To get through a heartache after the sudden breakup, Arabella moves to New York City to start another chapter of her life.
Driven by the hope to make Adrian Castle, the man who left her broken to pieces with an excuse of protecting her against his w...
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On lonely nights like these, a bottle of aged bourbon tends to be my best companion. I pour myself a considerable amount, my head slanted with a thousand scenarios running wild in my mind.
Is she still with him?Suppose that's the case, what could they be doing right now? Perhaps talking—getting to know each other—like most normal people do on the fucking dates.
But what the fuck could they be talking about? Is she smiling that same radiant smile I vividly recall? Is she elated being with him, laughing at the silly jokes humorous guys like him make?
Does she think of anything else other than him right now?
I pull the rim of the glass toward my lips and chug the whisky in a huge, bitter lump, eyes on the ceiling-tall window overlooking the glowing night skyline.
Romantic affection has never been my strong suit but I'm sadly living the unexpected nightmare. I cannot rid myself of anxiety and there's something otherworld devouring my heart so viciously making it hard for me to properly breathe. It's difficult to decipher this particular emotion; all I know is that I'm affected by it in the worst possible manner.
Self-control, Adrian.
Let control reign supreme because human emotions are meant to be guarded. At a very young age, they showed us the art of manipulation. I was taught never to let emotions cloud my judgment or dictate my decisions. I've abided and lived by it for more than twenty years, but why can't I let go of this ache breaking every bit of rules and principles imbued within me?
Why does the fact that I'm not the one sitting with her bother me this much? Why can't I accept that she's never been mine to begin with and everything we had back in Las Vegas was nothing but an illusion of what I wish could be my reality, have I been a different man? Why can't I let her live as she pleases and stop using the danger as an excuse to hold her closer?
Another sip of whisky, and my mind feels forged. I drop the glass on the desk and walk to my bedroom upstairs, ignoring the void surrounding me. This place has been cold and empty ever since Arabella walked out of the foyer full of anger and hatred. I don't recall feeling any sort of respite by laying in my bed without her next to me from that day onward.
But fuck control!
When I lay in my bed, the sweet memories we shared here flood in like a strong tornado.
I miss her.
I need her.
For once in my life I want to feel the taste of freedom. I want to deliver my heart from the leash put on it many years ago. Would it hurt to just go for what I desire the most right now and forget everything else? How bad can it be to just listen to that voice of silence compelling me to break free and let the man in boulders quench the unquenchable thirst in him?
