Synopsis
Dalton,
I loved you once. A love I thought irrevocable. A love I
mistakenly believed could transcend both time and circumstance. Under the
influence of my dimwitted, naïve, traitorous heart, I became intoxicated with
what I now know was simply a figment of my self-indulgent imagination. So drunk
on the feeling, I couldn’t see what was right in front of my face. So foolishly
enamored, I blindly followed my heart into the depths of an emotion that would
ravage me.
Years later, I know now what I wish I knew then. I am
stronger. Smarter. Tougher. I will not allow myself to be broken again.
I loved you.
I raged for you.
I wept for you.
And now, I’m letting you go.
Author’s Note: Under
the Influence is the journey of two childhood friends that spans the course of
five pivotal years in their lives. It is a story about their discovery of true
friendship as it blossoms into first love, their experience of crucial sacrifice
and ultimate betrayal, and their endurance of agonizing heartbreak on the way
to finding lasting redemption.
Dalton POV
All that remains is the orange in the sky and the sweet scent of the
angel lying next to me. Nothing else.
We watch in silence as we always do until the sun finally sets, then
both breathe out a long sigh before I turn to face her. “I have something
for you. It’s not much, but I saw it and thought of you.”
Her eyes widen with excitement as an equally joyful smile spreads
across her beautiful features. I reach into my pocket and pull out the item I
spied just a couple of days ago, buying it as a gift for her birthday, but it
turns out I really suck at surprises. Who knew?
Dangling the long strand of black beads in her face, an unexpected
rush of anxiety races through my system. I’ve never given
anyone anything. Ever. I find it extremely unnerving.
Her grin widens further as she extends her hand, uncurling her fingers
and exposing her palm. I lower the bracelet and watch as it coils into her
grasp. My eyes rise to meet hers and I
swallow deeply, trying to rid the nerves constricting my throat. “It’s uh …
They’re onyx—the beads. I read that they offer
protection for the person who wears them. I just…”
I clear my throat. “I wanted you to be
protected even when I’m not around.”
Her smile is hindered as her teeth graze her bottom lip. I fight the
urge to take that pouty lip in between mine, breaking my stare from her mouth
and bringing it back to the bracelet before glancing back to her sky blue eyes.
She turns to fully face me, the bracelet still secure in her clenched
hand. Her expression timid, she inquires, “Put it on me?”
I nod and slowly uncurl her grip, allowing my touch to linger on the
soft pads of her fingers with each one drawn away. She shivers in response and
I breathe a light chuckle through my nose, still amazed each time I elicit
those involuntary reactions from her. Once the bracelet is pinched between my
fingers, she turns her wrist and waits patiently as I hook the ends together.
Releasing it, I watch as it slides gracefully along the skin of her arm to land
across the bones of her wrist. My hand instinctively rises and my fingers trace
its traveled path, raking over the bracelet as I clench her hand in mine and
press a soft kiss in the center of her palm.
Her breath shudders before she whispers, “I love it, Dalton.
It’s…perfect. Thank you.”
I feel my face warm with her compliment, so break my eyes away from
her to focus on the stars. After a couple of moments of peace-filled silence, I
inquire, “If you were a color, what color would you be?”
Taking her eyes away from the bracelet, she giggles and twists to look
at me. “What color would I be?”
I nod. “Yeah…”
I stall, stunned with my need for honesty. “It’s just, sometimes I
feel like a chameleon, you know? Forced to change my colors based on where I am
in my life.”
I release a weighted breath. “Lately it feels as
though I change them so often, I’m nothing more than
a fucked-up version of an impressionist painting.”
Glancing to the side, my heart lurches as she crinkles her nose in
confusion, my absolute favorite of her expressions. My eyes linger the light
scattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose before once again seeking
comfort in the obscurity of the night sky. “To those far away,
I project a solid, recognizable image. But in reality, I’m comprised of
nothing but a series of angry, incoherent brush strokes in every color
imaginable. Disjointed.”
I twist my neck and pin her with my stare. “Broken.”
Her mouth dips at the corners before she turns on her side and tucks
her hands under her cheek, her blue eyes sincere. “Do you think Renoir
and Monet didn’t know what they were doing? That they didn’t purposely place
each stroke of their paintbrush in order to create their envisioned
masterpiece?”
She tightens her gaze. “You are a work of
art, Dalton. Your own masterpiece,
regardless if you choose to acknowledge it or not. Every experience that paints
your picture is a stroke made just for you. Each one of them is essential in
order for you to grow, to learn, and to teach.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “You ask me what
color I would be? Well, I would be every single color I could because to me,
those colors are emotions. Feelings. And life would mean absolutely nothing
without the many colors that surround us. The many … experiences
we live through that propel us forward into the people we are meant to become.”
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L.B. Simmons is a graduate of Texas A&M University and
holds a degree in Biomedical Science.
She has been a practicing Chemist for the last 11 years. She lives with her husband and three
daughters in Texas and writes every chance she gets.
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