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

by Lorenzo, DD

  He was a model that now looked inadequate.

  He loved Aria, but had to let her go…

  That night, the emotions were overwhelming. The loneliness and desperation was a black hole, threatening to suck him into the emptiness and emotional abyss. Honestly not knowing if he wanted to survive this at all, he did what he knew was best—he committed emotional suicide.

  The decision was made. No longer would he allow himself to feel—functioning would suffice. He wouldn’t permit anyone to get affectionately close to him ever again. Doing what was necessary to keep his body functioning and marketable—if that was even possible after the maiming—would be his primary goal. Relationships would be solely for gain, whatever that meant in whatever circumstance. There would be no more indulging in the belief that love could penetrate his heart, for he wouldn’t allow it. One woman had held it—she was enough. He had no desire to compare what he had with her to anything he had before her—or ever would have again. Aria would be the only woman to have held that portion of himself, and that space was now locked away, never to feel again.

  Throwing back the remainder of the mood altering contents in his glass, Declan knew that this, too, would have to stop. He’d have to extinguish these daily moments when reminders of his life with her sliced through his determination along with the effects of the alcohol. It was the only sliver of pleasure in an otherwise void day. The colors of the sunset, combined with the effects of the whiskey, brought warmth to the memories he allowed himself of her. It was malevolent agony. In order for him to survive, he knew that it would be vital to his sanity to annihilate his connection to his emotions. Thinking of her, his heart didn’t want to let go, but intellectually, the action was imperative for his ability to function. He knew he’d cut the thoughts off soon enough, and he’d have to do whatever was necessary to make them cease permanently…

  …but today, he’d blame it on the whiskey…

  Cold, crisp air filled her lungs. The invigorating type of air that burned as you breathed it in, yet made you feel alive. Walking on the beach used to be the activity that gave her peace, but Yoga now provided that feeling and running became her passion. These activities helped to conquer the monsters that attempted to enter unbidden through her head. She’d never again want to escape them, for she had spent enough time running from the ghosts in her subconscious. Over the past few months, she had discovered how strong of a woman she could be, and that monsters and ghosts were the least of her problems.

  It seemed to Aria that she had retreated too much in the past year or so. She fled from the overwhelming enormity of death into the arms of her beloved ocean. It called to her, its waves giving her an unexplained peace. It was the one constant in her life. As unpredictable as her recent life events had been, it could always be trusted to be there, waiting for her. Its energy was the source from which she drew her strength. She seemed so small and insignificant when she stood before the vast expanse of its blue beauty. The sand of its beach embraced her the moment it felt her weight; the gritty, beige granules curving to caress her the moment she placed her foot on its welcome mat. She knew she belonged here. She wouldn’t run from the ocean, not ever, and not because of him…

  She went for a run earlier than normal this morning because thoughts of him had kept her awake. They were sometimes pleasant memories and sometimes cruel nightmares. She had learned to give in to them when they came, and because she had done so, they tortured her less and less. Declan would always be a part of her; Aria had come to accept this, and even to embrace it. If she were truthful, she’d admit to letting herself drift to thoughts of him purposefully at times…

  As he was recovering from his accident, she tortured herself unmercifully, blaming herself for his injury. She wasn’t alone in that quest—he blamed her as well. Months went by, and try as hard as she might, she was unsuccessful in lifting Declan up, mentally or physically. He was the one who succeeded in dragging himself down, and he dragged her down with him.

  Seeing him drown in his misery, she felt helpless in her love for him, and so she clung tightly, sinking lower and lower. They joined together going so far into the depths of his despair that she no longer recognized herself. Identifying with him in every area, she found she’d only breathe air when he chose to inhale, they were so tightly woven, and his depression finally suffocated her. She had broken under the weight of his monotonous pessimism and oppression. Aria fought to make him better, and it proved to make her worse. As much as it broke her heart, after an afternoon of his constant berating and belittling of himself and her, she made a conscious decision to remove herself from his life.

  She had spoken to Dr. Dulaney in the hallway when she was leaving Declan’s room that horrible afternoon. The kind doctor could see that Aria was visibly upset, losing weight, and wasn’t recovering well herself. When the doctor invited her to sit for a few minutes, she coaxed her into revealing the distressing way that Declan was behaving toward her. Through tears, Aria confessed that she wanted to help him, but didn’t know how. Dr. Dulaney took her hands, and with true sincerity in her face, told Aria that she needed to allow Declan to work through this, and that might mean that he’d have to do it alone.

  Upon the conclusion of their talk, Dr. Dulaney gave Aria the name of a doctor that she believed could help her through the emotional trauma of witnessing Declan’s accident, and the belief that she was responsible, which the doctor assured her she was not. At the time, she didn’t think anyone would ever help, but once she met with Dr. Sumner, Aria believed her to be a miracle worker…

  Over the past few months, Dr. Sumner helped her to see that Declan’s accident was just that—an accident. She wasn’t to blame or at fault. She was a woman in love and had reacted with natural instinct to seeing the man she loved with, and being fondled by, another woman.

  “Flight or fight,” she said.

  The anxiety and adrenaline was what had caused her to run. Intellectually, she knew there was an explanation, but they had just come back from an argument the day before and that woman, the reason for that argument was in her home, with her man, and the trespassers hands were on what belonged to her. Dr. Sumner assured her that she was perfectly normal; it was the situation that wasn’t. Once Aria overcame that hurdle, she stopped beating herself bloody and began to recover. Physical exertion helped to initiate the emotional healing.

  She had resumed her routine of walking and had begun to do that on the Boardwalk, but as she thought of the things that Marisol had done and mentally listed them, her feet picked up pace. She began to run and figuratively trample them one by one under her feet—and it felt good! She even pictured stomping on Marisol as she ran. The running was as good for her mentally as it was for her physically. She felt stronger in mind and body. After doing it now for months, she was beginning to feel indestructible! One thing was certain—that bitch would NEVER take her down again. She would see her in hell first!

  Declan was another matter entirely. She hadn’t decided what would happen there. As far as he was concerned, she presumed he thought that they were over. Aria had run into him, but not really spoken with him since that afternoon at the hospital. She loved him and hated him that day. She wanted to hold him and make it better, but she wanted him to stop torturing her. Now she knew it was absolutely necessary for his recovery, as well as her own, that they be removed from each other’s lives—at least for a time. It was the opposite of what she believed when the accident occurred.

  When you loved someone you should always be there to help them through the bad times, right?

  Dr. Sumner told her that she wasn’t allowing him to heal. She was babying him on a daily basis, and in essence, emasculating him. He needed to find his own way back and he had to learn new ways to cope—physically and emotionally. They both were injured, just in different areas, and they weren’t able to help each other. They needed to heal individually before they could attempt to put their relationship back together. Declan felt that his trust had be
en betrayed just as much as Aria had. That thought hadn’t occurred to her before. It took someone to be objective, as Dr. Sumner had been with her, to help her see it.

  Standing here, facing the sun and inhaling the crispness, she could feel the healing taking place just as the cold invigorated her lungs. She was running her business once again and doing very well. Work was keeping her occupied on a daily basis. The baby boomers all seemed to want to retire to the beach, so she was busily rehabbing a few homes at a time. She loved her own little house. While it didn’t sit right on the beach like Declan’s, it was close enough that she could have her daily run on the Boardwalk. She loved all the quaint shops and lovely bistros and restaurants. All of her friends lived between here and where she lived with Declan. They could get together within an hour’s drive.

  Aria had gotten together with the girls twice for lunch and shopping. The first time, everyone except Aimee seemed to be walking on eggshells. It seemed they were afraid to talk about Declan, but he was the “elephant in the room,” so to speak…

  “So how are you feeling, sweetie?” Aimee said in Dos Locos, where they met for lunch. Aria had agreed to meet them after her run.

  “I’m good; really good,” she said as Aimee and Katherine took mental inventory of her physical appearance.

  Katherine placed her bag under the table. “You look like you’ve been working out.”

  “Not at a gym, per se. I’ve been running every day, and doing Yoga. I like them,” she said, deciding if she wanted to indulge in a chocolate martini since she’d be running off the calories tomorrow.

  “Have you been eating and sleeping okay?” Aimee asked, waiving over their waiter.

  “I have,” she confirmed. “Occasionally, I have a sleepless night, but I’ve been staying busy at work, which does build an appetite, as does the running. Between the two, they make me tired, so I sleep okay.”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on her, you two. Do you think I’d let anything happen to her?” Paige attempted to make the situation a little more lighthearted by reaching her arm around her and squeezing her tight.

  “I think you look good, Aria. I do wish I could have helped more lately…” Katherine took on a helpless countenance.

  Aria reached over to pat her hand. “It’s okay, honey. Sometimes, you have to go through stuff, you know? There just isn’t any way around it. The rough stuff is what makes you grow. Besides, I’m sure I looked pretty rough too! You wouldn’t have wanted to see me. Mom and Paige suffered enough.”

  “No more rough than lover boy looks,” Aimee mumbled.

  Paige and Katherine glared at her.

  “What?” Aimee said. “You both know it’s true. It’s better that she knows on the chance that she sees him and would be shocked.”

  Aria wasn’t expecting her and Declan to be the topic of conversation, but she also didn’t want Paige and Katherine to stone Aimee for her comments.

  “Stop, all of you. I know how Declan is—I mean, his physical condition,” she said.

  All three of them turned to look at her in silence, waiting for an explanation. None was offered.

  “Let’s order,” Aria said, changing the subject. “I’d say martinis are in order; wouldn’t you? A little liquid diffusing of the tension—on me.”

  With that, she ordered chocolate martini’s for the four of them.

  As they settled in for a nice girl’s afternoon, three of them looked as if they were afraid to approach any topic of conversation.

  “I’m not made of glass, you know,” Aria groaned. “An emotional breakdown doesn’t mean you’re weak. I’m opening up the discussion. Ask me what you want to…about me.”

  The three of them looked each to the other. Aria could tell that no one wanted to go first. She treasured these women. In their own ways, they were each part of her recovery. They had called, stopped by, walked with her, brought meals, watched movies, made her laugh, and handed her Kleenex when she cried—but now they were uncomfortable. She couldn’t stand it.

  “Okay, I’ll go first,” she said. “I had a clinical nervous breakdown. There; I said it. My central nervous system could no longer support my daily functions. To hear my doctor explain it, I had gone through two very emotionally traumatic events, within a very short period of time. One was the illness and death of my father. The other was witnessing the physical annihilation of someone I loved by a piece of machinery, and feeling that I was to blame. Two very heavy events. My dad wasn’t here for me to share my feelings with, and I didn’t want to burden my mom. Declan couldn’t share conversation with me, and certainly not feelings other than blame and resentment. I bottled up all the emotions of those two events. The day that Paige saw me on the beach was the afternoon that Declan had let loose on me. I thought that I had squelched all of those emotions. According to Dr. Sumner, eventually emotions find their way out. My day of reckoning was that afternoon on the beach.”

  Aimee, usually their most outspoken, but also their most tenderhearted, was the first to speak.

  “Do you miss him?” she asked.

  “Aimee!” Paige and Katherine said in unison.

  Aria put her hand up to indicate that she didn’t need their protection.

  “Yes…” she answered.

  Mercifully, the waiter delivered their drinks. Everyone was silent for a few moments while they sipped. The chocolate was a welcome, if momentary, diversion, and she savored the flavor as it fed her sweet tooth, as well as the craving in her brain for something that she once compared it to.

  Paige was the next to speak, taking an authoritative air over the group.

  “We won’t speak about him for the rest of lunch. There are many more topics of discussion.”

  Although sweet of her, Aria felt she no longer needed anyone’s protection.

  “Yes, there are, but he’ll always be the one topic you’ll wonder about if we don’t discuss him, so let’s do it now. I’m stronger than you realize,” she said, taking another sip of her drink. “I may have another one of these, so I’ll speak freely and one of you can drive me home.”

  She laughed at them, and they seemed to lighten up a bit.

  “Now, let’s order,” Aria interjected, taking control of the conversation…

  …and she purposefully relaxed into the alcohol…

  “Declan…” she quietly whispered. Her familiar face came before him in a mist of memory. The terror in her eyes was unmistakable.

  Declan both wanted and attempted to reach out for her. Frustrated within his subconscious capacity, he knew it was an impossibility of space and time. The impotence of helplessness overcame his mind and body. Arms weren’t long enough, feet not swift enough, and mind not clear enough within the dream, he was failing in a mission he had taken to his heart—her safety. Although he had protected her, she had always been his strength. In his mindful visualization, the space and time between them was a frustrating hindrance to her safety. The parameters of delusion dictated his movements and he found himself opening his mouth to speak. Only one word came out, and its sound was relayed in slow motion. Impossible, forceful physical energy was expended and it all but slayed him as he stared toward her in terror. A voice that sounded foreign to him ripped from his throat as every minute reserve of air abandoned his lungs.

  “AAAA…RRRIII…AAAAAA!!!”

  Cognitively paralyzed at the sight of her standing on the black and mucky tar street, he telepathically willed her actions. In what seemed an eternity, his eyes shifted downward. He saw the slight motion of her steps, one delicate foot after the other, liquidated and floating in his delusion. Her legs transformed before his eyes back to solid form as she placed them onto the curb and out of harm’s way. The nightmare, an incessant source of agony, continued until he was content with the sight of her protection. Momentarily, he felt peace.

  Declan’s eyelids drifted closed in relief and peaceful contentment, and he began to sail away, knowing she was safe. Then, and only then, for a fraction of an insta
nt, did his taut and tensed body permit him to fill his lungs with a supply of oxygen, and he knew that all would be well…

  “GO!”

  Immediately, the excruciating effects of the impact registered in his low back, causing him to rise tortured from the bed. The torment traveled as hot as searing coals from the middle of his spine, remaining hot and jagged as it flowed throughout his spinal cord downward into his sacrum. The agony fired into recessive voids and spaces where a whole and healthy limb once resided. As the misery claimed him for the hundredth time, the nightmare ripped into his mentality, victimizing him once again.

  Forces beyond his control commanded his eyes to fly open, anguished, causing his breath to come in short, desperate gasps. In his semi-conscious state, Declan’s hands gripped at the bed sheet for something—anything—to hold. He wouldn’t acknowledge that he wanted—and needed—Aria to fill the space beside him on nights like these. This imperfect state between the real and the unreal drove him insane to see her safe.

  As the moments of mirage faded, and reality settled in, his eyes tried to focus on the bare ceiling of the bedroom. Slowly and purposely, he filled his lungs with deep breaths of air, as he had many times before, remembering that this simple function would soon return to normal if he just followed her instruction…

  “Three deep breaths…just three…deep…breaths…”

  He could almost hear her sweet and lyrical voice if he concentrated. The feeling of comfort that accompanied his memories of her voice also brought with it the pains of loneliness.

  Aria would say that innocent instruction to him after the surgery, when his panic and anxiety attacked. She said it was her mother’s remedy for focus and calm whenever she, herself, was feeling distressed. He was embarrassed for her to see him as anything other than strong. His fear emasculated him.

  “It’s okay, Declan. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Right now, all you have to do is breathe. Look at me…”