Friday, August 02, 2002
Oh Jesus fucking Christ. I don't believe it. Vlad is Sean.
Everything was going fine — we had a really great evening (and night) yesterday, then this morning B— gets out a photo of Sean that he got while he was in Vancouver so that I'd know what he looks like. It's fucking Vlad. There's no doubt about it. The fucking guy has been living above Olga's for weeks, has made friends with me, and I've told him all kinds of crap about B—. I feel like absolute shit. Even B— can't believe the audacity of it all. I didn't go into work today — I couldn't face facing him, but as it turns out Christine told me he didn't show up for his usual breakfast coffee. That in itself is weird. B— thinks he might have set up some kind of surveillance in the bar.
B— actually seemed to take the revelation pretty well. I suppose he hasn't been paranoid all this time. In fact he laughed when I told him about the Russian persona. Apparently Vladimir Nabokov is Sean's favourite author. What a fucking bastard! I don't know what the hell to do now. B— doesn't want to leave the apartment. What a fucking nightmare. And I was so looking forward to him coming back and maybe relaxing a bit and becoming a normal couple.
I'm getting so angry with Vlad/Sean. I don't know what I'll do when I see him again.
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posted by Sara