Meeting with potential clients, neither Carter, Marcus, nor Falcon were there to… babysit. Knowing it was unrealistic for him to constantly be with her, she convinced him she was fine and no longer needed anyone to stay with her. He’d encouraged her to redecorate the house, so she used it as an excuse, telling him he would be in her way as she planned the renovation. They talked about moving into a new place they would pick together, but she felt strongly about staying right where they were and renting her house to friends or family who might want to vacation in the mountains. He was surprised she wanted to live where he’d lived with his first wife and she didn’t know how to explain it to him, but she felt love in this house—love that was there before she ever entered his life. The prospect of refreshing the décor improved her mindset as she spent days looking through catalogs and surfing the internet for ideas. One night she showed him her Pinterest board to show him her ideas to refresh each room. He confessed he didn’t know what Pinterest was and his eyes glazed over when she talked about fabrics and furniture. She laughed about it because she got the same look when he and the guys were talking strategies and security measures. Apologizing for zoning out, he gave her carte blanche to do whatever she thought would make the house their home. She happily agreed. It was on one of those days she took a step backward.
A huge step.
Armed with a tape measure and notebook, Aimee wandered through each room of the house brainstorming ideas to refurbish or renovate. She planned the redecoration as a “merging” project. She loved the cabin and didn’t want to change most of what was there; she wanted to add a little bit of herself by reimagining uses for some of the furniture. It was the first, real effort she had made since Carter brought her there. It was quiet. Only Cody and Justice were at home with her and they were off somewhere sleeping. Cody was no longer her shadow since her new friend had been added to the family.
As she took her time meandering to note which rooms got the morning sun and the colorful sky of its setting, she went into the kitchen for some coffee. Carter had made a pot before he left and the pungent aroma beckoned her. It was a March day. Snow still blanketed the ground, but buds were struggling to emerge on the tree branches. She poured a nice, full cup and as she sipped her eye wandered around the room as ideas for updating it began to form. As she leaned against the counter she sighted the back door and realized she hadn’t gone through it since the first panic attack. Immediately, memories of that day flooded back.
Her throat closed as if a hand were wrapped around it and her body felt the first effects of an attack as adrenaline was administered along with fear. “It” was happening again and, alone, she braced herself for its onslaught.
The predator had no form, invisibility being its ally. The assault came quickly and the peace of mind she’d worked so hard to cultivate sank in an abyss of insecurity. The unwelcome guest scraped at the skin of her sufficiency, still thin from months of suffering. “It” left her stripped and vulnerable. She hated that it lived within her. Memories of past attacks and their related fears flashed as they joined forces with this new bedfellow, gang raping her contentment until it hung by a thread of rationale. She told herself over and over it would pass, that she’d lived through this before and survived and would do it again, but no matter how hard she fought she couldn’t calm away her overactive nervous system.
She clung to the cold granite top, attempting to take slow, deep breaths to no avail. Wave after wave of sensory bombardment reached the depth of her mind and body as she regressed into a jumble of nerves. She fought hard to preserve just one small flicker of reason until she had no energy left to fight. She sank to the floor reeking of disgust and slick with perspiration.
“Do whatever you want to me you son of a bitch!” she yelled, daring her hidden enemy to do its worst.
“I’ve lived through you before, and I’ll do it again, so just attack and get it over with!”
She was resigned and emotionally exhausted. She had chosen to take the lowest dose of medication so the attacks never really went away, just lessened somewhat in severity—until now.
Upon hearing her voice, Cody and Justice found her on the floor. The tone of her voice unsettled both dogs and they laid near her, keeping an unsure, safe distance. She was spent, having no energy left with which to fight back, but she had to do something—anything—that wouldn’t leave her feeling like a victim once again.
The only thought she could entertain was to use reverse psychology on herself and she wasn’t even sure that would work. She deducted that since fighting wasn’t getting any result, she would surrender.
Her arms and legs went limp and her head slumped to her chest and she relinquished herself to the fear. Intellectually she knew these panic attacks, horrid as they were, were not going to kill her. She’d had enough experience in the past months to be certain. Tiny, sane thoughts emerged reminding her that all “it” could do was make her painfully, terribly uncomfortable, and she released any energy that remained into a conscious decompression.
She relaxed every part of her…
and an amazing thing happened…
“IT” went away. IT WENT AWAY.
Just… vanished.
Although her energy was diminished, what little she had she funneled into changing her mindset, and the moment she exchanged fighting for complaisance the frightening physical symptoms went away.
Was it really that simple?
Understanding pierced her wounded mind. It was like a soothing balm to her wounded psyche. If it was her own fear attacking her, could her conscious surrender disarm its effects?
Just then she heard Carter as he entered the house. The events of the last twenty minutes had robbed her of any energy and he found her on the floor. When he looked down at her, she laughed. There was no happiness in it, only resignation. She knew she was a mess. Her face was streaked from tears and she reeked of sweat. She made a bold attempt to stand, but her legs trembled at the effort. Carter went to his knees next to her on the floor and pulled her into the comfort of his arms.
“I’m so sorry baby. I’m so sorry,” he repeated as he held her tight.
“It’s okay… I’m okay,” she comforted.
“No it isn’t. I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he admonished as he held her tight. He stroked her arm with a possessive hand, angry “it” had robbed her once again of her serenity. Alternating soothing words and kisses, he buried his nose in her hair, helpless to take “it” away. If it had been real, he would have torn it limb from limb. He was as helpless as she was and it pissed him off.
Finally, she moved herself off his lap and sat beside him. She took his hand, heartbroken at the look on his face.
“You know, you can’t protect me from this,” she consoled.
He was riddled with guilt.
“I should have been here.”
“And what would you have done?” she argued. “Carter, you can’t chase the boogeyman away if he lives inside of me.” She laid a gentle hand up to his cheek as he struggled with his emotions. “I never feel as safe as I do when I’m with you,” she consoled. “What would be unrealistic would be you monitoring me 24/7. I have to learn to manage these symptoms or I’ll always be a victim—and I’m not a victim. At least I learned something about myself this time.”
He was puzzled.
“You know the saying ‘opposites attract’? Well, it seems to work in this case too. Apparently when you fight fear with passivity, it works just like water on a flame.”
As they sat on the floor, she told him about how she surrendered to “it” as a last resort, then it died away. He listened to her rationalize a way to combat a sympathetic nervous system with conscious relaxation as Justice inched his way into her lap.
“I think I might have stumbled on a solution… at least the start of one,” she said.
He was cautiously hopeful. “I think you should mention it to your therapist.”
“I will,” she assured. “In the mea
ntime, I’m going to practice relaxing into it more.”
“I’d like for you to not have another one,” he hoped.
She kissed him affectionately. “Me too, but in the meantime, if it happens again, I’m going to put it into practice, and if the ‘what if’s’ continue to attack my thoughts I’ll try to play the scenarios all the way out. Maybe logic will kick in… I don’t know. I’ll figure out a way.”
He began to comment and she anticipated his thought.
“…and you are not going to have your buddies keeping an eye on me when you aren’t. You all will drive me crazy,” she laughed.
He rubbed his hand on her knee as he tried to make peace with her decision. “I’m only going along with this if you promise to keep your phone on you—in case you need me.”
“I will. I promise,” she answered.
That was a few weeks ago. Since then she had cautiously gauged every plan she made. Thankfully, Carter liked to cook so she spent very little time in the kitchen. She irrationally avoided the kitchen door, remembering the last time she went out of it she had an attack, and the first time she was lucky to get away with her life. Logically she was aware the door held no power, but illogically it represented a portal to terror.
The redecoration had begun. Everything she wanted she ordered online so all was delivered to the house. She felt safe there with the two dogs and she tried every day to spend a few minutes on the hour training herself how to relax. Most of the time she sat in Carter’s chair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. She could smell his cologne as remnants of it lingered there. It tethered her to a feeling of safety and comfort. This house was her own peaceful, little world and she wasn’t in a hurry to disrupt it.
She heard Carter’s boots as they scraped on the living room floor.
“Babe?”
“In the bedroom,” she answered. She had just hung new curtains and put the new bedding on the bed. When he found her, he kissed her, then leaned on the bureau as he looked around. What do you think?” she asked. “Do you like it?”
“I do, actually,” he said perusing the room.
She was pleased and moved closer so she could take it in with him.
“It’s not real girly, but it kinda makes you feel at home,” he said.
Her face lit with excitement. “That’s exactly what I wanted!” She then hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Are you just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear, or do you really like it?” she asked.
He drew her into his arms and she felt the rumble of his laughter against her chest. “Good God, woman!” he said and swatted playfully at her rear end. “I like it because it’s you. It made me think of your house the minute I walked in.”
“But it should look like, I don’t know… us,” she argued.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he replied. “I like your house and I like seeing things in here that are comfortable and remind me of you.”
Pleased, she hugged him lovingly around his waist. “Thank you.”
He pulled her away just enough to look at her. He loved the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy and he traced an imaginary curve around them with his fingers. His features softened in response. “For what?” he asked, his breath warm against her cheek.
“For making me feel at home,” she answered.
Again he embraced her, and she felt the stability she craved by the beat of his heart.
“Aimee,” he started and ran his fingers through the hair that flowed gracefully down her back as she smiled up at him, “I’d closed myself off when I came back here. You took what was left of my heart and made me feel alive again.” Desire infused his voice until it became saturated with passion. He gazed deep into her eyes. “You are home to me, so if being here makes you happy, then I’m home.”
He bent down and kissed her. Desire provoked him, but he restrained himself, conscious she wasn’t fully healed as evidenced by her uncomfortable moans when she turned in her sleep. A dark craving excited him and he could see she too was affected. He pulled back slightly from her, seeing her disappointment.
“We have time, baby. I wanna take this slow.”
His voice was broken with restraint and she realized they both had equally suffered. It made her love him all the more that he would put her needs before his wants and her heart filled because of it.
“I love you so much. You have no idea…” she said tenderly.
His body had been waiting for her attention and he knew she could feel how much he wanted her as she pressed against him. His lip curled up in a lopsided grin.
“Yes… I think I do.”
The day was a cold, grey reflection of the man he’d been. Death had previously stripped him, leaving him to color the canvas of his existence in shades of grey and black. He never thought he’d have another view, until Aimee peeled away the dark pitch and once again added color. The women in his life, both good and bad, had been responsible for the hues. It was the various paintbrushes of femininity which had transformed his portrait; Lacey had been the soft, pastel strokes only to be muted by the matte black of Marisol’s evil. He’d been content to survive in the dark numbness of self-pity when Aimee’s vivaciousness tinted away the gloom. She added streaks of joy with vivid color. His stygian perspective watered down her life with stability. Theirs had become a watercolor world. They complimented each other with their vulnerabilities. Color once again thrived in his life, but today he left color behind.
Today was black.
Today was Marisol.
As he drove, the quiet hum of the road provided the perfect backdrop to take him on a mental trip to the past. The pitch dark of sorrow which had previously cultivated his callous attitude returned in full force with each mile he passed. For him to enjoy the future he must complete the portrait of the past. He must avenge Lacey’s death.
An unsatisfied justice tempted the man of order and law. He wanted satisfaction for a vengeance which had consumed him. It was another time, another place, and even another man who burned with revenge, but for the man he used to be, and the woman who loved him, he sought retribution.
Having gone through the vetting ritual for allowing visitors to inmates, he now sat in a room awaiting his wife’s killer. As she rounded the corner he was struck by how normal she looked. He hadn’t seen her for quite awhile and thought it ironic how someone’s appearance could change when they weren’t clothed in the stench of pride and entitlement.
She had a slight smile on her face as the guard accompanied her down the hall, but when she sighted him any semblance of civility disintegrated. Obviously, she was expecting someone else. She sat at the seat across from him.
“Why are you here?”
Well, he would give her credit for getting straight to the point.
“To see to it that an animal isn’t let out of her cage,” he smartly replied.
To his surprise she didn’t react, instead maintaining her composure. Waiting for him to take the lead, she sat quietly.
“Did you think they would consider your release without notifying me?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“Frankly, I didn’t consider you at all,” she answered. “I am sorry for what my sister did to your wife, but I am working with my doctors and counselors to get well. Apparently, I had an undiagnosed emotional illness.”
He laughed. “You’re not shittin!” he exclaimed.
Again, she maintained her calm posture as she waited for him to play his hand.
“Marisol, I’m going to do everything in my power to insure you never see the light of day again. You might be able to spin that bullshit about your sister committing the crime, but you and I both know you are the one responsible for Lacey’s death and you were the one who tried to kill Aria.”
“Yes, unfortunately for you I did not assault Aria, nor did I try to kill her. I was angry with her, that’s all. What they saw at the hospital was my attempt to make her more comfortable because I felt
bad for her. I have spoken with the doctor about my anger issue as a result of my chemical imbalance and am taking medication to correct it,” she assured.
She folded her hands in front of her and posed herself as a repentant school girl.
“Also,” she began, “I did not kill your wife. You may choose to believe otherwise, but I’m not the one responsible.” She paused. “I love all animals,” she sneered.
Anger boiled inside. She was playing him and she knew it.
“There is no way you’re getting out of here,” he seethed.
She shrugged again.
“My husband says otherwise,” she replied.
He had heard about her husband. He was a ruthless son of a bitch who was rumored to be connected to the Columbian drug cartel. Carter had a friend who’d passed along the video of Marisol meeting with a man, so he ran his image through a facial recognition data base. Although it was confirmed he was Manuel Vallega, there hadn’t been enough evidence to charge him with any of the crimes to which he’d been linked.
“I’m sure he does,” he commented. His lip curled making him look like he was snarling. “Your husband is not my concern, but if he persists in his attempt to get you out of here, I’ll put his life under a magnifying glass,” he warned. “Eventually, he’ll slip up and find himself in a place not as nice as this.”
Here/Now Page 24
