by Unknown
A powerful, burning sensation grips my heart as Michael’s vicious, poisonous words continue to repeat over in my mind. Tears begin to cloud my vision. One hand wrapped tight around the steering wheel, and the other clutching my stomach to stop the ache.
An unexplained emptiness carves into my inner soul as thoughts of never seeing Michael again begins to pain my heart. I don’t understand why when his hurtful words stabbed me like a knife, slicing me to shreds.
“Ahhh!” I need to stop thinking about him. I brush the tears away from behind my sunglasses. I need to be positive, to concentrate, to stay focused, and enjoy the drive to the polo game and forget about the schmuck, getting lost in the music.
The convertible top is down, and the sun is showering me with its warm glow against my skin. I have to be strong, keep myself busy, and forget about Michael and the deranged stalker.
I turn on my Bluetooth. My iPhone kicks in, blasting music out from the surround-sound system. I lose myself to the tune of “One Less Bell to Answer” by the 5th Dimension. The words hit home, sending a cramping sensation through my torso, compressing my heart so tight it feels as though it stops pumping.
I sing and cry as I cruise down the expressway, the fresh, crisp air whipping through my hair, the sun bursting with joy from the heavens, glimmering over the earth with brilliance. Just when I thought, I had one extra egg to fry . . . Well; the actual lyric to the song is ‘One less egg to fry’. “What a joke,” I mutter to myself.
Damn this man. I can’t stop thinking about him. The bastard. I hate how he gets under my skin, heating my blood with an undying want. This is insane. I click another song on and “Meant To Be” by Later Days screams out from the speakers. Ahhh!
I glance at the upcoming ramp, watching a swarm of vehicles veering toward that direction. I gasp. “Holy crap,” I yell out. I’m on Sunrise Highway, one exit before the Hamptons to get to my house. Damn, how the hell did that happen?
Michael. What other reason would explain my brain malfunction? I was so deep in thought, wallowing in my own depression that I passed the exit an hour ago. Shit, another polo game I missed. Well, at least there’s one game left before the season ends.
Since I’m out here, I might as well go pay a visit to Blake since he, and Francis are at my summer home for the weekend. I hit my call button on my steering wheel.
“Hello, Ariana, are you okay?” Blake asks.
I remember Michael’s words. Everything happens for a reason. I guess this is the reason why I’m here. God knew I needed comforting, and who better than Blake. Thank you, God!
“I’m bewildered. Help me out. I was heading to the park for the polo game, and I found myself in the Hamptons. I’m around the corner, come out because I need a hug.” I hang up.
I turn into a secluded street. I make a left and drive down a long driveway encircled by trees and evergreens. I’m granted a view of a two-story red-brick house with pillars snuggled on a hill overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
I pull in front of the house and jump out. I get a glimpse of Francis, who waves hello at me and throws me a kiss and then kisses Blake before they part.
Blake rushes over, and he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes are narrow with a suspicious look to them. The man appears taller than six feet and has a pure, masculine physique. His face is a work of art with beautiful, enchanting chocolate-brown eyes and well-defined cheekbones, which emphasize his Native American heritage.
“Ariana, what happened?” he snaps out and places his right hand on my shoulder as his left hand reaches for my temple. With excellent care, he brushes over it and winces; his eyebrow's crease and lips turn into a thin hard-line. Blake looks down at me waiting for an answer.
“I hit my head on the edge of the bed and floor.” I breathe out. “It’s a long story.”
He shakes his head. “Oh, Ariana, how bad is it?” He asks with a genuine concern.
“It’s nothing serious; I may have a mild concussion. I came here for a hug, so where is it?”
He beams his wicked smile at me, and as God is my witness, this must make all the women go weak in the knees. Sorry ladies, but he’s Gay. He gives me the biggest squeeze. So much has happened in the past two days.
I embrace Blake, soaking up all his strength because I sure as hell need all I can get. “Oh, Blake,” I cry out and burst into tears shuddering in his arms. I can’t stop. It’s been a long time since I cried this much.
He soothes me with his tender touches, brushes his hands through my hair, holding me tight against him, caressing and comforting me with his presence.
He pulls me away so he can see me, yet still close enough to hold me. “Ariana, what happened, love?”
I stop crying, and the shudders abate. I gaze into his eyes. “Everything went to hell. I don’t even know where to begin,” I blurt out and plunge myself back against his solidness, absorbing his warmth and comfort.
Blake takes my hand; we walk up the stairs to the front door and enter a large foyer, which leads into the back of the house, encased with a wall of glass.
We step out onto a wooden deck, and a few of Blake’s friends are enjoying themselves. A small number of them are in the pool next to the deck, and the rest are on the beach, playing volleyball. One of his friends yells out, “Hey, Ariana, what a great surprise to see you here.”
I wave back with a fake smile.
“Come and sit, I’ll get you a glass of wine.” Blake offers and heads towards the wet bar. He stops and turns. “Are you sure you can have a drink?” He frowns.
“Yes, I’m fine. I need the wine. Thanks.”
I gaze at the open ocean that stretches endlessly. I close my eyes for a moment and inhale the salty, scented air, which brings a tingling awakening to my senses. The sounds of waves crashing against the shoreline transport tranquility and peace to my soul.
I caress my exposed arms, relishing the balmy sunlight against my skin. The cries of seagulls’ catch my attention, and I watch with amazement as they soar effortlessly across the water with grace.
“Earth calling Ariana.” Blake nudges me.
“I’m sorry, I got lost in the scenery. The beach has a way of doing that to me.”
“Okay, love, drink this and start spilling.” I take the glass of wine, gulp half, and set it on a small table between us. I stare at Blake, who’s built like one of the gods with his bare, bronze chest. His white shorts sit right below his waistline, emphasizing his powerful abs. His loose jet-black hair sits above his shoulders. He’s breathtaking, but I never felt anything for Blake except true friendship.
“Where do I begin?” I sip at my wine, letting the red liquid slide down my throat, giving me a little numbing effect. I start from the beginning, giving him details about lunch with Michael and then my so-called fan, stalker, psycho or whatever you want to call him.
I go into details about Michael’s brother, Trent, who owns a private investigating company and has offered to track down this deranged man.
My chest constricts with an agonizing burning thinking about this asshole. I drink more wine, holding back the tears, and swallow hard, my mind spinning from Michael’s wrongful accusations, and this madman lurking out there watching and taunting me.
“What gave him such a crazy idea?” Blake asks.
I stare down, fiddling with my fingers, tapping my foot nervously on the deck. I inhale a deep breath.
“Out with it, Ariana, what made him think such a thing?” Blake is persistent this time, his eyes more intense.
“He caressed my back and thought I was wired. I was so angry at his accusations. In order to prove him wrong, I flashed him my scars,” I rush out and I down more wine.
“Shit, Ariana, I’m going to kick his sorry fuckin’ ass.” His voice vibrates with genuine regret. He stands up, his body shaking with fury.
Damn, I’d forgotten how protective he is over me. I wish I’d never said anything and waited for Joanne to come back from her trip, but she would have cut Michael�
��s balls off and hung them up on the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Blake, please relax. I needed to get this off my chest. I’m feeling some relief.” I lie. Just two days with Michael and I’m overflowing with lust, grief, and rage.
“Damn, Ariana, what possessed you to show him your scars, love?” Blake wanders over to the wet bar and pulls out his brandy to pour himself a shot. He swallows it in one swig.
“There is no explanation for my actions, Blake. I was lost in the moment and angry. I made a stupid, spontaneous decision. Oh, Blake, it hurt me so much that he would even accuse me of such an act.” I stand and pace around the deck a few times and sit back down. “I called him a little shit and showed him my scars. I guarantee you he left in a state of shock.”
“Fuckin’ jerk serves him right. I swear if I get a hold of him; I’ll tear him apart.” He blows out a breath and sits next to me, grasping my hand to place a kiss over the knuckles.
“How can I describe this gut-wrenching pain? This hurts. I want to crawl under a giant boulder and shrivel away.” I shut my eyes, sickened with everything that’s happened.
“Ariana, please don’t talk nonsense. Time heals all. You’ll get through this. I’m here for you.” He squeezes my knee, and his phone rings. He rushes over to pick up his cell and answers the call.
“Hello. What the hell do you want you prick, and how the hell did you get my cell number? Sean. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage to her poor soul? Leave her the fuck alone,” Blake hisses out and I can sense the tension radiating from his body. “She’s better now. . . . She’s here with me in the Hamptons.” There is a long pause as if Michael is pleading, or explaining his side. “I will . . . . I’ll be with her . . . . I’ll relay the message.” Blake shuts his phone.
“It was Michael,” I say before he states the obvious.
“The one and only. He went to Bethpage State Park to apologize. He panicked when he couldn’t find you. He’s worried sick about you, love.”
“Are you siding with him now?” I seethe.
“No, love, I’m on yours. I never met the man, but he sounds troubled over this whole ordeal and is sincerely sorry. He wants to make amends with you. He doesn’t want you driving home alone. I told him I’d drive back with you.”
“Do you feel I overreacted, Blake? Please, be honest with me.”
He sits beside me, caressing each of my fingers. “Hell no, love, but maybe you should give him a chance to explain.” He holds up his hand when I start to make a comment. “What he did to you was repulsive. I’ll even kick his ass for you on that one, but why don’t you hear him out, love. I’m sure there is a logical explanation for his actions. We’ve all jump to conclusions now and then.”
I hate when he puts things into perspective. “I’ll think about it. I need time to get over the vicious words we exchanged along with his accusations and over the embarrassment of what I did.” I know Blake is right, but the thought of seeing him again brings my anxiety level up.
Blake continues telling me about his conversation with Michael. “Michael thought the ‘demented fuck’ as he calls him, kidnapped you. The poor guy was pulling his hair out looking for you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned the field inside out.” Blake starts to laugh.
“I can only imagine. Can you imagine what the guys at the polo field thought when Michael arrived searching for me and demanding answers of my whereabouts?” I laugh, adding, “God; you're so good for my soul. What a blessing I got detoured. This is exactly what I needed.”
“As you are for me,” Blake whispers. He frowns and says, “I’m concerned about your stalker. I hope Michael’s brother finds him soon,” he says and stands up, “I’m going to tell Francis I’m riding back to the city with you and start packing.”
I nod. “I’ll wait for you.” I pick up the wineglass and stand up. “Blake,” I call out.
He stops and turns to face me. “Yes, love?”
“Thank you,” I murmur with deepest sincerity.
He looks at me with his radiant smile and walks towards me, wrapping his big, beefy arms around me and kisses my head. “No need for thanks, we’re friends, and I love you to death. I would do anything for you, love,” he whispers across my ear, brushing my bangs away from my face.
“I know, now go tell Francis and get packing. I hate to be stuck in traffic.”
He salutes and rushes off.
Chapter 10
The Stalker
Finally, after sitting in traffic for almost three hours, we arrive in Manhattan. I dropped Blake off at his apartment and headed home, pulling into the breezeway of the building for the valet to park the car.
I pass the front desk, and the security guard gets my attention.
“Miss DiMarco,” Ryan calls out. I stop and turn to face him.
“Yes, Ryan.”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but these flowers came in for you,” he says, handing me the exquisite bouquet.
I hold them tight against my chest and inhale the sweet fragrance. I would guess three dozen red and white roses, encircled with sprigs of baby’s breath, lavender wax flowers, and lemon leaves wrapped in iridescent cellophane with streams of red ribbons made of soft silk.
I stiffen and my eyes grow wide as a horrifying thought flashes before me. I grasp the stems tighter pricking myself with one of the thorns. I place my finger in my mouth, sucking the tiny blood oozing out and wonder if these are from my stalker. I glance at Ryan, and he stares at me with a wary look, and I can tell I went pale by his facial expression.
“Are you all right, Miss DiMarco?”
I take in a slow breath, waiting for the blood to rush back to my head. “Yes, I’m fine, Ryan. I had a long day, thank you for your concern.” I smile.
“You’re welcome, Miss DiMarco,” he says with a nod and goes back to viewing the surveillance monitors.
I reach the top floor and walk into the apartment. I’m scared to read the card. They could be from him . . . the psycho maniac. I lay them on the kitchen counter and decide to take a quick shower and get into something more comfortable, and then find myself pacing around my bedroom with anxiety, debating whether I should read the enclosed note.
I shut my eyes, clenching and unclenching my hands into tight little fists. I finally get the courage to walk back into the kitchen, and stare at them, as if they are going to spray off some toxic fumes. I curse inwardly at myself. They’re just roses. Stop being such a coward and read the damn note. I berate myself. I finally move, and with a trembling hand, I reach for the envelope, pull the note card out, and read the message aloud.
Dear Ariana,
Please, forgive my outburst. I need to see you. I attended the polo game today and went into a complete meltdown when I couldn’t find you. I thought something happened. Do you have any idea what this does to me not knowing if you’re safe?
I’m sorry I missed you today. Please, let me take you out to dinner tomorrow evening, so I can beg for your forgiveness and explain why I was such a pompous ass.
Truly regretful for what I did.
With heartfelt warmth,
Michael
aka Mr. Bulldozer/Bully/Pompous Ass
I lay the card down. I pick up the delicate roses and place them in a vase filled with water. I rush over to the laptop, and I pull up his company website and hit “contact us.” I click Michael’s e-mail address and start typing my own quick little note.
Dear Michael,
I received the beautiful roses. You shouldn’t have, but thank you. I love them. However, with deepest regret, I must decline your dinner invitation.
I’m angry, not just with you, but at myself for losing control. I wasn’t thinking straight, and I handled the situation incorrectly. However, your accusations and harsh, poisonous words stung me, pushing me to become this enraged lunatic.
I’m sorry to have to say this, but I think it’s for the best, we don’t see each other anymore. The time we spent together has merely been two days, and
yet you seem to think you can take control over my life. I will not subject myself to being anyone’s puppet again, and by your actions; you have proven to me that you are a dominating, overbearing, and controlling man. I’m finally free of that. I can come and go as I please, to live my dream, my life on my own terms.
Maybe your demeanor stems from something deep inside your heart or maybe this is just who you are.
Thank you again for the lovely roses.
Sincerely,
Ariana
I hit send and crawl into bed.
***
These past several days have been a blur. I muddled through work and couldn’t concentrate on our next trip.
I’ve wallowed like a baby over Blake’s shoulder every night saturating his shirts with my tears and mascara. Going to sleep wasn’t an option, not when I went to bed with a huge knot in my stomach. The ache I felt deep in my chest drained me physically and mentally. I had no appetite from the deep depression I went into, which didn’t make any sense, especially since I’ve only known Michael for two days, a man who seems to be a controlling bastard like Danny, and let’s not forget the foul words he spit at me.
I should be proud of myself for walking away from him. Relieved that I don’t have to be dictated to or controlled. I should be overjoyed, happy, and excited, but instead, I’m like a withering flower, and he isn’t my only problem. There is still the psychopathic jerk that’s still on the loose and tormenting me. I’m grateful for Blake and Joanne, who stood by me this week, and especially Trent, who has done nothing but go above and beyond to keep a close eye on me.
Blake had the pleasure of meeting both Trent and Josh one night when they stopped over to check in on me. I wonder if Michael had them spying on me, rather than just paying a visit.
Blake was my solid rock, reassuring me that each day the pain would disappear and the crazed obsessed fan would be caught or just get tired of his games. Joanne phoned every night. I had her on the speaker so Blake and I can converse with her. As I predicted, Joanne threatened to cut Michael’s balls off and hang them on the Brooklyn Bridge as an example to all others who would dare to hurt me. We all laughed so hard we cried.
