True Confessions

Prologue



My reality is surreal and happens in super, slow motion. A nervous giggle escapes my chapped, dry and parched lips. I lick them to restore moisture. Then, there is utter, deadly silence. If I listen closely, I can hear my heartbeat beating away at an accelerated pace. My senses are heightened and I marvel over the brilliant, bold colors of my bedroom as I inhale my favorite fragrances, from their spot on my antique dresser, colliding into one another with their potent allure. Even my sense of touch is different somehow. Everything is magnified to the nth degree. It’s like I’m looking down at myself from a huge movie screen with surround sound as I ready myself for the big finale---the final shot and then fade to black.

I’ve never been good at saying goodbye, even on short, weekend trips. I keep the handwritten note short and sweet and pray to God that mother will understand, and hopefully, one day, forgive me.

I don’t mean to hurt her or cause her any fresh pain. I sincerely don't. I hope she understands that this isn't her fault, that I love her with all my heart and being. No matter what, that fact will never change. I’m so thankful and forever grateful that she chose me to be her daughter out of all the orphaned babies in the world. She chose me. I told myself over and over again that that made me special. I needed to feel special instead of unwanted and discarded.

I’ll miss mother the most, but the hurt I feel inside is too unbearable and indescribable. It is too painful for me to continue, day in and day out, with just a hollow emptiness that erodes and corrupts any happiness that briefly surfaces. The dawn of each new day only brings me more heartache and renewed memories. Some memories are like leeches. They latch on for dear life and slowly, ever so slowly, suck and drain all the blood, all the living out of you. You are left with just a shell of the old you and that's no way to survive. Not for me, anyway.

When they find me, I want it to look like I’m sleeping, peacefully. Just like Sleeping Beauty who only needed a handsome prince to kiss her and awaken her from the darkness that engulfed her. However, for me, there won't be a handsome, charming prince to wake me, save me, and ride off into eternity. All my so-called princes were monsters in disguise with their own hidden agendas that attempted to crush and stamp out my self-esteem. Yes, just blessed sleep awaits me.

I chose pills. I couldn’t subject mother to a messy, bloody scene that comes with slitting one’s wrists or shooting one's self. I refuse to take my final breath with that heavy on my heart. I don't think my heart could handle anything else weighing against it. As it is, I feel like I have three hundred pounds weighing me down. Crushing the life out of me.

As I settle myself comfortably on my queen-size bed, slowly pull the red, satin comforter up to my chin and stare at the full bottle of prescription pills carefully nestled in my right hand, I can’t imagine not waking up in the morning.

What will it be like to not see the rising sun? To not hear my alarm clock going off announcing it’s time to get ready for another day of work? Not hitting snooze to give myself another fifteen minutes? Not rushing to finish my morning rituals before I dash out the door and into rush-hour traffic? What will that feel like?

More important to me now, though, is will it hurt? I hope not. I have never been able to tolerate too much pain, physical, mental or emotional. Yet, that’s what Drake has caused me for the last year of my life. Pain. Intolerable suffering.

I only wanted to love him and for him to love me in return. Simple enough. Was that asking too much? My part of the equation was accomplished, effortless. Drake claimed he loved me, but he really didn’t. Probably never could. Didn't know how to love or receive it. After what happened last week, I know he didn’t. Yet, I gave him everything: my heart, my body, my soul. Now, I have nothing left to give myself. I'm empty inside.

As tears slowly flood my weary eyes and blur my vision, I look around my cozy bedroom for the last time. Ever. It used to be one of my favorite rooms in my small two bedroom, one bath apartment. There was nothing better than lighting several fragrant candles, drinking a little white wine and cozying up with a good romance novel. Yes, that was heaven. Simple things excite me. Always have. Watching a sunrise or sunset, waking up to birds chirping in the treetops, walking hand in hand through the park with the one I love, all these things brought me great joy.

Mother will have to understand. I left her a note, propped up on the nightstand, in full view, that explains how much I love her and daddy. What will she think when she can’t reach me tonight? I would love to hear her soothing, loving voice one last time. Yet, I know I wouldn’t be able to go through with my plan if I did. I’d give away my intentions over the phone or mother would pick up on my foul mood and that would be that. I’d wake up another day with this aching, dull pain inside, tearing me apart, bit-by-bit. Pain that dulls and diminishes every ounce of my strength, all the way down to my pores.

Drake Collins. His name leaves a bitter taste on my tongue. Just the thought of him brings bile to the back of my throat. I will forever regret the day I met that man. If I could turn back the hands of time, do it all over again, I would have called in sick that day or run for the hills. I was just fine with my life the way it was. Sure, it wasn’t exciting or glamorous, but it was enough for me. Drake came with the charm, movie star looks, glitz and high drama and reeled me right in like a bass caught at sea. I gladly jumped into his net.

I say a silent prayer of forgiveness as I place one, then two colorful pills on my tongue and swallow dry. I didn't think of getting a glass of water. I can't think. The lump in my throat quickly diminishes. There’s no turning back now. Just like there was no turning back when Drake turned me out. The countdown begins. Ten, nine, eight. . . I've lived a happy life. I have tons of good memories. I've treated others the way I wanted to be treated.

I hope this happens quickly. I steadfastly place three, four pills on my tongue and swallow again. Hot tears start to spill forth and stream down my cheeks as I realize the final result of my actions. Seven, six, five. . . It’s for the best. I need to stop the pain. Will he even miss me? Or will he just move on to his next victim? Will all this be in vain?

I guess I’ll never have that family now. The one I used to daydream and write about in my journal. The family with the almost perfect mommy and daddy and two kids, a boy and girl. The boy would be the oldest, and he'd look out for and protect his younger sister. They'd have cute, adorable names and they'd know they were wanted and loved and cherished by their parents. They'd never feel unwanted.

Four, three. . . I swallow a handful of pills this time. I've lost count as to how many I've digested. As spittle escapes from my mouth, I gag. I wipe the overflow away with the back of my hand and keep right on shoving pills in my mouth until the orange-brown medicine bottle is empty. I look inside, in awe, shake the bottle, and can’t believe the pills are gone so quickly. Just like the illusion of love. If you blink, you'll miss it.

I wonder if Drake even realizes how much I loved him? Now, I wait for blessed relief and peace to take away my hurt and pain. I’m so tired. Tired of loving the wrong men. Tired of giving my all, coming up empty, and getting absolutely nothing back in return. Good sex isn’t the end all to everything. Drake taught me that lesson.

Two, one. . . It won’t be long now. I faintly smile and lay back against my down pillow. I welcome peace. In my mind, I start silently repeating Psalms 23. I shall walk through the valley of death; I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me. I’m so sleepy. I can barely keep my eyes open. I can feel myself giving in to the fog that slowly invades my mind. Maybe if I close my eyes for a few moments. Yeah, just rest them for a few minutes without seeing Drake’s face behind my heavy eyelids.

Suddenly, I feel lightheaded, like I’m floating on a big, fluffy white cloud, bouncing up and down, giddy with not a care in the world. This is a different sensation that I literally reach out my right hand to embrace and never let go of. Not a care in the world. Nothing matters but blessed, uneventful sleep. I close my tired, weary eyes as the countdown ends. Fade to black.

Have You Ever?

Have You Ever?

Craving: an intense desire for some particular thing or person; a yearning

Have you ever craved someone so badly that you can’t think straight, you’re intoxicated with desire?

Have you ever craved someone so badly that all you can think about is the feel of his strong hands on your body, as they stroke, squeeze, roam to bring you pure, unadulterated pleasure?

Have you ever craved someone so badly that just the mere thought of him makes you shiver uncontrollably with lust; a soft moan escapes your throat as you cross and uncross your legs to contain the heat?

Have you ever craved someone so badly that he takes you there by his look, touch and masculine smell, his mouth on your neck, moving upward as he seductively whispers naughty words into your ear?

Have you ever craved someone so badly that you’re willing to leave all inhibitions at the door because with him you know it’ll be worth the erotic adventure your body longs for?

Have you ever craved someone so badly that when you close your eyes at night, all you can see is you and him caught up in the throes of heated passion, hotter than you have ever been?

Have you ever craved someone so badly that all you can think about is getting that next high, of being in his presence, of feeling his strokes deep inside taking you to ecstasy?

Have you ever craved someone so badly that you almost lost your mind?

I have. . .

There is one small problem. . . he doesn't crave me back. However, I intend to change all that!

Pilar, Diary of a Stalker 2009

Swimming in Opposite Directions

I am a Pisces. I have always been interested in astrology since I was a little girl and I read my first horoscope. Seems like my life has been a continuous quest to discover the "real" true essence of me. Electa Bridgett Rome Parks. Pisces is the symbol of fish swimming in two opposite, distinct directions.

It is still amazing that that categorizes me in a nutshell because I realize I can be such a contradiction to most. For instance, even though I have always been quiet and laid back; I'm also very opioninated and vocal (whether verbally or written) when I am passionate about a topic or subject.

I embrace everything steeped in tradition; in fact, sometimes I think I should have been born in another century and time. On the other hand, I'm not conservative at many levels. I'm always open to other ideas, beliefs, customs, thoughts and anything considered outside the box. I probably believe in "stuff" that some people would deem crazy. Again, I'm forever on a quest to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. . . to figure out the great mystery of life.

I am most definitely a true, hopeless romantic; I admit it. You see, I'm a prissy, girly girl (woman) and I adore sappy, romantic movies. . . I have even been known to shed a few tears while watching them. The entire idea of a black knight in shining armour riding in to whisk me away is intriguing and exciting. Visualize the final scene of An Officer and a Gentlemen and Urban Cowboy. I'm not going to lie; I love, love, love those movies and have watched them countless times, with the same reaction. The concept of a soul mate, that one person made just for you, who completes and complements your life, man, that just takes my breath away. Blows me away. Yet, with all that said, I don't believe in happily ever after endings. I'm too much of a realist and I accept that no one is perfect. And. . . with imperfections comes grief and disappointments.

Contradictions are present everywhere in my life and have also been evident during my literary career. The genres I write under are classified as contemporary fiction and erotica. My novels are known for having elements of drama, volatile relationships, a topical issue and most of all, raciness.

From the outside looking in, my novels are everything that I am not (on some levels). And. . . that's the great beauty of being a writer. . . having the ability to create and structure characters the way I see fit. From day one, my novels have always carried my name, not a pen name. Electa Rome Parks is my real name, not a pen name as some readers have thought. I'm very proud of my creations, my babies, and have never felt the need to hide behind a false name. Side note: I do realize there are other reasons authors use pen names to conceal their identities.

Yet, from family and friends who know me well, at one point or another the inevitable question has been raised. Why do you write such spicy novels? Why don't you write inspiration or Christian fiction or literary? My answer remains the same: "Because I don't want to. Contemporary fiction and erotica speaks to me. I can deliver my messages and be just as effective this way."


No, my novels aren't literary masterpieces that can be broken down and dissected by the best literary reviewers of our times. I write for entertainment purposes and the desire that the reader takes away my underlying life lessons in the process. I adore writing about imperfect people living their imperfect lives in an imperfect world. No. Most of my novels don't have a happily ever after ending because life isn't that sweet, and cozy and tidy. Mishaps, dysfunctional relationships and sexual gratification is a part of all our lives. . . it's human nature.

Who knows? I learned long ago to never say never. Never say what you will never do or do. You never know where life will take you. Down the line, one day, I hope to write an inspirational novel because I think I have many life lessons to share. I think I'm what one would classify as an old soul and I connect with people because they sense a level of sincerity and realness in my demeanor.

In the meantime, I'm simply happy that my novels are touching lives, connecting with my readers based on the many emails, letters (yes, letters) and feedback I receive at signings. Puts a big smile on my face every time. My readers can relate to my imperfect characters doing what imperfect people do, including having sex (LOL) and that makes it all worthwhile.