Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (12 page)

The truth, Aria; the truth. He’ll never see it, but you can put it out there in the universe—and out from your heart…three deep breaths…

…Nobody loved me like you. Nobody thrilled me like you. Nobody gets me…nobody killed me like you…

I hadn’t put much thought into something as simple as a touch, until I felt yours. It ignited me to an entire world of sensation; comfort, joy, passion, and lust. The excitement you unveiled in me grew me into a woman that I learned to enjoy being every day, and sharing those days with you became my bliss. I died inside when you pushed me away. I think you did too, but because we no longer communicate, we’ll never know. There’s a part of me that understands. I understood how my dad pushed away people he loved when he was hurting; he thought it was best, that he was protecting us, but he didn’t have the right to make that decision. Neither did you.

I hate you for pushing me away. You broke my heart when I wanted to help you the most. I thought I was guilty for your pain, I thought I’d done something to make you hate me, but I’ve learned some things through my own pain that have freed me from that guilt. I’m hoping that you’ve learned a few things about yourself as well.

After loving you, I don’t know if I’ll ever love again. I don’t know if I can. I know that I won’t in the way that I loved you—still love you. Yes, I said that—I love you. I do. I’ve come to the conclusion that you’ll always be the possessor of my true love. Writing this, I feel peace confessing that to you. Someone else may hold a piece of my heart someday, but you’ll forever be the one to own it completely. It won’t be totally fair to them, or to me, but I have no choice in the matter. For that, you’re a bastard…and I’ll never forgive you.

You’re to blame, Declan! Why would you leave me to the mercy of another man who will have to settle for being a poor imitation in my mind for you? I hope you hurt, you bastard! I hope it kills you when you see me with him, knowing that it was YOU that threw me into his arms. Just know that when he’s kissing me, I’ll be imagining your lips. When he touches me, I’ll close my eyes and think of your caress, and when he whispers my name, I’ll be hearing your voice. I only know that when he loves me as much as he can, and fills me the way that you used to, that my eyes - the eyes that you loved—will NEVER be open for him to see the changes that occur. The changes that you loved. They’ll be closed—DO YOU HEAR ME?—Closed so I can have MY love back, on MY terms—so that I can imagine the power of you and the way that you loved me…all the while biting my lip, trying not to scream your name into his ear…

…because it wouldn’t be fair…

…I don’t know why, but still, somehow, after all this damn hurt and pain, I STILL have to say that I am, and fool that I am, I will always be…

Your
Aria

Placing the pen down on her lap, she read and reread the words, and as the tears ran down her face, they gently purged the dirt and filth that marred her with bitterness, resentment, and unforgiveness. She hadn’t realized how many layers had begun to build each and every day since he’d been gone. The hurt and loneliness for him that she had allowed herself to feel in writing the letter had caused her body to curl into a ball of emotional protection; and she simply couldn’t move.

Twenty minutes had passed since Aria’s pen found its soft placement. The silence both inside her house and her head was deafening…and it was the first time in many, many months that it was quiet in there. The writing of these few words had somehow released the jumble of sounds that rattled endlessly within her mind, yet nothing had changed, and it appeared nothing would—except her outlook. She couldn’t make him love her, and she couldn’t stop loving him. All she could do was learn to make it more bearable, day by day.

Reflecting on the many therapy sessions with Dr. Sumner, unproductive ones at that, the most memorable ones were when she cried, ranted, and raged about what had transpired. She didn’t know why this had happened to her and who was to blame, but she knew that this particular part of the therapy must have worked because she couldn’t recall the naked feeling of peace that resided within her now.

Picking up her pen, she tapped it on her lip in thought. It was a good start—writing to Declan. It was safe. She had control of it. She was assured he’d never see it, and this, although painful, would help her to move forward. She’d just have to learn to face the facts—hopeless romantic that she still was, he would always be the man who was her idea of
Prince Charming
, but sometimes, fairy tales don’t come true…

…and princes turn into frogs…

She smoothed her skirt, appreciating the designer, as she stood, facing the mirror. Gazing at herself in fine clothes and accessories always made her smile. Reaching for the Balenciaga bag, she picked it up and draped it on her arm.

“Ahhh…lovely,” she said aloud as she caressed the soft leather shell of the handbag.

Straightening her posture, she brushed a hand to her face, smoothed it over her cheekbone and up into her hair. Assuring herself that her application of makeup was as close as perfection could get, she smiled at herself in adoration. There was nothing Marisol enjoyed more than the simple pleasure of admiring herself in a reflective glass.

Light footsteps behind her alerted her to the presence of her sister.

“Is the car in the garage?” Marisol asked, never bothering to set eyes upon her sister.

Marchelle, ever the loving sibling servant, looked down into the carpet as she addressed her benefactor.

“
Si. Se perfecto
. It has a full tank of gas and is
immaculado
clean, as always.”

Turning her attention to her sister for the sole benefit of cultivating her loyalty, Marisol touched the woman’s chin, lifting it ever so slightly and looked into her sister’s eyes. Marchelle’s devotion was both disgusting and endearing to Marisol, but since her likeness was indistinguishable and served a purpose, she’d continue to use it to her advantage. The faithfulness Marchelle felt toward her older twin originated in childhood. The smallest bit of encouragement was needed to keep the obligation flourishing, and the endowment of the tiniest bit of praise kept her indentured enough to accomplish Marisol’s goals.

“Good girl. You may have the pleasure of putting away all of my new things while I am gone.”

A look of satisfaction crossed Marchelle’s face at the small compliment and the trust that her sister bestowed on her to handle her priceless accessories. She nodded to confirm her understanding. She wanted to return a gift in kind, and all that she possessed of value was a compliment.

“You look beautiful, Marisol.
Muy hermosa
.”

Although Marisol didn’t need to hear something of which she was completely confident, the comment caused her to smile, giving Marchelle pleasure, and herself a reason to look in the mirror once again.

“I certainly am,” she agreed as she once again let her fingers smooth over her flawless complexion, causing both women to smile…

Arriving early at Dr. Sumner’s office, Aria was anxious to tell her how improved she felt due to writing the letters. Although the details of the accident still had very little clarity, the more letters she wrote, the better she seemed to feel.

It was time, however, to accomplish her primary goal for therapy. She wanted to push through her recollection of the accident details. What was real and what was imagination was still unclear, and she wanted clarity. Initially, she thought she remembered vivid details, but then would interrogate herself because the scenes in her head didn’t match up with what she felt in her heart. She tortured herself for months, placing blame at her own feet and imagining the events were somehow her cause. Her dreams turned into nightmares, causing her to wake in a cold sweat on many nights, screams strangling her as she tried to call a warning to Declan, but she’d feel her throat constrict as she could only say his name in a whisper. It was a limbo of guilt where her subconscious resided, and she all too frequently imprisoned herself there.

Her spirits lifted with writing the letters to Declan. This simple exercise made her feel bold, and she was more than willing to explore more adventurous options to unlock her memories of the accident. The root of her distress hadn’t yet been found. It was locked away. What once frightened her was beginning to turn into anger. She wanted possession of her thoughts, not the anxiety that had cast its ugly shadow over her mind. Now that she was facing the end of her relationship with Declan, it was time to face whatever darkness her memories would soon reveal.

Accepting that the relationship was now over took time, but she could afford to be patient with herself. She no longer had anyone to take care of, or to concern herself with. Time was a luxury she had in great supply. She had no interest in entering another emotional or romantic relationship; she was working on herself. A commitment was something that grew deep for her. Aria loved passionately—much to her detriment. Even friendships weren’t taken lightly. One thing she’d never deny—Declan had
earned
her heart; she hadn’t just
given
it away. She felt she was worth more than that—and eventually, so did he. She was grateful that loving him grew her further into learning what it was to be a passionate woman. Painful or not, she’d never regret loving him—even though letting him go had shattered her. What made her smile these days was that she’d survived—and she was stronger because of it!

Settled, once again, in the comfortable chair, the routinely familiar question was posed.

“How are you, Aria?” the doctor asked.

“I’m good. How are you?”

Dr. Sumner relaxed into her chair and smiled over the rim of her glasses.

“You’re quite smiley today. Anything you care to share?”

Aria tucked a leg under her and leaned into the soft cushion. The relaxed stance wasn’t lost on the doctor, and she made a notation as she continued to observe.

“Well…I guess I’d have to say that you gave me some good advice,” Aria answered.

A cocked eyebrow from the doctor always brought an unexpected giggle.

“I’ve started writing the letters,” Aria announced.

Dr. Sumner seemed pleased. “You have? How’s that been working for you?”

A slight dip of her chin and a tender look crossed her face as thoughts of Declan were beginning to warm her heart.

“It’s been working well. I’ve poured my heart out to him in those letters.” She laughed. “Thank God he’ll never see them!” She looked up into the heavens dramatically. “At first, it seemed awkward, and I didn’t think I could do it, but then I started the first one. I started over a couple of times. Writing just the beginning was awkward. After a few tries, it’s like my heart cracked open, or something, you know?” she asked, looking for affirmation.

The doctor nodded, motioned her hand slightly, encouraging Aria to continue.

“The emotions overwhelmed me. They just started flowing out, and before I knew it, they were coming from my fingertips onto the sheet of paper. I couldn’t hold it back—any of it. I cried. It felt good to tell him how much I loved him—how much I hate him—and how much I still love him—without worrying about his reaction. When I was finished, I read it, crumbled it up in a tiny ball, and threw it away.”

The doctor sat up, impressed, tapping her pen against her chin.

“I’m curious. Was that the only letter?” she asked.

“Oh my gosh, no!” Aria laughed. “I’ve written about nine or ten! In two of them, I was so pissed off at him that, when I crumbled up the letter, I stamped on it, ground my foot on it, and kicked it into the trashcan!”

That earned her a roaring laugh from the doctor.

“I’m sure that made you feel better,” the doctor said.

“It did!” Aria fidgeted in her seat. “Then I did a dance on one of the letters while I sang Aretha Franklin’s
Think
! Who would have known that something so simple could have such a profound effect?”

Dr. Sumner gave her a presumptuous look.

“Okay, okay…
you
would,” Aria said, giving the doctor the credit she was due.