we spent the last two hours we had left, it was full of people, foreigners, Japanese people, someone addressed me in English, I did my Pierre Angot impression “I’m not English nor American,” I was an idiot, a bitch, a cunt, a beast, Elisabeth, sassy, impertinent, stupid. At the moment I insult myself all the time, ultimately my narcissism took a real hit in this whole incest story. Marie-Christine was sitting on the ground, she’d had enough. I finally bought some shoes that hurt my feet, I’ll never be able to wear them. When what I really wanted was a beautiful Venini vase, a reflection of my life if she had kept her promises from the start. So we’re not together anymore. I’m not with anyone. I don’t think it’s worth it anymore.