It is the first time that I have owned a piece of the sunshine, and it pleases me. It falls though this window at 7 am every morning, and I like to be awake to watch it, to be in it. I watch dust particles as they dance through it, lit like sparks.
It amuses me.
I find myself thinking. And wanting. Discontent with where I’m heading. Wishing for things that I have no means to ever achieve. Disgusted with my inability to do anything right.
I wish I were more open and stopped trying to constantly conceal and mask my feelings, or maybe I wish I could learn to deal with the feelings I already have. But if I did that, I would just end up even more screwed up.
I am thankful for Marlena, though. I love her and I am ever confused as to why she loves me back. But at least one thing in my life is okay. Or was. It’s so hard to tell these days.
In short, everything sucks. And if I am being vague, too bad.
But today, just as the light filters through, Marlena and I engage each other, both of us set in our views, determined to convert the other.
She has made a habit of walking out on me, perhaps to escape the reason that I fail to make her see, obstinate in her flawed emotions.
And I have made a habit of letting her. But no more. Today, yes today, I will make her see. I have lived a lifetime of shadows and inherent loneliness, where nothing is constant, and the burdens are great. I will not give up the sunshine.
Marlena is a smart woman, so it is distressing to see her being so obviously manipulated. But somehow, all she sees are the secrets that I keep from her. Secrets that ensure her protection. Secrets that are insignificant in the grande scheme of things.
She is manipulating me, playing on notion that our marriage was built on trust. Her words have purpose, with the intent to guilt me into passivity. Quite noble really. The cunning in me applauds her tactics, but I know better.
Today, I am honest with her, about as honest as I can be, given the circumstances, “I am a little bit insecure, a little unconfident / ‘Cause you don’t understand, I do what I can / But sometimes I don’t make sense.”
Her pretty features snarl in mild disgust and a touch of unsettlement. My vulnerability is her vulnerability. She is not the only one skilled in the art of manipulation.
Her pain won’t make me feel better, but it will save us in the long run. And isn’t that all that truly matters?
She taught me how to wage cold war with quiet charm, but I just want to walk through my life unarmed. But in a world full of Tony Dimeras, hounds who wait in peripherals to capitalize on our weakness, I am left with no choice. I will not sacrifice the sunshine for the sake of morality.
Marlena knows this. She does not accept it. But that has never bothered me. I never expected her to.
Her great sense of trust is one of her most admirable qualities, but it will also be her undoing.
She rears back at me, incredulous as to how I could think that the twins are capable of wrong doing and such evil.
How all they want is to be loved, and that such juvenile insecurity and Stefano’s breed of hate are not compatible.
I tell her, it can be so, as I am living proof.
She tells me that our situations are different. Not so. I once thought the same, but I have come to realize that Cassie and Rex are cut from the same tainted cloth I was. And that is why I fear what they are capable of.
Because I too, am capable of the same.
Her hands ball into tight fists, and her face is flushed with an anger I have not seen in some time. That small gesture is touching, and it reminds me that maybe there is a small part of her that is afraid, but her resolve to be a good mother is great and overpowering.
I can see her eyeing the door. She is planning her escape. And just as I was making progress too. Grasping her arm, I plead my case, “Hear me out now / You’re going to listen to me.” And throw in a bit of force for good measure, “Like it or not / Right now.”
Skeptic’s eyes bore into mine, but I smile with the realization that I have her complete attention. And a little bit of an upper hand. She will not emasculate me. I am not her lap dog. I am her husband.
She senses my power play, and stands a bit taller, and a safe distance apart once she disengages her arm from my hand. I allow her this small concession. At least she is listening.
I do not restrain myself, as I recount her foolishness. Insult her sense of duty and belittle her recent choices. How her obligation to the twins should not transfer into an obligation to Tony.
She owes him nothing.
Her eyes narrow a bit, and I sense her retort before it passes her lips. How could I deny her this, she asks. How could I knowingly act as an obstacle between her and the truth of her past.
Fuck Salem, fuck home, fuck her mission, fuck you all. I too once thought I was owed something. It recently dawned on me that the past was best left there. Nothing good can come from unearthing our own personal dark ages. It is something that I have deeply regretted ever since, and will continue to regret for the rest of my days.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. She is not listening to me, and we are arguing in circles. We have been here before, and this is a place I do not care to revisit.
The game we have been playing is a complicated one. We are lovers, and we are sleeping together, loving each other, even though we know we are about to betray one another.
Before today, I was having second thoughts. A little at a time, she was pulling me into believing her own lie. A few nights ago, as I entered her body, she husked how much she loved me. When we slept beside each other that night, she dreamed of me, and spoke of me aloud.
But I see the glazed look in her eye, as if she does not truly understand that which occurs around us, and it has me fearful for our future. She is walking briskly into a web that is masked behind seemingly good intentions.
Tony wishes to possess this beautiful woman, though if it is because he truly desires her, or to wound me terribly, I’m not sure. But in the end, the reasons do not matter, because the physical intentions are the same. And if I do not act swiftly, she will disappear.
I know I have saved her from perilous hands before, but I have come to realize that Tony is far more devious than his father had ever been. Stefano was a terrible man, but not nearly as efficient and underhanded as his son. Tony’s greatest accomplishment has been earning a certain degree of respect from Marlena, something Stefano was never able to do. It is small, but it is enough.
And that worries me above all else.
It’s not the shared meals, the shared children, or the shared missing past. But the small amount of trust she has willingly given him.
She denies my accusations. Is incensed that I would claim to know how she feels when I know nothing. Again, the door looks to be her escape.
Funny how everything I say seems to upset her, “Don’t turn your back on me / I won’t be ignored.”
I must look out for her, because she refuses to look out for herself. Refuses to take necessary precautions when it comes to dealing with the Dimeras. If that is considered treating her like a criminal, the so be it. Marlena certainly knows how to utilize dramatic measures.
I cannot tell her my secrets. There are some things we cannot share with others. No matter how trusting we are with each other. In a perfect world I would give the information freely, but trust is a two-way street, and I don’t trust Marlena not to tell Tony. What she already knows and probably suspects is more than enough.
Please, reader, do not think that Marlena and I have sunken to the lowest pits of despair in that we cannot share the details of our lives with one another. That, if anything, would be generalizing the situation, and I have learned that the two of us are beyond those types of limits.
And now, we have reached an impasse. I am not foolish enough to think that I have convinced her of my point, but I know I’ve given her something to think about. Now her bosom rises and falls tumultuously. She is beginning to recognize that the truth is approaching to possess her, and she is striving to beat it back with her will. It is so nice and warm in her false perceptions. Marlena takes back control of her limbs and turns away. She knows that she will weep when she hooks into my gaze; this face that has always looked with love upon her.
And yet she loves me. Often she has not. Well, that is not quite accurate. She has despised me, but there is still love. Love and hate are not mutually exclusive entities. And what does it matter? What can love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of possession?
Unfortunately I do not know the answer to that. But I’m working on it.
If somehow this situation wouldn’t diminish us both. I can see us being demons, devils for each other. I can see us destroying each other. I can’t see anything but this.
Looking to the window, I notice the sun is retreating, backing off into the distance. Though it is futile, I reach a hand out, as if to capture the beams of sun that are mine. But my hand slips through it, despite my best efforts. I feel like that, with Marlena these days.
But tomorrow is another day, and the sunshine will return. And this time, it will not escape me.
Finis
The Jarlena Journal 