|||||U2 - Crumbs From Your Table||]|
Life goes on. It always does.
Well, I can't spend every waking moment at Matthew's, can I? I've got work to do. Unlike that snobby cow who just sits around waiting for everyone to jump to her bidding, I've actually got a living to earn. And yes, I'm glad I'm doing it, and no, I don't care how much like a Hufflepuff I sound. At last we actually work for what we want. Provided for, my arse. Where's the satisfaction in that?
*She wanders aimlessly through the streets that back onto Knockturn Alley, kicking aside a grate in the cobblestones, then dropping down through the hole into a long dark passage that eventually winds its way upwards onto the streets of muggle London.*
Besides, half the time he wouldn't know if I'm there or not. He's still sleeping so much... and if I'd stayed there much longer with that bitch around I was going to break her face, pureblood lady or not.
I've always known he has other women. Men too. It's never bothered me before, but... that's it. The problem. That's the very thing that bothers me.
It bothers me that I can't bring myself to believe there's anything more to us than a business relationship with some very pleasurable fringe benefits. But I'll be fair to him, he's never tried to make out we were anything else. And for my part, I suppose he's the only person who I'm totally honest with, really. He's always known exactly who I am, ever since the day I walked into his office in my best robe and asked him to get me an obscenely large divorce settlement.
It might be easier if I could look at it as the indulgence of a rich man with a poor litle slum girl. Then at least I could feel hard done by about it. It would be easier too if I could make myself believe I actually loved him, that we were a fairytale with the handsome (but in this version decidedly dodgy) prince sweeping Cinderella off in a carriage that doesn't turn back into a pumpkin at midnight.
I could cope with that. I could deal with my illusions being shattered. They've been shattered before and I survived it. What hurts is the fact I can fool anyone I want to - make them believe I'm anything and anyone I want - but I can't fool myself. Sometimes I wish I could.
I wish I didn't see so clearly.
There's a lot to be said for illusions.
So. Home for a few hours, get some sleep, then out to finish the job for Borgin and Burkes - got something nasty to acquire for them. Then if I'm still even half awake after I've dropped off the new merchandise I'll pop in and see how Matthew's doing. And if the exalted Mrs Saint is there, fuck it. She'll just have to ignore me.