Purity by Jonathan Franzen Page B

you could use it.”
    â€œAs if I could afford it.”
    â€œSeriously, Pip. This is totally fucked up. Are you even thinking about what I’m feeling?”
    â€œLast I checked, you were reading—” She picked up his book. “Gramsci.”
    â€œIf you’re pulling shit like this with other people, people who aren’t looking out for you, you’re not doing yourself any favors. I don’t like what it says about your impulse control.”
    â€œI know. I’m abnormal. It’s like the refrain of my life.”
    â€œNo, you’re great. You’re wonderful, I mean it. But still—seriously.”
    â€œAre you in love with her?” Pip said.
    He turned back from the door. “What?”
    â€œAnnagret. Is that what this is about? You’re in love with her?”
    â€œOh, Pip.” His look of pity and concern was so pure that it almost overcame her distrust; she almost believed she had no reason to be jealous. “She’s in Düsseldorf,” he said. “I hardly even know her.”
    â€œRiiiiight. But you’re in touch with her.”
    â€œTry to listen to yourself. Try to see what you’re doing.”
    â€œI’m not hearing a no.”
    â€œFor God’s sake.”
    â€œPlease tell me I’m wrong. Just say I’m wrong.”
    â€œThe person I want is Marie. Don’t you understand that?”
    Pip squeezed her eyes shut, trying to understand it while also refusing to. “But Marie’s with someone else now,” she said. “And you’re in touch with Annagret. You don’t even know you’re in love with her yet, but I think you are. Or you will be soon. She’s the right age for you, right?”
    â€œI’ve got to get some air. And you need to leave my room.”
    â€œJust show me,” she said. “Come show me I’m wrong. Just hold my hand for a second. Please. I won’t believe you otherwise.”
    â€œThen you’re going to have to not believe me.”
    She drew herself into a ball. “I knew it,” she whispered. The pain of jealousy was delicious in comparison to the thought that she was simply being crazy. But the thought was getting stronger.
    â€œI’m heading out,” Stephen said.
    And he left her lying on his bed.
    TUESDAY
    She texted in sick to work, pleading stomach sickness, which wasn’t totally a lie. Around ten o’clock Marie came knocking on her door, asking her to say good-bye to Ramón, but the slightest movement of Pip’s body reminded her of what she’d done the night before. When Marie came upstairs a second time and ventured to open her door and look in on her, Pip could barely put any voice into the words go away .
    â€œAre you all right?” Marie said.
    â€œPlease go away. Please shut the door.”
    She heard Marie approaching her and kneeling. “I wanted to say good-bye,” she said.
    Pip kept her eyes shut and said nothing, and the words that Marie then poured down on her were devoid of sense, were just blow after blow on her brain, a torment to be endured until it stopped. When it finally did stop, it was followed by the worse torment of Marie stroking her shoulder. “Won’t you talk to me at all?” she said.
    â€œPlease, please, please, go away,” Pip managed to say.
    Marie’s reluctant departure was yet another nearly unendurable torment, and the sound of the door closing didn’t end it. Nothing could end it. Pip couldn’t leave her bed, let alone leave her room, let alone go outside, where the strong sunlight of another hideously perfect day might honestly have caused her to die of shame. She had half a bar of dark chocolate in her room, and this was all she ate all day, taking one bite and then lying completely still to recover from the reminder that she had a physical self—“so visible , so visible ,” as her mother had said. Even to cry would