by Lorenzo, DD
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.
“I’m glad that it’s working for you and that you’re progressing so well.”
With a shrug of her shoulders, Aria indicated that only half of the story had been reported to the doctor.
“I am, but I want to talk to you about remembering the details of the accident.”
“What would you like to talk about?” Dr. Sumner returned to a more serious tone.
“I want you to hypnotize me,” Aria blatantly stated.
“Excuse me?” The doctor had to contain her surprise of Aria’s changed attitude.
“Can’t you do that?” Aria asked. “Can’t you make me remember the details by hypnotizing me? I want to remember—no matter how painful they are. I want to know the truth.”
Dr. Sumner was convinced that Aria was serious. Her desperation was evident by the tone of her voice.
Continuing in her calming tone, the doctor eased the atmosphere in the room.
“If that’s truly what you want, Aria—to remember—I think there’s a better option.”
Eager to hear more, Aria sat forward, encouraging the doctor to divulge the details.
“There’s a treatment that’s used with people suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. It’s called EMDR therapy,” she informed Aria. “It’s an effective form of treatment. Once we identify the most vivid, visual images that you remember of the accident, we can identify something positive as well. You can think about it. I can give you some information, and you can find some on the internet. You don’t have to decide today.”
Aria stood and straightened herself. Sitting back into the chair, posture straight and feet flat on the floor, she appeared ready for a mission.
“Let’s start now,” she said.
That earned her a rare chuckle from the therapist.
“Well, I’m not quite certain that we’d get much accomplished today, but we can certainly get you acclimated with the process—if you think you’d like to try it.”
Aria was prepared for anything and showed her willingness by her body language.
“Okay,” the doctor said, proud of how far her patient had come. “Let’s get you started. First, I’d like you to sit back and relax. We’re going to talk about the accident. What I want you to do is answer the questions I ask you, but I want you to follow my finger with just your eyes. I’ll be moving my finger to the left and right in front of you, slowly. When I stop my finger, an image should be in your head, and we can discuss it. Try to think of it as if you’re watching a movie, frame by frame, or cars on a train as they move on the track; each car is a scene in your mind’s eye. There’s no stress involved with this. I want you to just allow the thoughts to come freely. It may not all come back to you the first time, and that’s okay; don’t try to force it. As you become more and more comfortable with the therapy, your thoughts and memories will return in a more relaxed and less traumatic way.”
As Aria watched the doctor move her finger, unpleasant images flooded her heart and mind, but she was determined to face them…
His appearance neither thrilled nor excited her, but his purpose was his legal expertise. Mr. Dietz graciously greeted Marisol with an outstretched hand the moment she walked through his office door.
Admiring what a beautiful woman she was, he invited her to sit. He then took the chair behind the desk and proceeded to conduct the business at hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Franzi,” he pleasantly said. “You indicated that you need an attorney. I must admit, I expected that you’d be searching for someone to represent you in the entertainment industry. As you must be aware, I’m a business and real estate attorney. How is it that I may be of assistance to you?”
“Well, Mr. Dietz,” she cooed in her familiar style, “you have come highly recommended as a local attorney.”
Marisol then seductively crossed one leg over the other, using her skills of distraction and leaned over just far enough to assure the man the most opportunistic view.
“I need your talents as I wish to venture into the lucrative business of real estate ownership. As I’ve been spending more time in this area, I find that this coast offers several towns that are quite heavily populated by tourists. I wish to purchase properties. Some I will lease and some I will sell, but all that will provide a nice return on my investment.”
Not wanting to mislead a client, especially one of Ms. Franzi’s caliber, Mr. Dietz felt it only fair to advise her of all aspects of her proposal.
“You do realize, Ms. Franzi that purchasing the properties is only part of the equation. You’ll need a company, or companies, to handle the rental and maintenance aspects for you.”
Marisol politely tolerated the man’s litany to her.
“Of course,” she said, humoring him. “This is not an undertaking that I have not given much thought. That is what I will be paying you for—to set up the c
orporation and to procure the services of the real estate company for me.”
She leaned in toward his desk and smiled seductively. Her tone put Mr. Dietz on guard.
Realizing that she was more than just a beautiful woman, he measured his words carefully.
“Ms. Franzi, do you know exactly what it is that you want from me, or were you going to allow me to use my expertise at all?”
She scoffed at his words and toyed with the idea of dismissing him altogether, realizing that he wasn’t as much a fool as she would have played him for. The thought of looking for another attorney would delay any strategy she had made, and she then decided against it as it would only put the timeline of her plan further back.
“Why, I know exactly what I want from you, Mr. Dietz,” she said with all the charm she could muster. “I want you to form a corporation for me. I want that corporation to employ the Davis Realty Company for all rentals and Cole Construction for maintenance, remodeling, and repair issues. I want those two companies used exclusively. I will select the properties that I would like to lease and those I would like to purchase for my real estate portfolio, but I will direct you to make the purchases for me, again through Davis Realty. There is nothing illegal about what I am proposing, so I see us having no problems. Do you?”
Mr. Dietz was suddenly dumbfounded. He had certainly underestimated this woman. She clearly had an agenda and a solid, legal business proposal—and he’d gladly take her money.
“I have one question, Ms. Franzi, if I may,” he asked as he reached for a legal pad. He looked up at the beautiful woman and presented her with his most gratuitous smile. “Exactly what would you like the name of your company to be?”
