Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) by DD Lorenzo Page B

car. Como usted lo pidió .”
    Marisol shifted in the chair. “I didn’t ask you to do anything. I told you to do it.”
    Reaching up her hand to caress the face that was bent low beside her, she patted her cheek, like one would a pet.
    “ Bueno . That’s a good girl.”
    Pausing momentarily, she stared at the face next to hers.
    “ Muy bonita, Marchelle . You are a very pretty girl…” she said as her voice drifted off, as well as her hand.
    Quickly using the same hand, she waved, dismissing the woman as insignificant.
    “Get me some tea.”
    Quickly, the woman went to do her bidding as Marisol continued her interrogation.
    “Did anyone see you?”
    “ No, yo tuve ciudado. You said to be careful. I paid cash for the purchases, and I made sure no one was around when I placed the items in the trunk.”
    Marisol nodded her head in approval.
    “I have some things I want you to take care of later, so do not disappear,” she ordered.
    “Whatever you want, Marianna . I do it. Yo lo hare . For you.”
    With that comment, Marisol’s head viciously snapped up, and she rose in a striking stance, arm raised. “I told you to never call me that again—ever! Did you forget everything I have taught you?!”
    “No! No! I didn’t forget! Sorry! Sorry! It just slipped out!” came the desperate voice.
    “ Marianna has been dead for a long time, baby girl! Papi called me that—that son of a bitch! Marisol now lives in her place, and MARISOL is the one who feeds you! MARISOL is loved and adored by EVERYONE ! If it were not for Marisol , your dead ass would be a slave to some man in Columbia, having his babies, doing his bidding for nothing and taking whatever he gave you!”
    Marchelle dropped her head. “I’m sorry, Marisol. Lo siento! It just slipped out. I haven’t called you by your real name since we were little girls. I don’t know what I was thinking…”
    “You were not thinking, you stupid bitch; that is the problem. If you do not think at all times, it could ruin the illusion that I have worked very hard to create—that WE have worked hard to create. You are here for my comfort and ease. You are here so that I may move about more freely. You look like me to the world, but you do not speak to the public—you couldn’t anyway. They wouldn’t understand you! You are here to assist me, and you would do well to remember your purpose, or you have no purpose! I choose to have you imitate me, but you ARE NOT ME! You will do whatever I tell you to do, for MY convenience. Do you understand me?!”
    She waited for an answer, but Marchelle continued looking down at her feet in submission; however, her sister took it as rejection. No one ignored Marisol. She drew her hand back and released the force of her anger through her arm and across the side of the frightened woman’s head, toppling her onto the floor.
    “I UNDERSTAND, I UNDERSTAND!” Marchelle cried in terror, her flailing arms over her head as her anxiety rose to panic. She withdrew into a fetal position.
    “You will answer me when I speak to you! I am not to be ignored—not by you, not by ANYONE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” she maniacally screamed.
    “Y—yes…yes,” Marchelle said, trying to quiet her sobs.
    Breathing as hard as a raging bull, Marisol paced back and forth in front of her sister. She debated, desiring to release further physical outrage but not wanting to expend the energy on such a worthless creature. She reminded herself that there were more worthy opponents.
    “Must I constantly remind you of your purpose?” she asked in disgust.
    “No. I understand.” Marchelle sat up in defeat, not meeting her sister’s unbalanced glare.
    Hearing the desired defeat in Marchelle’s voice immediately pacified Marisol. She had regained the control she desired and was able to reserve her energy.
    Straightening her posture, she placed her hands appreciably to her face, smoothing over the invisible distress she imagined may have occurred to her