Paint Me Claimed - Book 2

9 | Breaking the fall or falling?

Leonardo

Just' was such an easy word to use in a sentence.

I thought I would just attend one therapy session.

I would just sit in silence while everyone shared their grief and prove to Amara that I didn't need therapy.

What I didn't realize was the power of that word. Just one meeting felt like a lifetime.

Whoever shared before me, their grief drudged something painful from memory. I ended up speaking when called up. My decision to just sit in silence went for a toss.

It was then that I realized simple words could also have a higher, more profound power than you'd give them credit for.

When someone's phone rang, I was jolted from reliving that wretched day when I lost a part of my body and a piece of my soul.

When I turned around to give a piece of my mind to the person who disturbed me, I realized another thing.

I just couldn't escape from Zemira.

As I watched her stand at the far end of the room - a hand shoved inside her favorite black handbag which she lovingly called Prado instead of its actual name - I knew it was harder than I thought to forget about her.

She wasn't a resident of my mind anymore. She was also a resident in this new city where I moved to avoid her.

"Miss Ford. Is there something else you'd want to say or shall we resume?" Ms. Davis spoke between the loud chatters that ensued since I stopped talking. "Miss Ford..."

I couldn't take my eyes off the woman who ruled my heart and mind. No matter how hard I tried to turn around, I was glued to my chair.

I believe it was easier to forget about someone if they only existed in memories. Zemira wasn't just a memory.

She had become a part of me, my life and my thoughts. Fused over me like a second skin and embedded in each cell, she shadowed me every day and night.

Zemira never vacated her space in my mind. She never abandoned my heart.

She became an infectious entity I tried hard to chop off but failed.

"Miss Ford." The counselor's intonated voice dragged everyone's attention. "I'm talking to you."

My Zemira stood still, mouth ajar, an arm stuck inside her bag to resemble a statue. Her blue eyes didn't twinkle anymore, seemingly having lost their sheen.

I knew better than to believe that our distance made her smile vanish and her bubbling personality subdued. I knew better than to believe that Zemira didn't resemble the girl I left for my mission because she missed me.

All the unwanted media attention she nagged about, all the running and hiding she did from publicity was a façade. A ruse she used to trap me.

"Sorry," Zemira said, her intense gaze boring into me.

It heated my chest and my eyes. What I wanted - to walk over to her and chock the living hell out of the woman - vanished the moment she trembled backwards.

"I need...I ha... have...to attend this call. Sorry, everyone."

She dashed through the doors.

My blood boiled my bones, melting them, searing my flesh. My chest was aflame, pricking my vision and my breath. The world zoomed in and out of focus. I couldn't concentrate on Ms. Davis's words.