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

♪
Once Upon A Dream (from “Maleficent”) ~ Lana Del Rey

It was perfect—at least, for this purpose. This was the location. That was, after all, what she had come to expect, wasn’t it? Perfection. Nothing more, nothing less, and it pleased her. An ocean view because he liked it, seclusion because she did. It wasn’t an enormous house, but would be adequate for her needs; she truly didn’t consider his. She had only picked the ocean view house due to the seclusion, and she could make him believe that she chose it for him. It was all an illusion, really—as were most things for her accommodation.

The furnishings had arrived earlier in the week. She didn’t inconvenience herself for their arrival—there were people who handled that sort of thing—and she hated mingling with those that didn’t matter. Money took care of them and what they did to suit her.

As she walked from room to room, she took in some of the mediocre choices she had made—all for his taste—so she could achieve her ultimate goal—him.

How did that beach bitch ever stand the look of this shit?
she thought as she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the overstuffed sofa and chairs in the living room. It was a bit more elegant a display than was in Declan’s home. Of course it would be—
she was Marisol Franzi
! Her taste was much better than Declan’s or his former plaything. That was evident to even the most mundane decorator.

Walking through the kitchen, she snickered at the coffeemaker, thinking it almost blasé.

Did he never think of cappuccino, espresso? Did the man even remember he had been all over the world?

The kitchen looked adequate enough, but no matter, she wouldn’t be there long enough to think about it—and she certainly didn’t cook! The idea was appalling.

As her stiletto heels made a clicking sound on the shiny hardwood stairs, Marisol ascended as a queen in a kingdom. The master bedroom suite at the top of the stairs held a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean, its iniquitous waters as black as the void in her soul. The dark night sky held not a single star, to spare her a flicker of hope in her malevolent beauty. An imposing full moon cast a sinister light into the room. It beckoned her to walk up to the large window, which could be seen from the massive bed, the wood expertly carved in the four posters.
♪

“Oh…the things you will see me do, Mr. Moon…” she said suggestively as she reached up, first one arm, then the other, behind her to unzip her dress.

Letting it fall to the floor, Marisol made her way to the bed and crawled like a cat into the middle of its grand size as a contemptible shadow followed her from the window.

Lying there, she stared out at the moon, reveling in the knowledge that she could hear nothing but the objectionable ocean, and that no one would be able to hear the screams and moans that would come from this house. The thoughts that crossed her mind gave her the most delicious sensation running through her veins. She closed her eyes to savor the mental pictures. She had been tolerant, compliant, and even passive until she felt she would scream, but for this, she had planned every small detail. She shivered with the intensity of joy that flooded her, knowing that her efforts would not be in vain, and the time was coming soon. She’d finally get what she had planned and waited for. Nothing—and no one—could stop her. No one ever could.

When she had come to this country, and she, Marisol—THE supermodel—was created, they told her she’d never want for anything again—and they didn’t know how right they were.

She was invincible.

She had conquered everything.

She was a
vencedor
—a winner!

♪
99 Problems – Hugo

He relished the burn at the back of his throat. It had become an almost nightly, masochistic ritual. After filling the day with business, his schedule didn’t allow him time to think. This was the beginning of his struggle—the beautiful time of day when the sun slowly sank over the bay and color filtered back into his black and white life—he despised it like a bitter poison. Everything in The Studio spoke of Aria’s influence. Her presence called out to him from the layout of the rooms to the selection of the furniture and even this over which she had no control—the hues and shades of nature that seeped back into his life at sunset every day. ♪

Tilting the thick bottle of Jameson to his glass of flashbacks, Declan was more than generous with his portion. Even the whiskey was both a blessing and a curse, much like he’d allowed every other aspect of his life to become. Its potion helped him to dull the pain in his body, but exacerbated the gaping hole in his heart. He missed her…

It took months of grueling therapy to function at anything near normal capacity, and still he struggled with his gait. He’d no longer see himself as he once did. The days of being a male supermodel were gone; after all, who’d ever want a disfigured man representing their company. The world was fickle in what they loved.
The industry wanted and expected perfection!
Something he no longer was, not by the world’s standards, industry standards, or anyone else’s—and this had changed him.

As he placed the amber liquid to his lips, his eyes closed. It was a momentary attempt to both become as liquidly anesthetized as possible and shut out the world. Unfortunately, each day, the routine rendered the same painful result—images of Aria would flood his mind.

She was seared to the inside of his eyelids as if she had been branded there. They closed over his weary eyes, and as the whiskey dulled his hardened determination, he allowed himself to be swept into the images.

Savoring the pictures of her that flashed through his slightly impaired consciousness, he saw her ebony hair as the spirits began to have their incinerating effects on his senses. The waves in her dark hair as they cascaded down her back, merging with his memories of the two of them at the ocean. The recollection of the curve of her throat played through as he remembered her back arching against him. He almost felt her body fall into his chest as the scalding liquid made its way down, and he took a deep breath to enhance the imagery.

He gave into the warmth of the whiskey as it infused into his blood, reminding him of her heat. Leaning back in the chair, Declan could almost smell her intoxicating fragrance and feel her curves against him. It was both molten torture and seething bliss. He didn’t have to take responsibility for thinking of her while permitting the drink it’s reputed effects, losing himself in his feverish memories of her. For this torturous part of his day, when business wound down and no one dared enter his office, he could fall helpless into the effects of the whiskey and the abyss of memories with his beautiful girl…

Aria was ever faithful, coming to the hospital during his recovery and therapy to lift his spirits, offering her unconditional support, and her unwavering love. Pushing her away, both physically and emotionally, was doing her a favor. She deserved far better than what he had become. He’d never be himself again—never be the enthusiastic and unhesitating person that she had fallen in love with. He’d forever be seriously flawed, and according to his doctors, he could possibly have medical issues in the future.

If I truly love her, how can I subject her to a future filled with that hell? Hasn’t she been through enough?

The answer was that she had been, and he wouldn’t be the one to put her through more heartache. Loving a man who was always in physical pain, no matter what degree of severity, was no way for a beautiful woman to live, especially Aria. She was full of life and deserved much better. He decided that she’d be better off without him, so he formed a sensible and justified plan to drive her away.

At first, Aria was with him every day without fail. She never wanted to leave him, but he had mixed emotions about her being at the hospital. Selfishly, he wanted her there because she represented hope and a future, but then a brief and twisted memory of the accident would occur in his mind, and he’d blame her for his injury. He’d lash out at her, unmercifully and angrily, asking her why she had run away from him when she promised not to. Try as he might, he couldn’t help the feelings of resentment coming from deep inside him. Once they made their way to the surface, they came out in the form of substantiated bitterness and hateful disappointment. He was despicable to her. She’d extend kindness, and he’d bark some sort of antagonistic retort. He wasn’t trying to at first, but he saw the incited tears that rose to the surface when his outbursts were cruel. Aria would try to calm him and placidly take leave of him—her sorrow and hurt accompanying her home. After too many times, and too many shed and unshed tears, Declan made a decision—he’d undertake whatever necessary to drive Aria away. He knew that his cyclonic moods were hurtful, so he did his best to become a ruinous and offensive bastard.

It didn’t take long to destroy their fractured love, especially when a savage maniac like himself was attacking it on a daily basis. He made it a daily assignment to make her flustered, nervous, or perturbed whenever she came to visit him. He agitated her, was quarrelsome with her, and at times combative. He made her think that he wasn’t interested in her while making lewd and suggestive comments about the nurses in her presence. He didn’t want to completely destroy her, but he wanted to push her away. He struggled with his memory and made accusations, not remembering enough about the accident to know if she truly was the cause of it. Not wanting her to see what he had to go through every day just to be able to walk somewhat normally—
if
that would ever be possible again—he banned her from his therapy sessions. That hurt her the most. She deserved better, and with the way that he was behaving, he deserved worse—and he got it.

One day, after a visit in which she completely broke down, she didn’t come to visit him anymore. Carter attacked him after that. He said that Paige and Aimee consoled her after a breakdown she had experienced when she returned from seeing him at the hospital. She was beside herself, taking all the blame for the cause of the accident. She was saying that she shouldn’t have run away from him, and that she had destroyed their relationship by not having enough faith in him. Carter unleashed on him that day; calling him a “self-centered bastard,” a “righteous son-of-a-bitch,” and a “self-indulgent bully.” He was rabid in his verbal assault and said that Aria was better off without him. He also said that if Declan wasn’t his brother, he would have left his ass in the dirt to fend for himself during recovery. Carter was furious when he left the rehab hospital that day, and Declan knew he deserved it.