Lost in La La Land(52)

I wondered if it was the renovation or my inability to connect mixing with my previous career, preventing me from seeing the falsehoods all around me as truths. Unlike Lana, I wasn't able to come into this with a blank mind, that was already against me. As I lay there plagued by dissatisfaction, in the arms of the man who defined it in my world, I knew there was only one solution. I no longer needed la la land.

There was no joy in it anymore.

The joy got lost in the realization of what this place was.

The walls tightened around me and the air grew stale. The joy was false and the companionship wasn't quenching my thirst. I drank from a fountain that only made me thirstier. And I didn't want to end up like Lana, driven crazy by the fact that this place wasn't giving us what we wanted but making us want for it all the more. And we would never find our desires here, only a bottomless pit of need.

The worst of it was my regret in the ruin of a beautiful man, character.

Lying with Captain Wentworth, a man of honor, loyalty, and morals, suddenly made me feel something I hadn’t really felt here, disturbed.

Here was a man whose moral compass had always pointed north with pride and certainty, and I had managed to change that. I had twisted all the things I admired about him and made him love me.

But it wasn't real love.

It wasn't the feel of rough hands against smooth skin.

It wasn't a man doing something out of character, but rather a woman shaping a man’s character to fill a hole.

My hole was filled, in every way, even the ones I could say were not to be spoken of. But my broken heart would only heal halfway here on the stage where every so often the lights caught the strings from the puppets, revealing them for what they were.

Distance had grown between Wentworth and myself and I knew what had to be done.

I had to fix everything I’d ruined.

There was no bringing back Mrs. Smith but I could at least guarantee Cousin William wouldn't marry Anne. I could guarantee he was the only one left single and outed for his sins.

The sun rose through the heavy drapes, creating a line of dust in the air above us. It sparkled and danced and I sighed, contented for the first time in ages.

I climbed from the bed to dress and slip through the bricks back to my own room.

When I got downstairs, the men weren’t at breakfast, which was nice. We ladies ate and laughed. Even Mary was more than civil and less demanding.

Afterward, I took a turn about the garden, wishing the grounds were back home, but if I were to leave this book behind, I had to fix everything I’d broken. I couldn't leave it this way, even if it was imaginary.

Once lunch was over, I discovered Anne sitting in a chair, staring out the window. I walked past her, noting the look on her face. I followed her gaze through the window to where Captain Wentworth was speaking with Charles and holding guns. They were back from the hunt. After we ladies had joined them the first time, we weren’t invited back.

I took none of the blame in that.

The sadness in Anne’s eyes was heartbreaking. She truly was the best person, nicest.

Not just a doting daughter and kind friend but also a selfless person who wouldn't imagine asking for one thing for herself.

Truth be told, she had always been my least favorite Austen girl. Well, she and Fanny Price tied.

I adored Emma’s meddlesome antics. She did and said what she believed was right, even when it wasn't, and bore a stern and judgmental lecture with dignity.

Eliza Bennet was a proud and intelligent young woman who tried to do right by people, apart from Mr. Collins, but I imagined no one judged her for that. She followed her heart.

Catherine Morland was curious and immature, which for her age suited her. She daydreamed and imagined herself in scandalous situations, never truly living in her own world. I couldn't fault her for it and I was forty.

Marianne and Elinor were also favorites, but for differing reasons. I adored the loyalty and strength of Elinor. She was a true lady. And Marianne was her opposite, reckless and living life to the fullest.

No, Anne Elliot and Fanny Price were the two I disliked the most. One a spineless doormat and the other a lackluster scardey-cat.

But upon meeting Anne, and witnessing her family’s behavior firsthand, I had to admit, the feelings of judgment faded. To witness a person be so good made it hard to think ill of them.

The silent way in which she loved Captain Wentworth, never allowing herself to believe they might rekindle, was brave and strong in a way I didn't understand.

I had never had to fight for a man or for a love. One was taken before it really had the chance to be anything epic and the other was a figment of mine and Jane Austen’s imagination.

I didn't have the same characteristics as she did, not all of them, but I believed I still would have acted the same as Anne had. I wouldn't have chased a man or let my feelings be known unless I knew for sure how he felt about me.

I sat next to her, smiling softly. “Might I intrude?”

“Of course, please.” She repositioned herself and tried not to let her eyes drift to where the captain was.

“You still love him?” I asked, boldly.

“Love? No, of course not.” She forced another smile across her lips. “That was so long ago, I hardly remember the girl I was then. Or the man he was.”

“You can tell me.”

“You love him too, Cousin.” Her gaze shifted and a strange characteristic I didn't expect seeped out.