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  Insentient

  A Novel By

  Anlyn Hansell

  © 2019 Anlyn Hansell

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the Author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual people or events are purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Born-Again Virgin

  Chapter Two

  The Beast

  Chapter Three

  The Beauty

  Chapter Four

  Saved Again

  Chapter Five

  Love Connection

  Chapter Six

  A Breakthrough

  Chapter Seven

  Welcome Home

  Chapter Eight

  Insentient

  Chapter Nine

  Best.Wedding. Ever.

  Chapter Ten

  New Arrival

  Chapter Eleven

  The Devil you know

  Chapter Twelve

  Dust to Dust

  Chapter Thirteen

  Back to the Real World

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Decision

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Born-Again Virgin

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, Liz.”

  I don’t acknowledge my best friend, my eyes instead riveted on the swirling blue green water beyond the weathered dock we’re seated on.

  “Earth to Liz,” she says and I blink. It’s almost hypnotizing, watching the water spin and disappear into the small hole in the middle of the pond.

  “It’s like a toilet,” I murmur, and it truly is. Apparently, a giant sinkhole resides under this spring-filled pond and the water empties into it and goes who knows where. Oddly enough, though, its direction defies the laws of Physics and the Coriolis Effect, spinning in the opposite direction for this side of the Equator. It’s quite fascinating really…

  “Speaking of toilets, let’s get back to Patrick,” she says, and I blink again, breaking my momentary trance to shoot her a quick glare.

  “Cause he’s full of shit, Liz. Get it?” she snorts.

  “Clever,” I mutter. I don’t recall a conversation about Patrick ever resulting in anything but negative comments from her. Oddly enough, I never correct her, or get angry or defend him because deep down, I think she might be right, I just won’t admit it.

  “There is no such thing as a Born-Again Virgin,” she scoffs, and my eyes roll as a sigh escapes me.

  “He says he wants it to be special when we finally have sex as a married couple. It makes sense, I guess,” I shrug.

  “When exactly did you become such a doormat? This isn’t you, Liz. You need to test things out, make sure you’re even compatible!” she exclaims. “What if he’s sporting a diseased gherkin in his shorts? What if the reason he doesn’t want to do it is because he has a teeny weeny? Did you ever think of that?”

  “Size doesn’t matter,” I respond, using the world’s most conciliating cliché. I so don’t feel like having this conversation right now.

  “Ugh! You’re just afraid of being alone! That’s the only excuse I can come up with why you would tie yourself to this toolbag. Admit it!” she states as she turns her seated body toward mine and grabs my arm.

  I have no answer to that, so I keep my mouth shut. Maybe she’ll drop it.

  “We’ve been friends since first grade. Twenty-five years! This is the goofiest thing you’ve ever done, I swear.”

  Ok, maybe not.

  I look down at the ring he gave me only two months after our first date. It’s not impressive, I suppose, compared to the massive rock on Jen’s finger but I like understated. Understated is good, it’s less pretentious and infinitely more sensible.

  “Even his ring sucks.”

  “Ok, that’s enough. Can we talk about something else? Like maybe the fact that you should be getting your hair and makeup done instead of beating me over the head with this yet again?”

  “You need to be beat over the head. I’m trying to talk some reason into you. I don’t want you to make a mistake, that’s all. I thought you would never recover when your folks died, but you did. For two years, I’ve been trying to get you back to the land of the living and suddenly he shows up and you have some sort of epiphany?” she exclaims before her eyes narrow at me. “Does he know how much you inherited?”

  “I -” I start but stop myself. I know where she’s going with this. She dated Gabriel for five years before he proposed. My speedy engagement was alarming to her and to be honest, it surprised me too, but I figured the timing was right.

  I lost both of my parents in a car accident. I have no siblings, no real family left except for an aunt and a cousin that don’t bother with me, not that I’ve ever bothered with them. I have one real friend, lots of acquaintances and colleagues but not many I really connect with. Patrick and I connect on an intellectual level and I suppose that’s good enough for me right now.

  “You need to sit back and take this all in. You are a beautiful, smart, caring woman that any man – any person really, would be honored to know. Don’t sell yourself short. You only live once. Why waste time with someone whose intentions seem sketchy at best?”

  Her words make a small smile flutter across my lips.

  “Wow, who’s the shrink here?” I ask with a raised brow.

  “I know, right? You’ve rubbed off on me, I’ll admit it,” she laughs.

  My smile falters, then disappears. “Patrick’s the first guy I ever dated that doesn’t mind my quirks -”

  “You mean your snarky mouth and the fact that you psychoanalyze people to death? Those quirks?”

  “Job hazard. I can’t help it. I think it scares men away, but not Patrick.”

  “No. Not Patrick. He gets free counseling. It’s perfect, because he’s a loon,” Jen deadpans.

  “He’s not crazy-” I start.

  “Born-Again Virgin? The man is a whack.”

  A strange sound diverts my attention for a moment, almost like a sucking sound coming from the middle of the pond.

  “That’s obscene. How funny is that?” Jen asks as her eyes dart to the water and back to mine.

  “What time is it?” she asks, and I quickly look down at my watch.

  “Quarter after nine,” I answer, and my eyes widen. The wedding is less than three hours away and we’re sitting on a dock in sweats and ratty hair.

  “I need to scoot. You too. They’re doing your hair after mine. Oh!” she snaps her fingers. “Can you do me a favor?” she asks.

  “Sure. Anything,” I answer automatically.

  “Can you take Arianna’s dress to her? She’s in Cabin 203.”

  Arianna…I can feel my face scrunch up in confusion.

  “Gabriel’s cousin? The tall model looking chick with Kardashian lips? Helloooo…there are only three bridesmaids and you can’t remember one of them?”

  “Right. Arianna. Cabin 203,” I mumble and nod.

  Jen gives me a quick peck on the top of my head before she lifts herself to a standing position. “Come on,” she orders as her hand reaches down to lift me to my feet.

  “I really wish you didn’t bring Patrick all the way down here. I wanted to have fun with you, but I have to share you with that bag of dicks,” she mutters under her breath as she pulls me behind her on the narrow dock. I give a quick squeeze to her hand.

  “It’s your wedding. You shouldn’t even be worried about partying with me. Your eyes will be glued to Gabriel all night. Wait ‘til he sees you in tha
t dress.”

  “Yeah, and then he pulls me out on the dance floor and realizes I samba like a dying fish,” she scoffs before demonstrating...something. I’m not quite sure what that movement was.

  “See? I practically trip over myself. His family will be so impressed!”

  “You’ll be fine. They love you. He loves you. It doesn’t matter that you murder his national dance. Oww!” I blurt as I rub the arm she just punched.

  *****

  “203…203…” I whisper to myself as my eyes search the bronze placards on the small whitewashed buildings nestled between lush green leaves and multicolored flowers.

  Exotic sounding birds are cawing in the distance and the smell is so fresh and fragrant. Everything down here is vibrant. It’s soothing to all my senses. I promised Jen I would visit Brazil as often as I could, and I will, as long as her new husband is Ok with it.

  In a way, it makes me sad that I won’t be able to see her nearly as much as I did before. We did everything together. Grade School, High School, College, we even worked the same summer jobs. She was always there for me, especially when my parents died. She put her relationship on hold to stay with me while I dealt with the aftermath of their deaths. I owed this incredible woman my sanity, because if I didn’t have her, I would have certainly lost my mind.

  I need to shake myself out of this weirdness and put on a happy face. Smile and dance and drink and show her how ecstatic I am for her, because I am, I remind myself. She deserves this. She deserves much more than this, but it’s all I’ve got to give her right now.

  “203,” I breathe out as my feet crunch the pristine white stone beneath my shoes. I jump up the first step but stop quickly.

  “Me dê isso! Me dê isso!” I hear a woman yell out from within the cabin. It’s muffled but she’s so loud I can hear her words enunciated. I take another step and the wood creaks but that’s nothing compared to the racket going on inside this tiny building.

  “Estou Indo!” she practically screams, and I am at the door in an instant. I don’t have the luxury of knowing five languages like my interpreter friend Jen, but it really sounds as if this woman is in distress.

  I knock on the door but the racket coming from inside drowns the sound out. I stand paralyzed for a moment, completely unsure what I should do before my hand grabs the door knob and it turns easily.

  “Hello?” I say in a timid voice as my arm pushes the door open slightly.

  “Are you Ok in there?” I add because, well really, I don’t know why I just said that. Obviously, she’s not Ok. I push the door a bit further.

  “Oh god yes! YES! YES!” a man’s voice. Wait.

  I know that voice.

  I push the door all the way open and my heart stops beating.

  I see legs. Really long, tan legs up in the air in a V. I see a man’s white ass flexing and bouncing as he swivels his hips between them, pushing in and out. She’s yelling something, I have no idea, my blood is pounding in my brain and my body can’t move.

  I know the back of this head, this sandy blonde hair that I just mentioned yesterday was in need of a cut. The skinny white ass though, I’ve never had the opportunity to see that.

  I am transfixed and paralyzed, watching my fiancé pound the living daylights out of this woman and in this moment, I am completely unsure as to whether I should say something or let them finish. They both sound like they’re awful close…

  Wait.

  What?

  “Ahem,” I clear my throat because it’s the only thing that comes to mind. Sad to say, I have to do that three more times in increasing volume before his head snaps toward me and a look of pure shock crosses his face as soon as our eyes meet.

  “Liz!”

  “É a sua namorada estúpida?” his bedmate says as her head pokes out from around his body.

  All right, I don’t know Portuguese, but I’m pretty sure I know what ‘estúpida’ means. My eyes travel from her to him and nothing comes to mind. No witty phrase, no biting sarcasm, nothing. I don’t have any words just maybe a dumb look on my face, because I feel dumb, or, estúpida as whorish Brazilian skanks say…

  I drop the plastic bag with her dress on the floor, my lips still clamped together in a silent war with my brain and my only thought is flight. Not fight, just get the hell out of here, flight.

  I will my body to move and I can hear him saying something and her yelling at him or me. Already, I am opening drawers in my mind as I focus on putting one foot in front of the other. I even manage to navigate the front steps as my vision kind of tunnels and the pressure between my ears increases.

  “Stop! Please! Liz…” I hear as my arm is grabbed and I am swung around. He’s shirtless but he has managed to put a pair of tightie whities on.

  I glance around quickly, hoping someone from the neighboring cottages walks out and sees him. I mentally assess the situation and calmly list a few alternative scenarios in my mind.

  “Liz, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry you saw that -” he starts.

  “You’re…sorry I saw that? You’re not sorry you did it, just that I saw it?” I ask.

  “Look, it’s just -”

  “I thought you were a Born-Again Virgin?” I interrupt.

  Geez, even saying that makes it sound moronic.

  “Just with you. I mean, we’re going to be married! I want it to be special,” he says with a sincere look on his face.

  All I can concentrate on is the fact that he said going to be married. He can’t honestly think I would still marry him?

  “You were just screwing another woman. Why would I ever marry you now? Are you kidding?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

  “You and I…we’re on a different level, Liz. More cognizant and cerebral. It’s much more intense than the physical -”

  “I don’t know, you looked pretty intense back there,” I comment in a biting tone, cutting him off.

  “Liz, you don’t understand. I have needs and you…I’m just nervous about sex with you, to be honest. Like it won’t be good enough or you’ll start analyzing my performance. I met Arianna and, I’ll admit it was flattering to have her pay attention to me. She really gets me and I’m into her, but it’s just physical. That’s it, nothing more.”

  “Let me analyze that sentence. How can she really get you when she doesn’t even speak English and I’m pretty damn sure you don’t know Portuguese? And yes, I would definitely say you were into her. I saw that and you’re trying to tell me that your relationship is purely physical so that makes it Ok?”

  “Yes. There are no real feelings between her and I, but I have feelings for you Liz. I do.”

  “I have feelings for you too,” I state, and his face brightens considerably.

  “Oh, I didn’t say they were good feelings, asshole.”

  His smile drops.

  “This is what I’m going to do. I’m opening a drawer, see? And I’m stuffing all of this inside it and I will open it after the wedding and deal with it then,” I say in a rational voice.

  “Not the drawer thing. Please don’t…that’s not normal, Liz,” he says but it’s too late. I have successfully compartmentalized my feelings and I am looking upon him as one would look upon a stranger.

  “I have to go get ready,” I murmur woodenly before attempting to turn.

  “Wait! Wait…just…we’ll talk about this later,” he stammers out as he grabs my arm.

  I shake him off and complete my turn. My feet are crunching again as I walk. In my head I am chanting crunch crunch crunch as I continue toward my own cabin and ignore whatever is spewing from the man behind me.

  *****

  “Agora os declaro marido e mulher.”

  I have no idea what they’ve been saying this entire ceremony. If it was Latin, I might have half a chance, but I highly doubt they would be conducting a wedding with medical terms.

  My eyes wander toward the pews occasionally, skimming unfamiliar faces, passing over Patrick who wouldn’t notice b
ecause his eyes are glued to the woman standing two bodies down from me.

  She looks nice in her light bluish-gray gown that is identical to the one I am wearing. Her skin is a deep olive and her hair is glossy and black, setting off the color perfectly. Of course, my chest isn’t practically spilling out the front like hers, but I did have the forethought to at least get a spray tan. All in all, I think I look like a princess in my dress that Jen specifically picked for all the bridesmaids because it matched my eyes and she thought it looked particularly nice on me.

  My dark brown hair is piled on top of my head with little white flowers stuck here and there and my makeup…I didn’t recognize the exotic looking woman looking back at me from the full-length mirror earlier. Whatever eyeshadow the woman used made my light blue eyes more vivid than their usual hue.

  My mind is still on autopilot, smiling when I think I should smile, winking at Jen when she glances my way. I’m the most chipper jackass in this whole church. Unfortunately for me, this fairy tale look I have going on is going to appear quite different when I finally open up that drawer in my mind and have the ugly cry I’ve been putting off for the last few hours.

  I watch as Gabriel kisses her, and she clings to him for a moment longer before they separate and turn toward the crowd in the small chapel. Everyone is cheering and clapping, and I feel a nudge that alerts me that I should be stepping behind them to exit the church.

  Hours later, and my smile is sort of faltering. Luckily for me, I’m at the head table and Patrick is near the bar slamming Caipirinhas like it’s his job or something. Every so often, my eyes meet his before I glance away. He has tried to approach a few times and my glacial glare is enough to get him to back off, but at some point, I know I’m going to have to talk to him.

  A waiter stops by to replace my champagne flute with a full one almost as if he knows I’m trying to drown out something unpleasant. He mutters something incomprehensible to me and gives a small head nod as he wanders off.

  I haven’t moved from my spot at the head table except for the bridal party dance and if anyone thinks that’s weird, they don’t let on. In fact, they’re all so jovial and boisterous, even Jen hasn’t spared me a glance, thankfully. The alcohol I’ve consumed so far is relaxing me to the point where my iron clad resolve is starting to slip and if she did talk to me, I’m afraid I would bust out with my news and ruin her wedding.