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

by Lorenzo, DD

  She waited for an answer, but Marchelle continued looking down at her feet in submission; however, her sister took it as rejection. No one ignored Marisol. She drew her hand back and released the force of her anger through her arm and across the side of the frightened woman’s head, toppling her onto the floor.

  “I UNDERSTAND, I UNDERSTAND!” Marchelle cried in terror, her flailing arms over her head as her anxiety rose to panic. She withdrew into a fetal position.

  “You will answer me when I speak to you! I am not to be ignored—not by you, not by ANYONE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” she maniacally screamed.

  “Y—yes…yes,” Marchelle said, trying to quiet her sobs.

  Breathing as hard as a raging bull, Marisol paced back and forth in front of her sister. She debated, desiring to release further physical outrage but not wanting to expend the energy on such a worthless creature. She reminded herself that there were more worthy opponents.

  “Must I constantly remind you of your purpose?” she asked in disgust.

  “No. I understand.” Marchelle sat up in defeat, not meeting her sister’s unbalanced glare.

  Hearing the desired defeat in Marchelle’s voice immediately pacified Marisol. She had regained the control she desired and was able to reserve her energy.

  Straightening her posture, she placed her hands appreciably to her face, smoothing over the invisible distress she imagined may have occurred to her features. Although she cared nothing beyond her own benefit, she quickly moved to repair damage, to regain the manipulative control she desired over her twin. She moved softly toward her sister in mock concern.

  If there was one thing Marisol did well, it was to put on a facade.

  Approaching her sister to gently regain her trust, Marisol placed her arms around her shoulders, lifting her face and placed a finger to her lips. She sighed loudly as Marchelle cowered in fear.

  “Don’t be like this,” she cooed. “You know I’m not really angry with you.”

  Knowing that she needed Marchelle to impersonate her when she didn’t want to be bothered with the public, she craftily manipulated her emotions. This was an arrangement that had beautifully worked to her advantage for years.

  Marchelle cautiously looked up at her sister. She was so grateful and felt she had so much to be thankful for because of her. Her superior twin plied her with words.

  “I become impatient when I think you have forgotten our arrangement.” Marisol pulled a sympathetic look out of her repertoire to now play her sister with feelings of guilt and remorse.

  “I would never forget. I could never forget. Never! You have done so much for me”—Tears continued to trickle down Marchelle’s beautiful face as she lifted pleading eyes to her sister—“Please, please don’t be angry…Te amo, Marisol…Te amo…”

  Satisfied that she had regained control of her little doll, Marisol rewarded her by lifting a freshly manicured hand and petted her sister’s hair, once again, as one would a kitten.

  “I am not angry with you anymore,” she consoled. “I know that you momentarily forgot my preferred name. You have said you will not do that again, and I believe you. As long as you remember everything will be fine.” She smugly batted her long lashes as she tilted her chin in victory.

  Marchelle hesitantly attempted a smile, accepting the imagined fragment of apology from her sister as a parched woman treasured a drop of water.

  “Really? You’re not angry with me anymore?” she asked.

  “No,” Marisol softly lulled. “You are my little sister. I cannot stay angry with you.” She then graced Marchelle with the most generous and marketable smile that she held in reserve for only her best clients. It seemed to spontaneously pacify Marchelle which, of course, was her goal.

  Later, when Marisol reflected on the event—which she rarely did—she admitted that the truth of the matter was that she needed to calm and keep Marchelle only to the point that she proved to be useful. Otherwise, frankly, what was the point in keeping her here at all?

  The bitch isn’t worth the cost of the food she eats if she does not serve her purposes!

  Remembering there was another item she wanted to address with her sister, she looked about for her and continued to show feigned concern for her feelings. She located her, as always, tucked away in some corner of the condo.

  “Marchelle, I have something for you to take care of. I will most likely have a job—a shoot—in Hawaii.”

  Marchelle lifted her head in delight to face her sister.

  Marisol could see from her actions that she was complacent and completely at her service once again. There was no need for further effort on her part.

  “We will need the normal arrangements.”

  Marchelle reached for her sister’s hand, eagerly confirming that she had forgotten the unpleasantness that transpired.

  “I will arrange everything. Hotel room will be booked and clothes will be packed. Any special items you request will be sent ahead and should be there when you arrive. No one will notice me. I will do everything that you ask. Se perfecto.”

  Marisol smiled…

  …That was exactly what she always counted on…

  The soft whirring of the white noise machine eerily lulled her into a subliminal ease. Like Pavlov’s dog, visiting Dr. Sumner these past few months had preconditioned Aria to drop the guard she had so carefully built since her split with Declan. Once she passed through the doors, her shoulders immediately released their tension. As in previous visits, she always arrived early, but just a few moments as she found that too much time spent relaxing in the lobby always caused her mind to wander back to thoughts of him.

  Having spent much time with Declan occupying her mental space, it always seemed that particular train of thought was counterproductive to moving forward at therapy sessions. Most of those sessions spent with Dr. Sumner divulged her many thoughts of him; thoughts that she truly didn’t want to share, but knew that she must if she were to move forward without him—or perhaps with him—if she’d only admit to her fantasies.

  The click of the door handle interrupted her deep reflection, and her expression softened as Dr. Sumner came to the door. Indicating with her body language and a smile that she was ready for Aria, the doctor held the door open for her to enter.

  As Aria passed through the doorway, she came around to settle familiarly into a chair that was both overstuffed and comfortable. She mentally noted that, although she had done this many times, the first few minutes always seemed fresh, as well as slightly awkward. Aria nervously gathered her hair around her, playing with it, only to remember that with this doctor, there was nothing to fear.

  As she peered at Aria through her glasses, Dr. Sumner averted her eyes to her notepad, allowing her patient a few minutes to settle in more leisurely.

  “How are you today, Aria?” came the familiar and customary initial question.

  “Good,” came the obligatory reply.

  “That’s really good to hear.” Smiling, Dr. Sumner adjusted her glasses. “Anything new since you were last here?”

  Now was the moment of truth. Aria could choose to lie and respond in the negative, but as she had learned in the past, no useful purpose would be served. That particular time, she had answered a question untruthfully. She left Dr. Sumner’s office feeling victorious that she was able to pull off a ruse, yet frustrated because she then had no perspective or objectivity of the mental images that plagued her, as well as the emotions that tortured her. It quite defeated the purpose of seeing her at all.

  “Yes. I’ve seen Declan.”

  The doctor raised her eyebrow, indicating interest, so Aria steadied, met the doctor’s eyes, and continued.

  “I saw him over the holidays. Once by accident, once at a party.”

  “How did you feel about that?” the doctor asked.

  It was an inquiry she had been preparing for. She thought of him constantly since seeing him, but how best to relay that was the dilemma.

  “I wish I could tel
l you,” Aria answered truthfully.

  Exasperated, she took a deep breath and continued.

  “I wanted to talk to him—just chat—but I couldn’t slow my thoughts down long enough, and in a coherent enough pattern, to know what more to say than the few words I said. My first response was that I was happy to see him, but of course I didn’t say that to him.”

  She released a deep sigh, feeling almost embarrassed to admit that about someone who had hurt her so much.

  Dr. Sumner nodded as Aria spoke.

  “Were you not expecting that; the happiness?” the doctor inquired.

  “No; I wasn’t. I had convinced myself that I’d be indifferent when I saw him and show him that I could never feel something again for someone who had so casually and carelessly disregarded me and my feelings.” She shook her head, indicating that she didn’t quite understand herself. “I wasn’t prepared for the leap of joy that my heart was going to take when he came into my view. I felt like I was in high school, and he was my boyfriend. I actually caught myself smiling for a moment.”

  “You seem disappointed with yourself,” Dr. Sumner observed.

  The comment caused Aria to stop speaking for a moment and reflect.

  Placing her hand at her throat, she looked off in contemplation.

  “I am, somewhat, I guess. I wonder, what type of masochist must I be to feel happiness when I see someone who hurt me so badly? I mean, I disgust myself. He hurt me. Literally crushed me. You remember what condition I was in when I first came to you. Isn’t that, kind of, like a dog who wants to lick the person who kicked it?”

  The doctor’s face never reflected her emotion, but Aria thought she saw a frown.

  “It isn’t that simple for most people, Aria. You were, and may still be, in love with him.”

  Aria began to protest, but the doctor stopped her.

  “Let me finish…In fact, you’ve told me that you now know that you’ve never been in love with anyone else. Seeing Declan caused your subconscious to remember that joy. The joy of being in love. The joy that he not only gave to you, but shared with you. That’s something priceless! You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t aspire, consciously or subconsciously, to want something as pleasant as that was again, and to have a good, solid memory, conscious or unconscious, of what there was between the two of you.”

  “Well, therein lies the problem, doesn’t it, Dr. Sumner? The thing that will always hold me back. My memories…”

  Dr. Sumner frowned at her. “This is true, Aria, but the more we talk, the more you’ve told me that your good memories with Declan outweigh the bad. You have to acknowledge that. The relationship was good. Most of the bad centers around the accident. That is where you have trouble—remembering. It’s the accident and the problems that arose as a result of it.”

  Aria agreed. Dr. Sumner was correct and her objectivity was a valuable tool in placing the blame where it should go. Remembering the accident was the problem, and more of the blame should be attributed to it. She had to sort out the two. Loving Declan, whether that would be a future hurdle or treasured memory, wasn’t.

  She slumped back into the chair as she recognized and admitted the difference.

  “So you don’t think I’m some sicko because I was excited to see him?” she confessed her concern.

  “Do you think you’re a ‘sicko’ because of it?” the doctor remarked back to her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Please don’t answer my question with a question,” Aria said. “It makes me feel like you’re patronizing me.”

  Dr. Sumner chuckled with Aria’s frankness. “Okay; I’ll spell it out for you. I think YOU need to separate some of your thoughts. I’ll reiterate; from our discussions, you’ve already stated that you were—and could still be—in love with Declan. The anger you feel toward him is centered on the events of the accident. Perhaps we should continue to concentrate on separating the two.”

  Aria appeared confused, biting her lip and looking quizzically at the doctor.

  “I don’t follow. Even if we continue to go down that path, it won’t change anything, so how will it be constructive? We aren’t together; probably won’t ever be again. I only need to remember the details of the accident for my own sanity. This thing with Declan is done. Just because I ran into him, and some old feelings came back, doesn’t mean anything. Not in his world. He doesn’t love me anymore, and doesn’t want anything to do with me. He blames me for the accident, so I need to move on.”

  Adamantly squaring her shoulders, Aria prepared for a verbal sparring and/or a mental challenge with the good doctor over this point, but she’d get neither.

  Dr. Sumner waited for her emotions to settle, placing her pen on the pad in her lap. They did—slightly—when she noted Aria’s lip biting had stopped. She then spoke soothingly, “If this thing, as you call it, with Declan is done then, yes, you will move on, and you will be able to do that with a healthy mind. You won’t, however, be able to do that effectively until you’ve worked through some of the emotions that you experienced when you saw him and how you’ll react if you see him again. I believe we’re dealing with two separate issues, Aria, and this is the first time we’ve been able to approach the topic constructively, so I’d like to propose something to you.”

  Maintaining her composure, Aria nodded her head, indicating that she was prepared to listen.

  Dr. Sumner sat back into her chair to more effectively state the suggestion.

  “Write,” she said.

  “Write?” Aria echoed back to her incredulously.

  “Yes, write,” the doctor repeated.

  “Write a heartfelt letter to Declan. You may want to write several in fact.”

  Aria continued to look at the doctor as if she had three heads. After a brief moment of disbelief and shock, she enunciated her reply so there would be no misunderstanding.

  “I…am…not…writing…to…Declan,” she said very calmly, slowly, and succinctly.

  “It isn’t for him, Aria,” Dr. Sumner said, “but for you.”

  “What?” She laughed in disbelief. “Just how would that benefit me? Only if I tell him what a lousy bastard he was and how he hurt me—oh, and let’s not forget ungrateful!”

  She jumped up, stood, and then started pacing in anger.

  “Yes. That’s what you’d tell him,” Dr. Sumner said. “That and many other things.”

  Aria couldn’t believe her ears and stopped what she was doing to stare at the doctor.

  All at once, the hidden sadist in her jumped to life with pompoms, and the doctor noticed the moment the reaction hit her.

  “Unleash my beast?” Aria asked.

  The thought caused venom to surface and exude, as her shoulders squared and her lips tightened.

  “Yes!” the doctor shouted enthusiastically. “Unleash your beast—or at least, the beast that has been eating at you from the inside, but there is one thing…” Dr. Sumner slowed her voice.

  Aria hesitated. She heard the deliberation in the doctor’s voice.

  Of course, there was always a catch.

  “…You must pour out everything in those letters, Aria. Everything! Love, hate, malice, disappointment, hurt—don’t hold anything back. You write every spiteful, despicable, and hateful thing that you can never forgive of Declan. In those letters, you tell him every cruel thing that he ever said or did to you, and you purge yourself of those toxic emotions—but you will never mail them. Never.”

  Dr. Sumner was now wearing a humongous, megawatt smile.

  Aria wasn’t amused. The first word that came to her mind was safe; the next word was nonproductive. Then she thought of what this could mean for her emotional state. “How does that help if I never get to say those things to him?” she asked, confused. “He’s the one that hurt me? He’s the one that all these feelings are directed toward! Shouldn’t he know?”

  The doctor understood her feelings, and nodded her head in agreement.

  “Yes, Aria, he is; and, in a way, y
ou’re right—but you’re the one who is suffering. It’s affecting you. Your feelings are hurting you…”

  Then it happened. She guessed this was what Oprah would call an “A-ha moment.” Aria’s mind was a jumble, that much was true. Emotions that she was feeling, especially all the negative ones, were bottled up inside, due in part because she’d never divulged how she felt to anyone, not even those closest to her—her mom or girlfriends. All this hostility was festering inside of her and it was stagnating, growing putrid and making her personality grow somewhat cynical and bitter toward love, which was totally out of character for her.

  Composing herself, she returned to her seat in the plush chair. She pulled her hair around her again, in the familiar comforting motion. No longer wanting to think about what to do, she made direct eye contact with the doctor. She wanted to make a decision.

  “So, you think that if I do this, it might help me—really help—no bull?”

  Dr. Sumner had such a confident look that she was infusing that confidence into Aria by osmosis, making more of a believer out of her moment by moment.

  “I truly do. It certainly can’t hurt…and I believe it may even help you to forgive.”

  What the hell?

  Aria snapped back as if she’d been physically struck.

  “Forgive? After how he treated me? I don’t think so.” The sarcasm dripped from her words as she spoke, but she didn’t want the doctor to think she was a pushover.

  Dr. Sumner attentively leaned forward to capture Aria, as if she were a deer in headlights.

  In a soft voice, which could only be described as a loud whisper, she said the words that Aria would use in countless situations, and that would stay with her forever.

  “Forgiveness is something you do for yourself, Aria. It never dismisses what someone has done to you, but not utilizing it will allow the negative to eat you alive. Forgiveness gives you back your power.”

  Aria was rendered speechless. Sinking in to the strength of those words felt, somehow, peaceful. Although Dr. Sumner had spoken them softly, they carried more command and direction than she felt she’d had in quite some time.