Call me Michelle, Jennifer is so last week.
I'm going crazy.
Mostly, people are driving me insane, but driving or not, I'm still going to be in a straight jacket in the very near future. Which, all things considered shouldn't surprise me, but I didn't know that it would be like this.
For starters, I killed my husband. It wasn't entirely my fault. We trapped him in the elevator defending ourselves. He had to have wanted me to push the button, or he wouldn't have made that curtain remark. And if I hadn't killed him, he would have killed me. I didn't have much of a choice. I did what I had to do to protect myself from the enemy, because that's exactly what Sam was.
They want me to go in with a team and clear out the house tomorrow. We're supposed to remove everything that could be seen as evidence by just about anyone. It's going to take hours, and I'm not going to like it. Plus, all of his stuff is probably still there.
Until things get settled, I have to stay with Lauren. Lauren, my friend. Lauren, my ex. Lauren, the person who hit on me four times in one day. Who insists that we share the bed because it's more comfortable and 'fair', and I think she might have felt me up once when I was half asleep. I didn't want to say anything, but I wanted to kick her ass on principle. I'm a widow now. It doesn't matter who killed Sam, he's dead.
Because I wanted him that way and knew he wouldn't be able to stay away. Predictable, even at the end.
If there's one positive thing I'm going to take away from this, it's that marriage is for normal people. I should have never tried, and it screwed me over. Now I'm stuck with a wig so dark it's almost black, hookerwear, and an hour worth of make up for my assignments. Not to mention the name change. I'm going to have a hard time playing "Michelle Ryan" for the first few weeks, I was used to being called Jennifer. That's been my fake name for years.
And then Sam went and ruined it, and paid for it with his life.
I don't know why I can't stop feeling guilty about that.
I think I need to slow down a little. Maybe instead of trying to keep myself busy, I should take a few days off and process everything. Then I'll understand things better, and regret less.
I'll go ask Rachael about it after I get changed.
I walk into our new building, winking at the overly friendly security guard, and head up the stairs. --I don't do elevators anymore. In a few minutes, I'm stopping to catch my breath and take out my keys, and I head into my office, starting to unzip my dress before I realize I'm not alone.
Someone's waiting for me. In my chair.
Shit.
Who gave them permission to sit there?
Mostly, people are driving me insane, but driving or not, I'm still going to be in a straight jacket in the very near future. Which, all things considered shouldn't surprise me, but I didn't know that it would be like this.
For starters, I killed my husband. It wasn't entirely my fault. We trapped him in the elevator defending ourselves. He had to have wanted me to push the button, or he wouldn't have made that curtain remark. And if I hadn't killed him, he would have killed me. I didn't have much of a choice. I did what I had to do to protect myself from the enemy, because that's exactly what Sam was.
They want me to go in with a team and clear out the house tomorrow. We're supposed to remove everything that could be seen as evidence by just about anyone. It's going to take hours, and I'm not going to like it. Plus, all of his stuff is probably still there.
Until things get settled, I have to stay with Lauren. Lauren, my friend. Lauren, my ex. Lauren, the person who hit on me four times in one day. Who insists that we share the bed because it's more comfortable and 'fair', and I think she might have felt me up once when I was half asleep. I didn't want to say anything, but I wanted to kick her ass on principle. I'm a widow now. It doesn't matter who killed Sam, he's dead.
Because I wanted him that way and knew he wouldn't be able to stay away. Predictable, even at the end.
If there's one positive thing I'm going to take away from this, it's that marriage is for normal people. I should have never tried, and it screwed me over. Now I'm stuck with a wig so dark it's almost black, hookerwear, and an hour worth of make up for my assignments. Not to mention the name change. I'm going to have a hard time playing "Michelle Ryan" for the first few weeks, I was used to being called Jennifer. That's been my fake name for years.
And then Sam went and ruined it, and paid for it with his life.
I don't know why I can't stop feeling guilty about that.
I think I need to slow down a little. Maybe instead of trying to keep myself busy, I should take a few days off and process everything. Then I'll understand things better, and regret less.
I'll go ask Rachael about it after I get changed.
I walk into our new building, winking at the overly friendly security guard, and head up the stairs. --I don't do elevators anymore. In a few minutes, I'm stopping to catch my breath and take out my keys, and I head into my office, starting to unzip my dress before I realize I'm not alone.
Someone's waiting for me. In my chair.
Shit.
Who gave them permission to sit there?