MC - Simone's Journal Pt 1

An Interlude – Simone's Journal, Part One



(Relevant entries translated from Enuin by Farrere's quiet mind, to save him from hearing his mother's voice, telling her story in the language she used whenever she needed to comfort him)



Août 10th 120PE

Danielle said I should introduce myself. I said that was unnecessary, but she's usually right. A journal can become an eloquent demonstration of your existence after you're dead, she said. I informed her I do not plan to be dead for a long time.
'All the same, Simone,' she said. Danielle always says that.

My name is Simone Paige Ripicola. I am writing this because it was the most appropriate thing to do with the leather-bound blank-paged book I was given for my sixteenth birthday. Sixteen seemed as good an age as any to start a journal.

I have four sisters, two younger than me, Rose and Celine, and two elder, Danielle and Marie. My mother is Justine and my father Manech. We're Cynimpial, and we're not wealthy, but there are worse things. We live just outside of Aunice, and my father owns and runs a small café in town. My sisters and I take it in turns to help him at the café when we're not at school. There's work to be done at home on our small farm, but my mother refuses to let us help her. She was raised on a farm herself and has sworn her daughters will never have to milk a cow, so we feed the chickens and geese and tease the rooster. Celine begs my parents for a horse, but we don't have the money.

It's early spring so I suppose the cows will calf soon. I'm staying well away this year, last year I made the mistake of entering the paddock to check on them and they all headed over to stare me down. Insidious things, cows.

Our mouser has had her kittens, five out of seven lived. She's quite proud.

I'm afraid I don't have much else to say.


Août 18th

I think I'm quite plain, and I'm sure everyone agrees. My sisters and I all look alike, and together we're very dreary to look at. Marie even wears an excess of kohl to no avail. She just wishes Jean Montague would make a pass at her.

Nothing more to report, Danielle merely suggested I write what I look like if I had nothing else to say. I said: 'I'm blonde and too tall. What else is there?'

Of course she said: 'All the same, Simone.' Although, this time she said it with quite a smirk. I had no interest in flattering her by inquiring why.


Octobre 21st

An interesting thing happened today.

I hadn't been to school in quite awhile, so when Mama pressed I let her have her way. I went with Rose  and we sat up the back of the class with the rest of the Cyns. We don't sit there because we're made to, but because we dress alike. We're all drab. The children from the wealthier Bunalsien families wear their best clothes to school. I don't envy them. It would be dreadfully hot in summer.

They were teaching us about fourth-world history, about the American Civil War. The teacher read out the letters of two brothers who had been on opposing sides of the conflict, and I admit it was confronting. I had to take Rose out of the class because she started to cry, and while we standing outside we saw some of the older children leaving their classroom to go into town for lunch. The three Biloux boys were amongst them, and Édouard saw me and gave me a filthy look. I did punch him awfully hard when he and Regis ruined Celine's shawl.

I decided to take Rose to the café instead of back into class, Papa had always been best at calming her down. While we were there it was quite busy, so I waitressed for him. I was serving drinks when I looked over to see Regis across the street. He was outside the café opposite ours, just standing here, looking strange without Édouard and Marc. He stared at me for a good five minutes, and so when I got the chance I crossed the street and asked him what he wanted.

'I know you, don't I?' he asked me.
'Yes.' I replied, and decided I would make my tone just as rude as his. I reminded him that he and his cousin had bullied my sister last winter.
'What's your name?' he asked, seemingly paying no heed to anything I'd previously said. I told him my name and turned away, going back to the café. He called after me: 'Don't you want to know my name?'

His grandfather is Donatien Biloux and he's stupid enough to think I don't know his name? Most assuredly, I informed him of his stupidity, and that was that.

Interesting, no?


Octobre 28th

I saw Regis again today, this time he came into the café and ordered a drink. Chocolat chaud with chilli. I put in a little extra chilli just for him. He asked me why I hadn't been to school, and I told him it was none of his business.
'I'll have to come here to talk to you, then.' He said.
I confess that frightened me a little. I think he and Édouard are planning some kind of revenge because of last winter, and all Regis said when I asked him why he wanted to talk to me was: 'I want to know you better.'
Not a terribly convincing cover. I might consider believing him if he wasn't so adamant in talking with that horrid scowl on his face all the time. He's the picture of guilt. I've told my sisters to watch out for him, and if I get too worried I'll tell Papa.
I'm sure I can take care of anything he and his cousins concoct myself, though.


Janvier 6th 121PE

It has been atrociously hot this summer. Usually it begins to cool down after Christmas, but not this year.

I've given up on the Biloux boys springing some kind of trap on me, it's been too long and nothing's happened. Nothing other than Regis turning up to the café nearly every week now.

I feel he's too tall to be aptly labelled a pest, but I'm going to call him one anyway. He's been aware for some time now that I won't hold a conversation with him, instead it seems he's become partial to our coffee. If I knew how to use the coffee machine I'd over extract the grind to get rid of him. He always pays extra to sit outside, and he watches the street while he drinks.
I'd say he looked lonely if it weren't for that scowl.

I heard a rumour today that the State was considering allowing corn and wool to be grown in Aunice again, but I doubt it. Donatien Biloux would be unlikely to loosen his hold on the land for wheat. If he was able to buy off the State even as a young man, I'm sure he'd have no trouble still getting his way now. I'm glad we're not farmers.


Janvier 30th

It was very quiet at the café today. Everyone with sense was inside trying to stay cool because autumn is still evading us, but of course Regis was sitting at his table under the eaves, drinking coffee and wearing a blazer. There was nothing else to do so I made myself lemonade with mint and went to join him. I wanted to ask him about his grandfather and the rumour I'd heard.
He told me that his father and his grandfather had had an argument. His father had said there should be no question about corn and wool, and that they should also be looking into potatoes, mustard seeds, lettuces and wine if Aunice was to remain the agricultural capital.
It was all very interesting, but what surprised me most was that Regis told me so promptly. I asked him if he wanted me to keep it a secret. He only shrugged and said: 'Tell whoever you want.'
I told him I wouldn't tell because that would be cruel. The farmers who had gone through the hardship of adapting their land to suit the State didn't need the false hope. Regis was quite affronted by my opinion and he left shortly after. I'll have to remember expressing sympathy for those he probably considers peasants is the best way to get rid of him.


Mars 15th

My God, my mother! There is no helping her!
She came to the café today when I was talking to Regis and she asked me questions about him all the way home and into the evening!

Isn't that Donatien Biloux's grandson?
You're at school together aren't you?
What's his name?
How old is he?

All these are well and good, but then come these:

Your father says you and Regis sit down together and talk every week, are you sweet on him?
Why in the world not? He's very handsome.

I have a question of my own: Why me, Mother? Go tease Marie about Jean or Danielle about Albert. In no way does that mean teasing me about Regis is the same thing!
He's not handsome. He's loathsome.




This is an amendment to the entry above. I overreacted and was cruel. Regis is only a little bit loathsome and, yes, quite handsome.
I shall describe him for my record: he has dark blue hair with a funny wave to his fringe that he tries to squash, ochre brown eyes, a lean build and tanned skin. It's a pleasing combination, but I wouldn't describe him as "very" handsome for all the chocolate in the world.


Mars 29th

Today Regis asked me if it was annoying for me to have to look after Rose. When I told him I'm glad to do it because it's not Rose's fault she is the way she is he was very scornful. He asked me if she'd been born as she is, so I explained about the grain truck.
He laughed, and said in that haughty way of his: 'Falling into a grain truck doesn't make someone that stupid.'
So I explained we hadn't gotten her out in time and the grain had swollen in her throat and stopped her breathing. I explained that the lack of oxygen had damaged her brain. When I'd finished Regis didn't find it funny anymore. In fact, he expressed a surprising amount of compassion considering his usual nastiness.

I'm writing this down because I feel quite upset now that I'm alone. I often think about all Rose could have been if that hadn't happened. I know this isn't fair to her, but I won't speak about it to anyone, only write it down.


Avril 24th

He asked if he could see my tail today. I would have been offended if he hadn't done it in a way that was almost bashful. We were on the road out of town on the way to my house, so nobody was around. I took off the outer layer of my skirt and showed him.
'You'll treat me differently now.' I told him accusingly. He reacted by doing the most amusing things with his hands. First he waved them about and said, 'No, no, I wont!' then he pulled at his blazer and tried to flatten his fringe. I couldn't help laughing at him. He made no success in saving the situation by asking me if I could wag my tail. By the time I'd finally caught my breath from giggling he'd gone bright red and he was scowling again.
'If I can move my ears I can move my tail, Regis.' I informed him mockingly.
He said: 'I had figured that. But if you're pure why is your nose so pale?'
I explained about my family's history, that the southern River People had always had fairer colouring than the Cynimpials from the north and the Mainland. We'd sat down by this point, against the stone wall of the graveyard.
'Everyone is used to Cyns out here, but doesn't it upset you that you'll have to hide your ears and tail when you go to Nielle?' Regis asked.
'I have no intention of going to Nielle.' I replied.
'Really? But what about getting a job? What about the city?' He sounded as though he considered these things the very pinnacle of living.
'I'll work at the café. I don't mind doing that forever. And if I feel like a change of scene, maybe I'll move to the Napoleon Lakes. I'd rather see those than the sea.'
Each thing I said made him appear more and more shocked, and his reply was completely muddled by his surprise: 'You've never seen the sea? How could work at that café forever? If you're not going to get a real job then aren't you going to get married?'
I called him a pig and got up and kept walking. He yelled after me angrily, telling me to come back, so I said:
'I'm perfectly capable of walking home unaccompanied. I don't need a man to protect me so I'd have no use for a husband!'
Of course I know husbands are good for other things, but it was worth sinking to his level to see the look on his face.


Mai 3rd

The winter brings the rain, very cold this year.
One of the cows has sunk into the mud of the riverbank and her calf followed her. Papa and Guillaume, our neighbour, were able to get the calf out, but her mother is still stuck.
I remember four years ago the same thing happened, and that cow died. I hope they get her out.
I asked Regis if he would help, but he said he'd get in too much trouble. He seemed very sorry, he apologised several times. I became suspicious.
'Why do you care about our cow so much?' I asked him.
'I don't. But you're upset about it.'
What kind of half-hearted logic is that? The cow is going to die and my reaction is more significant? Who possibly thinks that way?


Mai 5th

They got the cow out of the mud and she is fine.
Regis said: 'So you're happy now?'
I wanted to hit him.


Mai 31st

I don't know where to begin. I guess the beginning, as that would seem to follow. That is if I had any real idea how this started. Maybe I'll blame the weather.   

It started to rain while Regis and I were walking out of town. I knew it was going to storm, but I also knew I had time to get home before the rain became too heavy. I told Regis this, but he was anything but enthusiastic about getting even slightly wet.
'Turn around and go home if you're worried about ruining your precious blazer. I'm fine by myself.' I informed him, but as I moved to continue he grabbed my hand and pulled me off the road, saying angrily that he didn't care about his coat.
He led me into the graveyard, heading to the paved area at the far end underneath the trees. He sat down against the trunk of the biggest tree, an old cherry, and he tugged me down, too.
'We'll stay till the rain stops,' he said, his tone making it clear I was not to argue. I did anyway, of course.
'You idiot, it's going to storm, it's not going to let up for at least an hour.'
He didn't reply, only glowered at the headstones. He didn't speak again until maybe ten minutes later.
'You're shivering,' he said as though it was my fault.
'I would have been fine if you'd let me keep walking.'
I called him an idiot again for good measure. Scowling most deeply, he took off his blazer and went to put it around my shoulders, but I said: 'You keep it if giving it to me is going to make you that angry.'
'I don't want it, I'm not cold. Please, Simone.'
It was the fact he said "please" that made me go quiet and let him give me the blazer. I thought to myself for a moment, watching him out of the corner of my eye.
'What's wrong with you?' I asked him when I could. I tried to put so much into that question. I wanted to make him understand that I'd never been so vexed by someone before.
He was silent for a long time, not looking at me. 'You're what's wrong with me,' he said furiously and suddenly, 'you're brash, opinionated and you don't ever shut up when I tell you to.'
'Why the hell should I?' I'd never felt so angry. I thought about getting up and leaving him there, but I didn't. I don't know why.
'Because that would mean you cared about what I thought. If you listened to me I would know for sure that I mattered to you.'
I didn't know what to say. I still don't know what to say. We sat there until the rain became a little lighter, and then parted ways at the graveyard, muttering our goodbyes. He didn't walk with me to my lane like he usually did, but we had silently agreed it was for the best.
What does he mean by what he said? I'm not stupid, I know what it could mean, but I'm sure there's something I'm missing.
I know that if I asked him to be honest with me he wouldn't be able to say anything other than what he had. He was honest, but I didn't understand.
I do care about what he thinks, I just thought his ego was big enough without my saying so.
Maybe that's what I'll say to him. It will seem shallow, but I don't want to

I'm sorry. I stared at that sentence for a long time without the courage to finish it. I promised myself I wouldn't erase anything from this journal, so instead this time I won't write down what I'm thinking.
I'll see what he says when I next see him.


Juin 7th

Again, I hardly know where to start.
I noticed him at the head of the street, so I quickly went to him before he could reach the café. I told him to wait there for me, then I went back and told Papa I was going home.
I don't think I managed any of this very calmly, because I'd been entirely convinced Regis wasn't going to come. He'd seemed so angry last week.
We began taking the route to my house, and I told him what I'd planned to say. Not unsurprisingly, it upset him.
'My ego isn't any bigger than yours. You treat me like this because you think it's how I should be, but I've never treated you that way.'
This did nothing to lift my confusion, so I demanded he start making sense.
'I've never treated you differently from me. You're a Cyn and you have no money, but so what? Stop treating me like I'm nothing but Bunalsien and rich.'
I understood that. And he was right, I know he was right. I had judged him all this time, and to my horror I could think of no occurrence where he had done the same to me.
I'm stubborn, I can't help it, I couldn't apologise. Instead I goaded him, a further mistake.
'And why is it that you make that effort for me? What makes me such a special poor Cynimpial?'
He stopped walking then, and so did I.
'If you were Bunalsien I would still want to know you. It makes no difference to me. Would you like me if I were a Cyn?'
'No. You'd be even more boarish.'
He turned and walked away in the direction of the town. I knew I'd gone too far and that I couldn't let him leave, so I called him back, but he didn't listen. I hated him for making me run after him. I tried to take his hand but he pulled away.
'I know you like me.' I said, not knowing why I thought this might make him stop. It didn't, and he only looked angrier.
He said: 'That doesn't matter. I've wasted my time.'
I'm so ashamed about what I said in response. I was scared, but that is no excuse.
'You have wasted your time, because I won't lie down and let you fuck me just because I'm beneath you and you think you have the right to do whatever you want with me!'
It has been my secret fear for a long time now that that was all he wanted. How could I possibly hold any other value for him?
But even worse was the way he stopped and looked at me then. I knew as soon as I saw his eyes I'd been wrong, and I realised that scared me even more. Probably just as well, because I finally shut my mouth.
'You think that's what I want?' he asked in a whisper.
I shook my head, no, because I knew then I never should have thought that way.
'That isn't what I want. I don't expect anything from you.'
I think he could see I was trying not to cry, so he smiled and added: 'You could be nicer to me.'
I nodded. Somehow, and I don't know how I braved doing this, I took his hands and led him off the road. I must say I think the graveyard follows us, because we always seem to end up next to it. I opened the gate and he followed me without a word. Once inside I leant against the wall, pulling him to me.
I can barely write this, I'm embarrassed even though I know no one will ever read it.
We kissed for a long time. Longer than we sat in the rain. When we weren't kissing he held me gently, resting his cheek against mine, whispering to me sometimes. He said: 'Thank you, Simone.' and 'You're beautiful.'
I finally managed to tell him I was sorry. He became apologetic himself when I did, he said: 'It's alright. I wouldn't like you if you were nice to me all the time. It wouldn't be true to yourself, would it?'
I smiled and shook my head.
We hurried to my lane when we noticed the sun was setting. He kissed my cheek quickly in farewell. I laughed at him because he blushed when he did it, and I felt proud of my ability to initiate unblushing kisses. He asked me to come to school tomorrow. I said I might.

The sentence I wouldn't finish last week, I can complete it now:

I don't want to lose him.

Although he doesn't seem so distant from me this week, far from it, that truth still applies. I've never had a friend I could say I was close to before. Lord only knows why, but I trust him. And I am sweet on him. I'm sure you would have guessed were you not a book, I'm glad this means you can't gloat about it.

Nobody else needs to know.


Juillet 21st

The graveyard has become our secret spot, although it's not the best place for our purposes. I have quite a nasty bruise on my elbow as a result of his eagerness to kiss me today, he misjudged the distance between us and the wall.
It's interesting, knowing someone wants you. I never tease him about it, I think it's something to be taken seriously, but it is a little bit funny how hard he has to focus on restraining himself. He knows I'm a virgin, I told him, and he found the news horrifying, but not because of the reason I'd expected. All he said in response was: 'I have no intention of using you! How many times do I have to say it before you'll believe me?'
I had to withhold my urge to berate him, making an effort to be nicer to him as he had requested. 'I know.' I said very slowly to make sure he understood. 'That isn't what I was implying. I'm apologising because I know you want to do it but I'm not ready yet.' I understand this was a forward thing to say, but I thought there was no point avoiding the issue.
Judging on how quiet he went after I spoke, he would have preferred if I had avoided the issue.
'Yet.' I repeated to reassure him.
He mumbled without looking at me: 'Stop talking about it.'
I said: 'You're such a child.' And then I resumed kissing him, as we had been doing before, realising it was pointless trying to have a mature conversation with him about his feelings. I'm sorry if I can't help but draw conclusions about what he wants when all I have to do is accidentally brush him and he gets hard. He won't let me do anything about it whenever it happens, he just makes me cease all contact so it goes away. I wouldn't call myself an expert on boys, but I'm sure this isn't normal behaviour.
Then again, it isn't as if I didn't know he was strange, nor do I mind an excess of kissing.


Août 9th

It's my birthday today.
I knew about my present from my family, Mama croched me a scarf from silk in colours I'd picked earlier in the year. She still has to do the finishing touches, but it's beautiful already. The edges taper in and out and the blue, grey and dusty pink colours I picked shine together in the same way a moth's wing does, as though they are slightly reflective.
I visited Papa at the café to thank him for paying for the silk and he gave me chocolat chaud and little beignets to dip in it, something he used to make for me all the time when I small.
I met Regis on the edge of town, as he'd made me promise him I would. I hadn't wanted anything from him, I'd said it wasn't fair because his birthday had been in Janvier when I'd still been pretending to hate him. He led me to believe he'd only bought me chocolate, which isn't to say I wasn't hugely pleased about it, I was relieved he hadn't spent a lot of money (even though it was worrying I didn't recognise the chocolate brand, and it tasted better than any chocolate I'd had before) ... and then, sheepishly, he gave me a gold locket.
After all the fuss I'd made earlier, I couldn't speak when he gave to me. I should have gotten angry, made him take it back, but it was so beautiful. He'd had it engraved for me, with my name and a tiny cherry blossom. He took my silence for fury, so he said hastily: 'Don't worry, it wasn't that expensive, it's a bit silly, anyway.'
I told him it wasn't silly. I could remember flippantly mentioning I loved cherry blossoms when we'd been sitting under our cherry tree in the graveyard, I'd said I couldn't wait for spring when it would be in bloom.
I asked him how he could have possibly remembered that, and he just blushed and smiled. He apologised for not getting me a chain, saying he'd assumed if I liked it enough to keep it I'd want to hide it somewhere less obvious than my throat.
I took off the outer layer of my skirt, showing him the fine chains sewn into the sash of fabric around my hips. Cynimpial girls wear traditional pedants on them for luck, but I hadn't worn mine in years. I threaded the locket on.  
I became a bit stupid after that, continually peppering his face with kisses. I couldn't help it. If I tried to describe how the locket made me feel I'd die of embarrassment. "Floaty" is the least embarrassing word I can think of, so that will do.  


Août 14th

Regis' aunt found us today, an amusing turn of events, even if Regis doesn't think so.
Her name is Madeleine Salet, she's Édouard's mother. I'd never seen her before, but I knew her husband died a few years prior. Of course, he's buried in the graveyard, and, of course, she happened to feel the urge to visit him while we were there.
Regis and I aren't unhinged, we don't frequent the graveyard because we're indecently fascinated by the dead, it's just a convenient and secluded place, but from the look on Madeleine's face I think she thought we were committing some depraved ritual. At first, at least.  
As soon as she recognised Regis she gave a wide, unsettling smile.
'Who's this?' she asked him, nodding at me.
Strangely, Regis had gone very stiff and very pale, as though this was the worst thing that could have happened. I knew the situation was unfortunate, but Madeleine didn't need to know he actually cared about me, he could easily have said I was just some girl. It wouldn't have bothered me, and it would have kept him out of trouble. But he didn't say anything at all.
'Perhaps I'll have tea with my sister this afternoon.' She told him, and then she smiled at me and introduced herself, asking me what my name was.
'Simone.' Was all I said, not offering my surname, but liking her none-the-less. There was a wonderful sparkle in her eyes even though they were dark, dark brown, and they never lingered on my ears or clothes.
'I'll leave you two alone, then.' Were her ominous words of farewell.
'She's like me,' I told Regis, wanting to cheer him up, 'she's mean and she knows it and that makes it alright.'
'She is not like you. She's going to tell my mother.'
That was the extent of all I could get out of him. Anything I said in comfort or exasperation he replied to with: 'That doesn't matter, she's telling my mother.'
I'd never heard him talk about his mother before, only his father and his grandfather.  
She must hold a significant amount of sway over him, because I watched him walk towards town as though he was expecting the sky to fall.


Août 16th

He came to my house today. My house. I'm still angry about it, I don't care what his mother said, my mother didn't need to know about us. Not that he told her, despite the amount of sugared almonds she forced on him, but I could see it in her eyes that she knew as soon as I came in. I'd been at the café, I was in a bad mood because Marie forgot to refill the sugar pots on the tables and the customers complained to me like it was my fault they all suddenly wanted sugar in their coffee. And then I come home to find Regis having tea with my mother and Danielle, who only just stopped teasing me then because she finally fell asleep.
I took Regis to the room I share with my sisters, ignoring the looks on Mama's and Danielle's faces when I did, and he told me his mother wanted to meet me. This did not improve my mood. Why would she want to meet me? It's not as though we're getting married!
This is exactly what I said to him, but all he said was: 'You can refuse.'
I didn't. I will meet his mother, even though I think this is utterly ridiculous. I'm seventeen, he's eighteen, why doesn't she just assume he's fooling around with me like a normal Bunalsien mother would assume of her teenaged son if he's discovered kissing a Cyn?
And she can be damned if she thinks I'm going to dress up pretty for her. Maybe I'll ask Marie if I can borrow her brown skirt. It's impressively ugly.

Août 18th

Vianne LeAmi is a sow. That is all that needs to be said right now.

Août 19th

I've had a day to calm down. Writing down what happened should be purgative.  
I went with Regis to his house, which turned out to be every bit as beautiful on the inside as its facade. Vianne is beautiful, too, and at first I thought I saw the same sparkle in her green eyes as her sister's. I've never been more wrong.
As it turns out, she is a normal Bunalsien mother, because she promptly dismissed all the pleasantries she'd greeted me with and said to Regis right in front of me:
'My son, if you get this one pregnant, I won't pay for the abortion, and neither will I pay for the baby.'
And then Regis (stupid, idiotic, wonderful Regis) told her: 'I love her.'
I don't know why, as I read over what I'm writing, it sounds like an almost amusing fiasco, because it wasn't, it was the most sad and hurt I've ever felt. It's hard to explain. Regis has never told me he loved me, but I knew, he has said things that meant as much when they came from him, and although I can't say it myself let alone write it, in my own way, I feel the same. I know I make it sound cold, distant even, but that isn't how it feels.
I felt it very strongly when I grabbed his hand and led him out of his house, swearing at Vianne as we left, which probably wasn't smart, but she finally stopped smiling when I did. I told her with my eyes I knew full well what I was doing in that moment: taking her son from her. She would have him back, I knew, but certainly not that afternoon.
I brought him to my house and took him to my room, telling Danielle who was in the kitchen and gaping at us: 'Shut up, we're not having sex.' Not very smart, either.
I lay with him on my bed for hours, my arms around his shoulders and his head on my chest, and we didn't speak.
When the door opened I expected one of my sisters, but it was my father. Finally, as something truly comical, Regis leapt off me and started to stammer, but my father said:
'Don't worry. I've spoken to Danielle and I'm well aware of what you're not doing.' He sat down on Celine's bed across from mine, and my mother came and joined him.
They cautiously and kindly found a justified way to say the same thing as Vianne. If I recall correctly the way my mother phrased it was: 'If you start sleeping together please be safe, because we couldn't afford to keep another child.'
Obviously, I was mortified, but Regis looked at my parents like they were saints. Probably because he'd finally come across two people who didn't think his intentions towards me were insidious. I admit that was lovely and understanding of them, but I couldn't understand why they were taking this so seriously. I told them as much, and my mother said quietly: 'Simone, you've never been as happy as you have this past year.'
I still can't fathom what she was referring to. It isn't as though I was unhappy before I met Regis, nor have I been swanning about when I come home from seeing him with a big, fat smile on my face like Marie does when she comes home from Jean. But my father nodded in agreement, and Regis looked as though he might cry.
When my parents left the room I tried to explain to Regis why'd they'd acted as they had. I told him they'd met when my mother was fifteen and my father eighteen, and so they thought all youthful romances meant forever and babies. I didn't admit this was an exaggeration, my parents had never approved of Jean and Marie. Regis wasn't listening, anyway, he just put his hands on my face and kissed me in a way he never had before.
'I like your parents,' he said, a teasing, knowing smile on his face. Perhaps he thought they had divulged my reciprocation of his feelings. Wanting to change the subject, I said:
'I don't like your mother. I reserve judgement on your father for when I meet him.'
Regis was having none of this, either. He hugged me tightly and I'm ashamed to admit I started to cry. It was the first time I'd cried in front of him, and he handled it surprisingly well. He didn't make fun of me, only wiped the tears from my face and kissed my cheeks and forehead.
He said: 'I'm sorry about my mother.'
Charmingly, I replied: 'It's not your fault she's a bitch.'

Novembre 2nd

Things have been quite hard these last few months. I'd apologise for not writing but you're a book and you don't care, you're here when I need you.
Regis spends a lot of time at my house, he helps my mother with the things my father would do could he spare time. Everyone has taken to him except Celine, who doesn't take to anyone. He even gets along with Rose, who often struggles with people she doesn't know well being in our home.
I've since met Regis' father, Pierre-Baptiste, and I like him as I thought I would. He is a fair man, but broken. I can tell once upon a time he and Vianne were a match for each other, but that isn't the case anymore.
As I am still with Regis and not pregnant, Vianne acknowledges my existence with a stiff nod if I visit, which isn't often because Vianne is always home. I know her kind, I can earn her respect by taking none of her rubbish, but if there is no great call for me to earn her respect I'm not going to try. She has told Regis he's free to make his mistakes.  
Things I didn't realise would happen as a result of Regis and I have been weighing on me, among other things. At school, which I attend less and less, any classmate I might have referred to as a friend has stopped talking to me. Cynimpials aside from my family and my parents' friends treat me like I'm not there. Of course, so do the Bunalsiens, save Regis' father and Regis' cousin Marc, the eldest Biloux boy, who I'd never given much thought until we actually exchanged words. He is very proper, quiet, and well-aware of how intelligent he is, but he's kind.
Édouard, on the other hand, is despicable. Regis has grown up impressively since I yelled at him for bullying Celine two years ago, but Édouard hasn't matured one jot. He misses no opportunity to goad Regis about me. He rallies the other well-to-do, spoilt Bunalsiens at school to provoke Regis, and on two occasions it's gotten out of hand. The first occasion Regis blacked Édouard's eye, but on the second occasion Édouard gained the upper hand and beat Regis until he gave him a concussion. Interestingly, Regis told me Madeleine had sorted Édouard out after that, threatening him somehow as only a mother can. I knew I was right to like her. He stays away from Regis now, but he'd set enough in motion. The other Bunalsiens make Regis as miserable as they can without jeopardizing their well-being.  
As Regis is finishing school this year, he's leaving to go to Nielle next Janvier. We haven't talked about it yet, and slowly it's stopping us from talking at all. As a matter of fact, I don't feel particularly eager to write about it, either.

Novembre 11th

We fought badly today. Regis was trying to make me promise I'd go to school once he was in Nielle and things settled down here. He's says it's a waste if I don't go, I'm too smart.
I told him to get out, which he didn't, because he knows better than that now. He knows if we fight loud enough for long enough my mother will come along and take his side, because he's always right.
He's still pretending not to realise I'm only furious because he's leaving.

Novembre 23rd

It happened.
Regis said we should go for a walk, he told me he wanted to apologise, but somewhere private, which usually meant he wanted to fight with me out of earshot of my family because he knew we'd end up screaming profanity. We walked right out of town, arguing all the way to hills, but it was only when we reached them I realised Regis' line of argument had been cyclical. He wasn't even trying. We were somewhere amongst the thin woods, and I know I'll have to find the exact place again even if it takes me an age.
He gave in and said he was sorry he was going to Nielle, and I thanked him for meaning it, but what good did it do? After Christmas he'd be gone.
Regis said: 'In a year you'll be finished school, too. If you still want me, you can come live with me.'
I knew it would come to that, but I had no answer. I found everything too frightening.
All I could say was: 'A year is a long time.'
'Exactly.' Regis said. 'But I love you, so I know I can wait. If come next year you don't want to come, then I'll understand.'
'Why can't you live here?' I asked him even though I knew the answer.
'I can't stay here. It would kill me. I'd end up like my father.'
I knew the truth of this, so ultimately that meant Regis asking me to go to Nielle was less selfish than my asking him to stay. I didn't know for sure what Nielle would be like.
'You wouldn't understand if I said no. What would you really do?' I asked him.
Regis took a long moment to consider. 'I don't know. If you said no I would assume that, after a year, you'd realised you didn't love me anymore, and I guess I'd have to get over you. I doubt that would be easy. But then, it isn't as if I know for sure you love me now.'
He was chiding me, being sweet, he knows how I feel, he just thinks it's funny I've never been able to bring myself to voice it.
I thought about everything that had happened, and everything that was going to happen, and decided it was appropriate I begin my confession with: 'I almost hate you.'
We were sitting down in a small dip in the ground beneath a large tree, so it was easy for him to pull me to him and kiss me. He whispered, 'I know,' in my ear, and pressed me down into the leaves. I held him, and told him I love him. As soon as I'd said it once it became the easiest thing in the world to say.
In that moment, I told him I was ready, if he wanted. I knew we hadn't just been waiting for me. I figured out a long time ago he had traditionalists view of my virginity, he'd held off so long because he'd decided he wasn't going to take it unless the time felt important enough. As we had such little time left, he agreed.
It didn't hurt as much as they all say. I didn't bleed, maybe because he was gentle. I think he'd done it before, he seemed to know what he was doing, but I have no need to ask him if he has.
It's impossible to say what I felt. It wasn't what I expected. It burned in a way that was uncomfortable, and yet it wasn't. There were times I couldn't breathe, we were holding each other so tightly, but I didn't care.
It's such an effort, it really is, we barely moved for almost an hour afterwards. But I understand why people do it, and like them I'll do it again. I'd spend weeks doing it if I could. Only with him, I can't imagine anyone else.
I cried afterwards, I've been crying quite a lot lately on my own, but unfortunately he'd made me feel exhausted enough to finally let my guard down in front of him. Funnily enough I think it reassured him. Seeing as it took him making love to me a second time to stop me crying, he got the message I'd wait ten years for him if I had to.  

Décembre 25th

This has been the most wonderful Christmas I've ever had. The only drawback was I couldn't bring myself to eat Christmas dinner, because I'd cared for that silly turkey since we got him as a chick. His name was Louis, and he shall be missed.
We've never given presents on Christmas, only on our birthdays, but when Regis joined us after being with his family, he gave Celine a new shawl and said he was sorry about her last one. She finally smiled at him.

Décembre 28th

We fought today about him leaving me money to use the phone in town next year, because our phone is on a party line.
I said: 'What's wrong with writing letters?'
And he said: 'I need to hear your voice.'
The fight didn't last very long after that, and Regis won.


(There are several blank pages between this entry and the last, and it is written across the page outside the lines)


Janvier 7th, 122PE

He is gone.
I know why they call it "la petite mort". I died every time, each time a little more surely. It was all we did in his last days, up in the hills, again and again. There was nothing left of me by the end. There wasn't room in me enough to feel how much I already missed him.
And now it's as if I can't feel at all. I am frozen.