Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4) Read Online Free Page B

together. Unfortunately, it would end with me belittling myself for every flaw I thought I had. It could be very uncharitable tightrope to walk because, in my case, the balance between being fussy or self-abusive was a fragile one. At least it was a pit I recognized and, when I felt completely overwhelmed, the best thing I could do was kick my way out of the analytical darkness until I could see light again. So I went to the place where the lights shined the brightest.
    Vegas.
    I’d always been able to lose myself in this city. I have a tendency to get lost in my own head and the Vegas vibe always took me to a place where the mundane fell away and the magnificent shined. You’d think that all the commotion would have create pandemonium, but when I’m in the midst of it I hear the words of an old hymn that my mother would sing when she was besieged with things she couldn’t control; it is well with my soul. I was nowhere near having the amount of faith that my parents did, but when so much was happening that I would become dazed an airplane became a church. I’d feel the decompression begin and my confusion would become crystal clear. I’d get rid of the muddled thoughts by confessing in the tabernacles of Prada, Tiffany and Dior where my penance was done in dollar amounts. By the time I returned home, my veneer was bulletproof. I’m recharged and ready to stand my ground against anyone and anything, especially the bitch that tried to kill me both physically and professionally.
    Marisol Franzi.
    Her profession is very unlike my own. She’s an international model known for a flawless physical form. But she’s proof that beauty really is skin deep. Her soul is a dark pit where happiness goes to die. Her kind of nasty creeps through the cracks of her beautiful face. She’s possessed by psychotic manipulations that have threatened the lives of my friends. Her madness has created an illusion of aesthetic normalcy but it disguises an evil web of deception. She’s a human black widow. She sucks the lifeblood of any poor soul who shows vulnerability. I was once among them and felt the effects of her venom firsthand.
    Never again.
    I closed my eyes and erased the mental pictures. I had to stop marinating in what was behind me. My thoughts had to be purged of all the negativity, and the only one who could do that was me. If I wanted to enjoy my trip I had to enjoy what was right in front of me and leave the stressful things behind for the next few weeks. For now, all I could think about was getting a hot shower and a good night of sleep. Exhaustion was not my friend. The shadows of my self-critical nature have a tendency to take control when I’m not well rested, and travel days had a tendency to be the worst. All I had to do was grab the key to my room from my purse.
    Room 1022 was calling my name.
     

     
    O nce I was inside I closed the door behind me. I leaned against the backside of it and took a deep breath. I wasn’t able to enjoy much solitude before meeting Liz for drinks and now I couldn’t wait to get settled in. My bags were brought to the room upon my arrival. The valet humored me as he brought my luggage in but I saw him strain when he lifted the largest suitcase. The problem? Shoes and accessories—but mainly, my shoes.
    I had to stifle a laugh. He was so polite when I tipped him but I knew he suspected that’s what was in there. I didn’t try to explain because I didn’t have to. Men would never understand how or why women were obsessed with footwear, but to the female species they were an unspoken language—not to mention they really made our legs look good!
    I laid my clothes out on the bed and arranged my outfits. I had my mother to thank for my love of clothes and accessories. Some people would think what I was doing to be odd, but I loved it! My mom has always been beautiful and stylish. I inherited her fair skin and deep brown eyes. I grew up in an upper, middle class family and my parents lived