Beats Of The Heart

Once upon a time, in my innocence, I believed in love and entertained the idea that there could be something to make me whole, until life came to teach me one important lesson: never give anyone the power to hurt you. Now, I wear a mask. Every day I don that mask as if it were armor meant to shield me from the world, from people who are too eager to get too close, to know me, to touch me in a manner that I cannot afford. They think they can break through, that they can pull the real Celeste out from behind this fortress I’ve built, brick by brick. They will be wrong; I will never let them in. Not again. It scowls at me through the glass of the window. It does not look at me with sympathy or with warmth. It is just a face detached and unkind sporting the perfect smile which no one ever really questions. I should be careful to keep it that way stoic, unwavering, and incomprehensible. For if I allow anyone to see beyond it, they would see through all my hidden cracks. They would see the mess I buried, the things I don’t ever want anyone to find. I learned at a very young age quite simply that people are nothing but waves; they hit you against the rocks and you are pulled under until you struggle to breathe, and, when the tide recedes, you’re just left there, drowning in the debris from something that wasn’t even real in the first place. You sent I can’t allow myself to think about it for long. I won’t. I can’t risk it. I build this life in the first place to ensure safety: to worry no more about heartbreak, to disappoint no one, to be needed by no one. Because I know intrinsically that if I let someone draw too close, they will leave. When they go, they'll take pieces of me along. Things I'm not certain I could stand losing anymore. The chaotic clutter of papers, reports, and cold efficiency present in everything I've built fills my office. Everything in my life was carefully composed for me to control my impressions, for everything to be orderly. Basically, everything is established so I wouldn't have to deal with feelings that can break me. A brisk knock on the main office door takes me away from my abstraction. "Celeste," says Lila, prim and buoyant. Out of a few people, she's the one who believes in looking past my walls. She's sweet, almost too sweet; she hasn't figured me out yet. Always there, ready for me to c***k. But I won't. I lift my eyes from my desk and readily offer her a tight smile, the one I give everyone. "What is it, Lila?" "There's a meeting in ten," she tells me and frowns for just a split second. She just can't help it—she cares. Her idea is that I'm some mystery to solve, but she'll figure it out soon. She'll figure out that nothing would ever penetrate me. You sent I nod. "I will be there." Just like that, I turn back to my work. I don't allow her to hang around. I don't let her see me when I still ache, still wonder if I could have a life different from this. Because that life isn't for me. Not anymore. The walls are my protection. They are the only thing that has kept me safe and the only thing that has ever truly kept me from falling apart. And that's how it will always stay. The evening was cool with a crisp that smacked refreshingly of something monumental in its make. The click of my stiletto heels sounded crisp against the marble floor as I walked through the grand entrance of the charity gala. The epitome of warmth and glitz, this were wine-hued sable chandeliers that dripped precious jewels-like clustered crystals atop elegant gowns and tuxedos clad guests with other many whispers, and the soft play of the strings echoed within the hall. My notoriety had spread once they saw me-Celeste, the Powerful Donor, whose largess had turned this event into something marvelous. I would also be known as the benefactress, though it hadn't always been as straightforward as handing over a huge check. Expectations existed. They would want to know what the woman looked like behind the mound of cash, behind the persona I had meticulously crafted. And tonight, I had kept them all in check. I stood with mCeleste Worldy back straight, letting the room take me in, but I wasn't just here for the accolades. My eyes skimmed through the crowd in search of one particular face. There he stood, Adrian. A little after the opening hour, a sketchbook in his hands, betraying a furrowed brow in concentrated drawing, he was leaning against a column in the back of the hall. The guest architect is not as well-known as other guests present. Yet, he held a certain aura. I was taken in by his sharp jawline and dark hair contrasting with the delicacies of the evening. It was a private gathering some months prior to this moment. I was so impressed with Adrian's vision, his notions of sustainable design, and his direct and open way of proceeding. I felt something in his presence I rarely sensed: an attraction. He was not cowed by me, nor did he wallow in the excess from which I came; I liked that. I now dared to weave my way through the crowd. Each stride caused the soft murmurs to fade further and further into oblivion with each step I took closer to him. He had not yet noticed me. “Adrian,” I spoke softly, my voice a gentle interruption of his thoughts. He looked up, startled for a moment before revealing a smile. “Celeste,” he greeted with such easy warmth that it threw me into confusion. “I didn't expect to see you here tonight.”