The Construct Of Love: Chapter 4
This is a polished draft from my debut novel, The Construct Of Love. Final version may differ.
Hidden In Plain Sight (Working Title)
Delphine grabs her red leather briefcase—the one that compliments her dark navy-blue business suit.
She won’t give Clarissa the satisfaction of knowing she gave in to her most callous lover. The job.
About to deliver a final, snide remark, her eyes fall on Pascal.
He’s sitting on the couch, sipping coffee from her personalized mug—the one with the delicate double D’s and curving vines. Their eyes meet.
Something in her stiffens, softens, and lets go all at once.
Delphine sighs, lowers her head, and walks out the door without another word.
Clarissa, still in pajamas, watches her go.
She’s taken a sick day.
What’s an extra night or two?
She settles next to Pascal on the couch and lifts her own mug. For a moment, they sit in a strangely comfortable silence.
Then it happens again—an unexpected heat unfurls inside her, as if her body is blooming from the inside out.
"Another one?" she blurts, already flushed.
"Please," Pascal replies with warmth.
She takes his cup and retreats to the kitchen, trying to shake off the warm, pulsing haze that’s crept over her. It’s more than attraction—it’s chemical.
Like a slow, rising high.
When she returns with a fresh cup, she sits close—maybe too close.
“So… are you feeling ok? Did you sleep well?” The question surprises even her. She and Delphine hadn’t thought to ask this morning. They hadn’t thought about his wellbeing at all.
“Yes, thank you. I appreciate the generosity you and your friend have shown me.”
Clarissa studies his shoulders beneath the snug white T-shirt—Delphine’s ex-boyfriend’s old clothes. He wears them better.
She stands and starts pacing, trying to slow the rush of desire crawling through her limbs.
“What do you plan to do now? Do you have family? Friends? Significant other? A girlfriend… wife… consistent lover?” she rattles off.
“I still can’t remember. I know my name. I know I was falling. I think it was… an airplane… maybe.” His voice trails off. Then, just as suddenly, he returns to sipping his coffee like the question never happened.
Clarissa tries to continue, but her thoughts unravel.
Instead of pushing, she finds herself mesmerized by the simple way he drinks from the cup.
He looks so good doing nothing.
She blinks and shakes herself. “What’s your last name?”
“Last name? A surname?”
“Yeah.”
“Am I supposed to have one?”
“Everyone does.”
“I don’t know mine.”
“We need to find out.”
“I’d rather know more about you.”
“Me? Like what?” The question lands with surprising weight. His attention feels like heat on her skin.
“All of it. Or whatever you’re comfortable sharing,” Pascal replies. “I want to know you.”
“I’m not very interesting.”
“You’re the most interesting person in my life right now.”
“Only because you can’t recall anything else.”
“What if I told you it might help me if you told me about yourself?”
She stares into her mug, the surface of the coffee like polished obsidian.
She imagines it’s looking back at her, whispering: give in.
"You, of course, don’t have to," he adds softly. "If you'd prefer me to leave—"
“No! I would hate it if you left!” she says too quickly.
“Then I’ll stay. We can talk. Or do whatever you like.”
“Whatever I like?”
“Of course.”
She swallows. “No one’s asked me that in a long time.”
“Then I’m glad to be the first.”
Clarissa’s voice trembles. “It’s been… kind of my lot in life.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“From the beginning is a good place.”
She exhales. A small dam inside her cracks.
For once, she wants to speak—not because someone asked, but because someone actually cares to listen.
Her voice is thick. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” Pascal says gently.
“For what?”
“For allowing me to be part of your moment. You should be heard.”
Clarissa smiles, holding back sudden tears. “As I think about my life… it’s not like it was bad. I wasn’t beaten or starved or anything. My dad worked a lot. My mom… she wasn’t really around. Always out doing social stuff. They mostly spent time together—not with me or my sisters.”
She laughs, a dry, sad sound. “My sisters… Olivia’s the oldest. Always the popular one. Chloe’s the youngest. They’re basically twins, just years apart. I once begged to go to a party with Olivia. She said yes—if we brought Chloe.”
Her voice falters.
“I remember running upstairs to grab my purse. I was so excited. I’d been practicing all week—how I’d act, what I’d say, even imagined kissing this guy Derrick Trope. He was a year older. Super cute. Every girl liked him.”
She takes a shaky breath.
“When I looked out the window, they were already driving away. I ran down, thinking maybe I could catch them—but they were gone.”
Pascal leans forward slightly. “They left without you?”
Clarissa shakes her head slowly. “They didn’t know I hadn’t gotten in the car.”
His eyes narrow in confusion.
“When they came back, I was on the couch, crying. My eyes were swollen shut. They were genuinely shocked.”
“Because they thought you’d been with them all along,” Pascal says.
“Exactly.” Another tear escapes. “I mattered so little… they didn’t realize I was never there.”
“Did you tell them?”
“I did. They apologized. I think they meant it. But the next day it was like nothing happened. That’s when I knew—I was invisible. Just a name in the family. Always wanting love, but getting… an empty room.”
She reaches for the tissues, blows her nose.
“You believe they didn’t love you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they did. But if they did, it didn’t look anything like how they loved each other.”
Pascal tilts his head. “Do you love yourself?”
“What?”
“It’s a simple question. Do you love yourself?”
She hesitates. “Yeah. Sure. I guess.”
“But do you like yourself? Just as you are?”
“I… I don’t know. Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m still trying to become who I’m supposed to be. Isn’t that what life is? A quest to improve, to upgrade?”
“That’s not the same,” Pascal replies. “A house can be improved. A job can be upgraded. But your worth? That’s intrinsic. You’re not replaceable. You’re you.”
Clarissa stares at him, caught between wonder and disbelief. A surge of warmth rushes through her, laced with something deeper, almost… chemical. Her skin tingles.
“I don’t know,” she whispers again. “It sounds stupid.”
“It’s not. You want to tell me more, don’t you?”
She nods.
And she does.
She tells him everything—loneliness, breakups, missed chances. The good times, too. But they’re always shadowed by a quiet grief.
And he listens. Not just with patience—but reverence. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fidget. She feels more seen in this one afternoon than in years of relationships.
“Do you think Delphine cares for you?” he asks softly.
“I think so. We’re very different, but we work.”
“She treats you the way they did.”
Clarissa blinks. “What do you mean?”
“She treats you the way they did. And yet… you keep her close.”
“It’s not the same.”
“But isn’t it, just repackaged?”
Clarissa is stunned silent.
He smiles gently. “Don’t be like Delphine. Be you. Whatever that is.”
“That’s the problem,” she says. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Yes, you do. She’s right in front of me. And she’s perfect.”
It hits like a detonator. A long, buried ache erupts into desire.
Clarissa surges forward, grabbing his face, kissing him—urgent, hungry, alive.
She tears at his clothes, not in desperation but release.
She no longer feels invisible.
She feels chosen.