Fragile tension: (English version)

By Irene Colabianchi

Asher Keaston is a young airline pilot who is disappointed by his childhood and the loss of the most important person in his life.

Eleonor Meier is convinced that she can recuperate a reality of which she has no memory.

An encounter that is not really fortuitous between the two, convinces Asher that the only way to free himself of his past and live a torment-free future, is to destroy the beautiful and passionate woman who has taken over his memories and his desires.
Eleonor hates Asher's eyes, his intense and intrusive look, his oppressive and arrogant ways, but passion and fate will change their destiny once again, that destiny that had separated them four years before.
Asher is convinced of his plan, but instead will find himself always more involved in what he actually feels for Eleonor, a desire that never died. Eleonor will discover that there is a deep secret in Asher's eyes that could shock her existence.
What if the destruction of Eleonor will be Asher's final condemnation?



I’m a new author from Italy… With the hope that Asher and Eleonor enchant you and steal your heart, I wish you all to enjoy reading it! Write to [e-mail] and let me know what you think about my book!!
Find me on Facebook and my Website: http://www.irenecolabianchi.com/
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Author Information: Irene Colabianchi was born in Rome, Italy, in 1999. She loves reading, writing and dreaming, imagining impossible loves and sexy bad boys. She wrote the fantasy romance series Boogeyman Saga. After she published, in Italy, the paranormal romance ‘Il bacio di Ade’. Recently she published a new Mafia Romance series, beginning with the first novel 'Donna D'onore'.
All these books are available in Italian on Amazon and others e-commerce.
Fragile Tension is her debut novel on the International market.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Irene Colabianchi
• Release date: Jul 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9788828340638

Book preview

EPILOGUE

FRAGILE TENSION

Novel

IRENE COLABIANCHI

Fragile tension

©Irene Colabianchi

July 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means.

This book is a work of fiction. Characters, incidents and dialogues are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Author’s notes

Dear reader,

This story is the fruit of hard work between research and inspiration, between feeling and emotion. My inspiration comes from the appreciation of some contemporary artists’ paintings, of whom I’m a great admirer, and from imagining that one of my characters could have the talent of a renowned painter. My feelings have led me where in the future I would like to glide: a beautiful landing strip! Until a few months ago, I had a deep fear of flying; after a forced flight (my mother literally threatened and forced me), I was so positively astounded by the flight, that I decided to become a pilot. (Blessed mothers!) So, I ended up searching for, and studying, some little secrets about pilots to give credibility to my character among the clouds and make it more real. Lastly, my emotions have made me sympathize with those losers who are bullied and underestimated at school (who hasn’t experienced that?). So, I asked myself: how would a bullied person, deprived of affection for unfortunate circumstances, forced to survive in this modern jungle today, react in order to not succumb?

Finally, with great courage, I put myself in a special young man’s shoes, whose life mission was: survive and change, improve his own life and those of the people who have the privilege of knowing him. He understands that only overpowering and realigning that fate that wishes to crush and annihilate us, one can emerge from the small egoistic microcosm, without hope, becoming winner and true satisfied creator of one’s future.

In short, there’s a lot about me in this novel, one of the numerous periods of passion and inspiration that I hope will let you appreciate the story.

With the hope that Asher and Eleonor enchant you and steal your heart, I wish you all to enjoy reading it!

Irene

There is a fragile tension,

That's keeping us going.

It may not last forever,

But always flowing.

Fragile tension – Depeche Mode

CHAPTER ONE

I have never really made the right decision.

I’ve been weak.

I’ve been a coward.

And now I’m an asshole.

Life hasn’t been fair to me, it hasn’t given me an instruction book on how to glue together the pieces of a stormy soul like mine. It hasn’t given me chances, it just threw all the truth in my face and then abandoned me. After all, just like the person who, for years, I thought was the most important one in my whole existence did.

I have always taken the wrong trains, or maybe it’s better to say flights, considering the three well-deserved gold stripes that are sewn on my black pilot jacket.

I’ve reached a point in my empty life in which I no longer have regrets, I don’t retrace my steps and I don’t apologize either, because the people who have hurt me haven’t done the same with me.

I couldn’t have imagined that at the age of twenty-five I would let melancholy destroy me, but in the end, I’ve allowed myself to live a life without love. It’s almost mostly due to the quantity of shit I’ve had to put up with so far in my existence.

But I’ve decided that now it’s time to concentrate on something else. Time to let my soul go wild, to let what I’ve become, transform me completely.

The destruction…

No emotion.

No feeling.

CHAPTER TWO

Eight years before…

Someone pushes me from behind and I trip, falling down, while my books scatter on the floor of the corridor. Get out of my way, asshole!

I close my eyes for a moment and hold back the tears that threaten to weaken me.

A kick in my ass and my body falls flat on the floor, slipping on the cold linoleum. I grab my chemistry text book and try to mitigate the disaster caused by the abusive school bullies, by my weakness… by my insecurities.

I don’t react while I hear their laughs die away and mingle with the chatter of the other students who are leaning against the lockers: no one does anything, no one comes to help me or even simply says a word to comfort me. And no one goes against bullies.

They’re all afraid, just like me.

My fear is also of the most vile kind that keeps me glued to the floor, leaving me without strength, without any reaction.

I clench my fists and look away from a couple of students who are looking at me, amused. I collect my books and am about to get up, when in front of me I see two legs covered by black tights, while a pair of dark brown ankle boots hit my organizer.

The girl jumps and gives a startled feminine squeal. Oh, I’m sorry.

She kneels down while my eyes meet the dark ones of a girl with long and wavy caramel-coloured hair. There’s a long moment of silence between us, she doesn’t speak, she just looks at me, but not with hate or amusement, like all the others: she just looks at me, nothing else.

And she seems to understand.

I jump to my feet and step back surprised by such a penetrating gaze, one that seems to have already analysed me, curious to unveil my insecurities. She remains on her knees for a few moments more then she straightens up and stretches her knees while she collects my school diary from the floor. I’m quite absent minded she says and that voice strikes me so much that it sinks into me, somewhere. She has a clear, crystalline and… melodious voice, I notice an accent that I can’t really decipher well, I would dare to say that she is not truly Australian. She’s probably younger than me, maybe she’s in her first year.

I don’t say anything, I really can’t.

In comparison, my voice would seem too low and rough. Her smooth cheeks blush a bit, and she looks down. I know that fear, I know that ghost that wraps itself around me and that frightens people, that’s another reason why the bullies pick on me.

She clears her throat, but she smiles just the same and finally her eyes meet mine again. She opens them slightly and her smile seems to die on her lips for a moment, but then she insists and finally she tries to hold the gaze. She holds out my diary to me and sighs. Here you are. As I told you I’m a bit absent-minded, I don’t pay attention to where I walk and then…

She can’t, she can’t bear to look at me.

I accept the diary and then I give her an intense look.

She lets out a choked sigh and shakes her head, putting her hand on her heart. I…

She gives up and moves on, giving me one last smile, as if she wanted to apologize.

I turn to follow her with my eyes: her hair moves in soft golden waves down her back, her skirt hitches up slightly when she picks up her pace and avoids some students in the corridor, then… she disappears completely, like a beautiful dream.

CHAPTER THREE

I never gave her permission to do it.

She never asked me for the authorization to take possession of my soul with such violence.

And I never asked her to haunt my dreams, my nightmares… my thoughts.

Her image, her voice, her eyes have destroyed me and left me alone, draining me completely. I’ve been feeling her in my bones for years, under my skin, in the evenings when I was under the shower and was having sex with another woman, thinking about her, about what it would have been like to feel her soft curves under my hands.

I focus on her curly hair that sways while she is slowly walking up the stairs. She seems tired and I understand her: my apartment is on the last floor and the lift is out of order. She sighs and is out of breath while she holds on to the handrail, bowing her head and letting her face be hidden by her hair. The hint of a smile comes to my lips while I lean on the door frame, crossing my arms, looking at her while she catches her breath.

The lift is out of order.

She raises her head suddenly, shakes it and blinks with surprise, with embarrassment too. Her lips move, catching my attention. Uh, yeah… Another sigh, this time it sounds more like a moan.

I should have warned her that the lift wasn’t working, maybe she would have been prepared for the strain of taking the stairs. And most of all, she would have avoided to break my heart with her beautiful red face. I take a deep breath, because I’m out of breath too, but it’s not because of the stairs. We shouldn’t be in the same place, I shouldn’t be near her, or be so close to her that I can feel my lungs pressing against my chest. But life has destroyed me and I want to take her down with me.

When she arrives on the last step, I’m still here waiting for her and looking at her shamelessly. She fixes her black dungarees on her tummy and shakes her hair to fix it up a bit, but without success. She gets impatient and comes closer, hesitantly. I was afraid I was going to be late. I finished work late and I had some problems.

I frown: she is only twenty-two years old and already takes her profession so seriously. Come in I say with a determined tone of voice. Women think that my voice is sexy, tough and strong, without accents. I’m confident, bossy and this drives them crazy, but Eleanor doesn’t seem to like it, in fact, she remains rather distant and cautious.

I can see the uncertainty in her eyes and the fear looking into my stormy irises. After all, what colour are they? Light eyes, grey, like the clouds during a storm.

She remains there, on the landing.

If you don’t want to come in, we’ll talk here, on the landing.

No. She shakes her head, closing her eyes, then she diverts her attention. I’ll… come in.

Those eyes, so uncertain, while she tries not to touch me as she passes near me, make my legs shake, make my heart beat so fast, that I have to lean against the door frame in order to not give in to the charm of her uncertainty.

I look at her furtively, while she clutches her bag and walks dubiously into my apartment.

While her boots touch my clean and perfect light parquet floor, I close the door, making her jump. She shrugs her shoulders, uneasy, while I pass near her and look at her again, and again, because I can’t believe she is here, in my cold and grey den. She looks around the sitting room, examines it and shrugs. It almost seems as if in this cold space, she feels tiny, out of place, wrong. The light and dark nuances, the sad and dull tones of this sitting room are consistent with the storm that resides deep inside me and shakes me, beats me.

She finally sighs weakly and shows a faint smile, the kind of smile that has been fucking me over for years and that still messes me up today. She seems to want to say something, but she can’t speak: the infinite space of this room disarms her.

So, it’s up to me to speak and I say This is your space nodding towards the wall on which she must work:

There’s no space for her in this room.

She nods, but she’s surprised, I don’t think she imagined such a big wall. It’s rather big… we didn’t talk about the iconography, my brother gave me your address and some information, but…

I know I suddenly interrupt her. That’s why I asked for a meeting as soon as possible, to show you what I want you to paint.

She doesn’t like me, most of all she doesn’t like my eyes, because she keeps avoiding them. She might even think they’re unfriendly. She probably loves her brother so much, that’s why she accepted to paint this picture for me. I saw her two days ago, at her brother’s engagement party, I almost didn’t recognize her. She has become an irresistible woman, her Spanish charm attracts me and perturbs me at the same time, makes me want to destroy her and protect her at the same time, to fuck her with impetuousness and yet equally make sweet and tender love to her.

She didn’t recognize me. She was in a college in Sidney in the last four years. Of course, I didn’t expect her to say she remembered me, but our encounter shocked me, shaking me so profoundly that I made a decision. I didn’t talk to her very much, we just introduced ourselves, there was a distance between us the entire time, but our eyes didn’t stop meeting, following and tormenting each other. Finally, I was the first to leave because I couldn’t take it anymore, I couldn’t bear the fact that she was near me and I was almost ignored.

Eleonor.

Is it really her name? It doesn’t seem so. When I pronounce it, it has a different sound, it doesn’t seem as sweet as she, instead, actually is.

She turns suddenly. Do we want do decide?

I already know what I want I answer determined. It’s a canvas you’ve already made.

Those light brown eyebrows arch and she bites her lower lip. Really, which one? She’s surprised.

I put my hand in my pilot jacket and take out a folded sheet of paper, that I give her by simply stretching my arm out. She takes it, troubled, maybe the thought that I have a photo of one of her pictures upsets her: I’ve done my research, I’ve seen two of her exhibitions at a fair for budding painters and I love her paintings. There’s a power, a destruction that matches my constant mood. There’s strength, anger, melancholy, the colours are perfectly in line with what I have been feeling in these last four long years.

She looks down at the folded sheet of paper and raises her eyebrow. Oh…

Is something wrong?

She shakes her head. It’s… deeply sad.

I can’t understand what she must have felt and thought while she was painting such a picture. It’s true, it’s a sad image, full of anger and frustration, a sense of destruction and defeat, but I’m sure of my choice, as I’ve already said, I never retrace my steps: I’m a self-confident man, I’ve refined my beliefs with extreme difficulty and now I know I’m as tough as nails, I’m vaccinated. I like it I say shrugging my shoulders. Could you even start tomorrow?

I want her here, now, immediately, for the next fucking days, in order to destroy her in the best and most sensual and pleasant way, so that she may finally feel completely emptied, without even realizing it.

Eleonor blinks and blushes immediately, clearly my tone revealed my insistence. Only in the morning. I’m busy in the afternoon.

What do you have to do? I ask suddenly, biting my tongue soon after.

She is… tense.

Uh, I mean… I rub my nose with two fingers. Calm down, damnit. Tomorrow morning, ok, so?

Yes, at what time?

Oh, sweet and gorgeous Eleonor…

I don’t answer, but I search for a set of keys in the basket at the entrance, on the chest of drawers, and I give it to her. For you, it’s up to you when you want to come tomorrow morning.

She doesn’t take them. What do I need them for?

To come in.

Oh…

I’m an airline pilot on domestic flights I continue while waving the keys. I’m not at home much, I come back only in the evening, and sometimes I don’t even return at all. You can use the keys to come in and do your job. It’s up to you when.

With the keys? she asks hesitantly, not sure whether to be puzzled or surprised.

I nod as if it was obvious.

Wow, wait. She thinks for a moment about what to say. You trust me so much that you want to give me your house keys? And on top of that, without you being here!

I put the keys back on the chest of drawers and nod. What upsets you so much?

Of course, she’s upset by the fact that I can trust her completely. I could be the most unreliable person in the world.

You’re one of my dearest friends’ sister, Eleonor I say calmly, shrugging. I can’t and I don’t want to doubt you.

She nods slowly, but she still isn’t completely convinced. She would never steal anything, she wouldn’t even know where to look. Besides, the rest of the apartment is exactly like the sitting room: cold; it makes her sad, I can feel it, she probably doesn’t like it, to the point where it even puts her off taking a look around the rooms.

She probably doesn’t even want to be here now.

Anyway I sigh. These keys are the only way for you to do your job here; as I’ve told you I don’t always come back home.

I’m trusting her completely, I think I know her well enough, since she is… she, the same Eleonor of four years ago, except now she’s a woman. This is a condition.

She sighs and takes the keys. Quite a strange condition.

A fair condition, indeed, crucial, considering that, as I’ve told you, sometimes I don’t even come back here to sleep.

Because you’re a pilot she says, all of a sudden.

A slight smile appears on my face. Because I’m a pilot.

Her cheeks blush from the embarrassment, it’s evident!

She raises a corner of her mouth and shivers.

Are you cold?

What?

I saw you shivering, are you cold?

She tightens her light jeans jacket around her and shakes her head. No. Anyway, I think everything is clear. I use the keys, I let myself in.

I get closer to her with confidence and lean against the wall, crossing my arms on my chest. Whenever you want, Eleonor, just let yourself in.

She inhales deeply and coughs, tensed. Okay, I can come tomorrow at ten a.m.

I let out a deep sound, I’m trying not to laugh. Yes, I hope it won’t get in the way of your other commitments.

I’m trying to be kind, nonchalant, but I realize that my tone continues to be tough, dominating. It’s a part of me, I know how I am and for me it’s impossible to be different, to change.

Okay she sighs, as if she can’t breathe.

I give her my mobile, switched on and set on New contacts.

She looks at it, then her eyes go to my suit, as if she just noticed it now. I bet she’s looking at my muscles, at my sculpted body. I know I’m a handsome man and that I attract people’s looks, especially those of the women. This gives me a priceless advantage on her.

Insert your number, so I can call you if I need something.

She stands there, stock-still.

I think she is in awe and I notice her difficulty in meeting my gaze.

I don’t bite I insist pushing the mobile towards her breasts.

Of course. She takes the telephone, annoyed, and types in the damned number. Her fingers are shaking, she knows I’m looking at her, impassive, and she’s clearly annoyed that I am because she turns slightly, turning her back to me.

Here you are she says, turning around and giving the phone back to me.

I look at the display frowning, then I put the mobile back inside my jacket pocket. All right, let’s start tomorrow.

My brother gave me your email, I’ll let you know when I come and…

You don’t have to let me know, Eleonor. I stress her name. Just make sure you lock the door when you leave.

Oh, yes, yes, of course. I certainly won’t leave your house door open.

I didn’t doubt it. I’m so pleased with the way I embarrass her. Don’t lose them or you won’t be able to get in.

She nods, staring blankly into space. You’ve given me a responsibility, you’re trusting me: it’s not exactly my thing not to honour agreements.

I turn the handle and open the door, then I turn around. I suppose then that I’m in good hands.

She frowns and is about to leave, but I block the way. I take a piece of paper from my trousers pocket and give it to her. You’re forgetting my number, in case you should need something, who will you call?

Right. She smiles, tensed. About the wall… I have to put a layer of paint on it and make it suitable for the work I’m going to do. I’ll have to call a mason, a friend of mine, who will help me make it as smooth and clean as possible. Do you have a problem with that?

What? A mason… who? A friend? I blink, I want it to be her, just her… I frown, I think about her words, while my fingers nervously tap on the door. I trust her enough to give her my keys, but another man… I don’t know, something doesn’t sound right, something that makes me… doubtful. I close my eyes tight and open the door wide. If you can handle it, all right. I can’t back down right now. If she trusts him, I must do it too.

He’s a friend of mine and a professional, I trust him she answers without hesitation this time. I need his help in order to guarantee you a perfect job.

I instinctively look down at her body. Damn it, I shouldn’t have done it. She’s bloody gorgeous, she is… God, she makes me mad, she makes my heart leap and then sends shivers in my lower parts, where my trousers seem to tighten every second. I clench my jaw, Eleonor has Hispanic origins, black doe eyes,