_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

MEGAN
• • •
THURSDAY, JUNE 13, 2013
MORNING
I can’t sleep in this heat. Invisible bugs crawl over my skin, I have a rash
on my chest, I can’t get comfortable. And Scott seems to radiate warmth;
lying next to him is like lying next to a fire. I can’t get far enough away
from him and find myself clinging to the edge of the bed, sheets thrown
back. It’s intolerable. I thought about going to lie down on the futon in
the spare room, but he hates to wake and find me gone, it always leads to
a row about something. Alternative uses for the spare room, usually, or
who I was thinking about while I was lying there alone. Sometimes I
want to scream at him, Just let me go. Let me go. Let me breathe. So I
can’t sleep, and I’m angry. I feel as though we’re having a fight already,
even though the fight’s only in my imagination.
And in my head, thoughts go round and round and round.
I feel like I’m suffocating.
When did this house become so bloody small? When did my life
become so boring? Is this really what I wanted? I can’t remember. All I
know is that a few months ago I was feeling better, and now I can’t think
and I can’t sleep and I can’t draw and the urge to run is becoming
overwhelming. At night when I lie awake I can hear it, quiet but
unrelenting, undeniable: a whisper in my head, Slip away. When I close
my eyes, my head is filled with images of past and future lives, the
things I dreamed I wanted, the things I had and threw away. I can’t get
comfortable, because every way I turn I run into dead ends: the closed
gallery, the houses on this road, the stifling attentions of the tedious
Pilates women, the track at the end of the garden with its trains, always
taking someone else to somewhere else, reminding me over and over and
over, a dozen times a day, that I’m staying put.
I feel as though I’m going mad.