| Subject: Chapter 258 - Part 2 (end of chapter 258) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, October 23, 07:13:33am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (258>?) continued" on Monday, October 23, 07:10:30am
She opened the envelope, then, as though she expected it to contain demands for a divorce, her self-conception plummeting, of late--the tears still threatening. She was wincing every moment like a child expecting to be hit, only retrieving the letter with reluctance. There was a long sigh, as she braced herself, eyes finally focusing on the missive. Then, she began to read:
My beloved Nikita,
More than anything, I need you to be safe. I wake in the night with the terror of something happening to you. Please, please keep yourself safe for me. I couldn't go on at all without you.
On this note, because I can't keep from worrying, I have some advice for you. Please take it as being given by the man who loves you. Relieve my mind by following it.
About your ankle, I know it isn't always possible for you to simply rest at home on Sundays. Could you perhaps spend them with Helmut and Kate, instead? They've been good friends to us. I'm certain that they would help look after you. Other than that, tell Andrew to help you on the set. When you're not needed, you can sit quietly, keeping it raised. That should help with the pain a little.
I'm sending this letter to your grandmother's house, as I'm somehow certain that you're still there. I do understand; you need the help. Still, I know that you'd be happier and safer, if you were at home--but only if you had someone nearby to look after you. Maybe your grandmother can help you look for that.
I know you must be afraid all alone in that house some nights. I know you're unused to that sort of silence. Let your grandmother find some helpers who can be there with you. Please listen to her, when she says she's found them. Trust her; she knows what to do. I'll feel much better, if I know you're safe.
I know this letter is short. There's so much more I want to say, but I haven't the opportunity just now. I had to write now rather than later, though, to tell you to trust your grandmother's judgment. I need to know that you're home safe, being well looked after.
There's only time for me to tell you one more thing, my love. I adore you. If anyone is the dream in this marriage, it's you. Being around those who worship you from afar, being away from you, reminds me of that even more. I have no wish to imagine what my life would be like without you. The truth is that I never really had one before we met. I lived my life in some sort of daze, moving through each day by necessity alone. You are the fulfillment of fantasies I didn't dare believe in. It is so hard to remember, sometimes, that you are real.
Take care of yourself. Keep yourself well and healthy and as happy as it's possible for you to be, just now. Don't allow anyone to hurt you. I wouldn't allow them to forget it, if they did.
Listen to your grandmother, for my sake. I have to know that my beautiful fantasy of a wife is real; I have to know that you're waiting for me. You're too perfect for any man to deserve--but I'm far too greedy to have you near me every moment to ever let you go.
With constant devotion,
Your Michael
The tears in her eyes hadn't dissipated much by the time she had finished--her husband's love so clear in every line. Still, the fears lingered. Would he really love her like this, once he saw her again? Would their more passionate relationship survive the arrival of their child--the changes to her body? It wasn't that she doubted him but herself. She just couldn't be certain that there would be anything left which was worthy of his devotion by the time he returned.
She couldn't get over this doubt, felt it wracking her, even as she picked up a pen and paper to respond--none of his deeper messages getting through. She only knew the fears which drove her, forcing her on, the pen poised. She wrote:
Dear Michael,
How can you love me so much? How can you ever think of me as a fantasy? I've never had anything like your perfection, in looks, or intelligence, or poise--even in the love that the public has for you. I'm a nobody you took pity on. How can you even know that you married me and keep going?
I can't understand this. I don't know why you want me. Every time I think about it, I'm baffled. What on earth makes you think you love me?
All of these questions are so clear to me now. Still, none of them make me doubt that *I* love *you*. *That* makes sense. Every woman on earth is crazy for you--and they should be. Why would you ever choose me?
If you could see me these days, you would doubt even more. I'm growing round and blob-like, am losing any claims to beauty I might ever once have had. Your child is still fine, but his mother is a dead loss. Why do you even bother?
I can't understand why you worry about me. I can't understand your sacrifices. I'm not worth any of them--especially these days. I'm not really worth anyone's time and yet
She had given up there, had her face in her hands, sobbing--the tears raining down to smear the ink. She let herself weep, feeling worthless and sorry for herself. But, in truth, she felt even sorrier for Michael and her grandmother and all those who wasted their time looking after her--the pain immense. All their lives would be so much simpler, if she were gone.
It was on this thought, where she caught herself--the depths of her despair unacknowledged until then; she looked back up, the tears still on her cheeks, a little surprised. The last time she had felt so useless, so hopeless, she had nearly killed herself; her heart caught. It had only been her husband's absolute love which had begun to bring her back.
He hadn't been her husband then, of course, their marriage still quite a way off--but the love he had given had supported her, all the same. Never once had he questioned her right to go through with it, if it were what she had wanted; never once had he bullied or used guilt to try to control her. That he would undoubtedly have followed her path soon thereafter had been left entirely unsaid; the tears stopped with a slight hiccup, as she struggled to pull herself back together. He had presented her only with love.
It was this absolute devotion she felt again now, the reality of it sinking into her at last. Perhaps he was right, as well; perhaps it was being away from their home which was making the doubts so strong. She started to crumple up the letter she had started, not wanting to send him such painful thoughts. If she could just go back to that place of sanctuary . . .
It was in this desire that her mind began to focus again, her eyes returning to his letter. Given its date, it had arrived in only a few days; miracle that that was, she was thankful for it--had needed to be brought back to herself, his love for her so clear. His suggestion that she subtly ask Helmut for protection from the studio's demands on Sunday, in order to give her ankle time to heal, was a good one, as well; she didn't need yet another week of glad handing Friars' Club members. A day with her friends would definitely be better for her than that.
Still, this wasn't the only reason why she was thankful for his letter. The hints within it, the plea there--the one she had missed in her despair the first time through--now seemed so clear. He was asking her to give into Adrian's suggestions that she hire a bodyguard. He knew about the terror she had had that one night in their home. But she also knew that she had not been the one to pass on this information. If not her, then . . .
She pondered this for only a second, quickly discarding several other possibilities. Shears seemed a ludicrous one, as many hints as he had picked up about her life; the two men had never gotten along--and the actor would have needed to get the address. Helmut had it, had passed it along to Rene, but she couldn't imagine a way that that man would be able to phrase such an incident in order to get it past any possible censors; her look firmed, knowledge settling. There was only one possible informant. And it was the person whose home she inhabited right now.
She got up with this thought, went to talk with her grandmother, limping only slightly; it was about time she did so seriously--she saw at last. For the last week or more, she had been so wrapped up in fears and doubts that she hadn't heard a real word the woman had said. Still, her husband's plea had finally done it. He was right; she needed to go home. And Adrian was the only person she knew who might be able to make this safely happen now.
[End of Part 258]
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