by Marian Tee
Truly, Madly, Deeply
Marian Tee
Truly, Madly, Deeply
Marian Tee
Copyright 2019 by Streak Digital Publishing
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Contents
Blurb
About The Book
Also by Marian Tee
Prologue
1. Her
2. Him
3. Her
4. Him
5. Her
6. Him
7. Her
8. Together
9. Him
10. Her
11. Him
12. Her
13. Together
14. Him
15. Together
16. Her
17. Together
18. Her
19. Him
20. Her
21. Him
22. Her
23. Him
24. Together
25. Her
26. Together
27. Him
28. Her
29. Him
30. Her
31. Him
32. Her
33. Before
34. Her
35. Her
36. Together
37. Her
38. Together
39. Her
40. Him
41. Together
42. Her
43. Him
44. Together
45. Him
46. Her
47. Together
48. Him
Epilogue
Dear Reader,
Also by Marian Tee
Blurb
"If it is not too much to ask," the professor asked in a glacial voice, "would you care to put your daydreams on pause for the rest of the class?"
Diana felt her eyes sting in mortification and fought hard to keep her composure. "I...I..."
"Save us from unnecessary explanations, any of which I highly doubt will be the truth." When she didn't speak, the professor dealt her an impatient glance, asking irritably, "Well? Your proposal then?"
Oh!
Since she had nothing written on her proposal sheet, Diana could only blurt out the first half-baked idea that came to her mind. "I was thinking, umm, since depression is one of the leading causes of suicide, then perhaps we could use faith to cure depression---"
The professor's lip curled. "I've heard enough."
He had?
"And I think you're better off dropping my subject."
Diana found herself clutching the edge of her desk as shock reverberated in the entire class in palpable silence.
Cut your losses and go.
It was the voice of reason again, but try as she might, she couldn't make herself listen to it.
"I s-sincerely believe in what I'm saying, professor."
"Good for you, but that's not why I'm asking you to drop the subject."
"What I'm saying makes sense---"
"If I only wanted my students to make sense," the professor snapped, "then I should've opted to teach in kindergarten, do you think?" The words were intended to hurt, and hurt it did. The girl was now trembling and visibly fighting back tears, but just as before, the sight of her distress did not bring him any amount of gratification.
Damn her. Damn her. Goddamn her for forcing him to make her bleed, and because this had to be the last time, he knew he couldn't leave it this way. He had to see it to the end, no matter what.
When she started to sit, he saw his opportunity and seized it mercilessly, saying sharply, "I'm not finished."
The girl flinched, and so did most of the class. That he was a pitiless bastard was a widely-known fact, but couldn't the professor see he was already beating a dead animal in this instance?
"Remind me what this subject is, Ms. Leventis."
His words were like a noose tightening around her throat, and while she didn't know how or when it would happen, the one thing she was certain of was that this was the beginning of the end.
"Ms. Leventis?"
"Novel Therapy---"
"Finally," the professor mocked. "A correct answer." It had a few students laughing, causing the girl to flush, but he forced himself to get past this. "Do you think you could properly define this as well?"
"It c-can be any method or technology that could be considered breakthrough or radical---"
"In other words," the professor murmured silkily, "it could also be the first of its kind."
"Yes---"
"That being said, do you genuinely believe you're the first person who thought curing depression with faith would help prevent suicide?"
He saw her jerk, saw the first tear fall, and he knew it should be enough.
"Because if you do, then you're an even bigger idiot than I gave you credit for."
But instead he found himself pushing the knife deeper.
I'm sorry, but there's no other fucking way.
Diana could feel everyone staring at her. She knew she should at least say something, but the humiliating flow of her tears had robbed her of the ability to speak. All she could do was remember how this man destroying her was also the same man she had willingly taken her clothes off for, and this truth...it broke her, to the point that for one second she found herself tempted - oh, how she was so shamefully tempted - to be the subject of her own study and surrender herself to oblivion.
But eventually the feeling passed, a hitherto hidden core of strength ultimately prevailing, and Diana's fingers slowly loosened its deathlike grip on the desk.
Dark eyes that neither hated nor judged met eyes that burned an inscrutable shade of gold.
He didn't have to hurt her this way, but he had.
He could have done this differently, but he hadn't.
This, finally, was the end.
Not inevitable, but not salvageable either.
It was the ending he chose, the ending he wanted, and she was just so tired now that she let it be.
Goodbye, Professor.
About The Book
Underneath the layers of foil wrapper and soft tissue was a box, and hope reluctantly gave way to confusion at what she was seeing.
An iPhone?
Granted, it was the latest model, but...an iPhone?
Maybe Damen needed to give her another phone for security reasons? It would be just like him if so, and she wouldn't be even surprised if this came with GPS tracking and whatnot.
She opened the box, and the first thing she saw was the sticky note posted on its screen.
The passcode is the date we first met.
And that was when she knew, her eyes stinging, her heart skipping a beat, and a euphoric burst of hope exploding inside of her with such force that she could barely breathe.
Her fingers shook as she turned the iPhone on, and her heart skipped another beat as she typed the numbers that corresponded with the clue. The lock screen blinked out, and the next thing she saw was the new message notification.
One click, and her heart started pounding.
Matthijs: In the event you need to contact me.
A helpless smile played over her lips.
Diana: Is that your way of saying you want to keep in touch?
Matthijs: No.
Diana: But you went as far as buying me an iPhone.
Matthijs: To ensure our means of communication remains secure and private.
Diana: Why can't you just lie and
say you want to talk to me?
Matthijs: Because you'd never believe me even when I tell you the truth.
Diana: You're so serious.
Almost an entire minute passed, and there still wasn't anything from the professor, almost as if he were saying he would only deign to text her back if she had shared something worthwhile.
It rather reminded her of how Damen was, and she couldn't help smiling. This type of similarity with her brother, she would definitely welcome.
Diana: When I text you here, there's really no way anyone else would read our messages?
Matthijs: Given sufficient heads-up, not even if someone steals your phone.
Diana: In that case...I think I've got a crush on you, Professor de Graaf.
On the other side of town, the professor had just grabbed his car keys and was about to leave his place when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out, saw what she had texted, and threw the keys back on the console before heading back to the shower.
He had a boner to attend to, all thanks to his dark-haired troublemaker.
As for Diana, it wasn't until she was on her third class for the day when she noticed the New Message icon on her secret phone.
Matthijs: Fuck.
Also by Marian Tee
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Prologue
God Only Knows by The Beach Boys
Someday in the future...
Matthijs' footsteps treaded silently on the hallway as he made his way to his daughter's bedroom. He cracked the door open and saw his baby girl still up.
At half past midnight.
She had her back against a mountain of pillows, a tiny dark-haired princess with an oversized pair of headphones plopped over her ears. He entered the room, and she seemed to sense his presence immediately as she stopped humming and turned her head towards his direction.
He smiled, and she beamed at him as the bed sank under his weight. He helped her take off the headphones and bent his head to receive a loud smack on his cheek. "Just because you're being sweet doesn't mean I'll let you stay up late," he said in mock warning, but this only had his little one giggling.
"But you always let me stay up late."
Matthijs winced. "Don't let your Mama hear that, will you?" He noticed the old iPhone on her bedside table as he spoke and asked curiously, "What are you listening to?"
"Grandpa's favorite song."
His heart clenched. "I see."
"Do you know it?"
Instead of answering, he started to hum the song's refrain, and Tilda's eyes sparkled with delight. He kept on humming, and soon his daughter began half-singing, half-humming.
God only knows...mm..mm..mm..
"A for effort," he told her with a grin. "I'd give you that at least." And he was being generous at that, considering how she only knew a fraction of the lyrics.
Unfortunately, his nice deed o
nly had big doe eyes blinking up at him. "Huh?"
"Err, never mind." Tilda was such an amazing conversationalist that he occasionally forgot she was just four. Picking up the iPhone, he saw that she had the song on repeat and said gruffly, "Grandpa used to play it all the time, too." Birthdays and wedding anniversaries, Fourth of July and Thanksgiving, and just about any event that Matthijs' father could get away with it.
And since the old man had been such a damn rascal, he had even taken the TMI route once, saying that Matthijs' mother had played it on the morning after...
Remembering this had Matthijs gritting his teeth.