This chapter is dedicated to 'LongLiveLiarla' who I promised an update to about a month ago. Thank you to her and for everyone who asked for being so patient with me. Also thank you for all the kind reviews received for the first chapter :)

Warning that this chapter brings up sensitive issues to do with eating disorders so proceed with caution.

He was trying to understand what had happened to her. In all they years they had known one another, Paul had never not ever once seen Carla's eyes light up and shine the way they did when she talked about the Man in the Memoir. Her voice even changed a bit, it went half an octave higher, flighty to the point that it seemed she was that fifteen-year-old girl falling in love for the first time all over again. And it was through these things that he chose to read her.

What else he read…the way she rushed from the car service, her legs trembling step-by-step struggling not to give way as they entered into the hotel. The movements in her hand, they were peculiar, she looked apprehensive almost afraid about pressing the elevator buttons, giving them a quick jab before withdrawing her fingers in relief. The stifling silence following soon afterwards down that short distance to the actual suite, which once entering Carla unleashed upon her surrounding throwing off garments like she had been some trapped prisoner all evening and rushing towards the direction of the bathroom in a frenzy. Paul struggled to do away with these readings or signs he knew so well and could not let go unacknowledged.

There were a few moments where he feign success before the eventual dread took over. Unsure of what to do with himself he stood around nervously before walking into the kitchenette area intent on making his hands busy. Cooking sometimes soothed him and he set out on the task of preparing them both a decent late night meal. Forcing his hand on the handle, Paul pulled the fridge door open, his blue eyes racing over its various contents and sizing everything up. Finding new ways in which to torture his sanity, Paul questioned the texture of each vegetable pulled out as well as the heaviness of the chicken and edibility of the rice left over from a few days earlier before grimacing and placing all parts of the meal out onto the counter. He had to remember to be very careful with food choices where Carla was concerned.

Hearing the music at first starting off slowly, sent Paul into a bit of tizzy; causing him to flounder a bit, straining his ears in a panic just to be certain. As it gradually built up in tempo with each passing second, he dropped the vegetables he was then rinsing into the sink. As he stole a worried glance over his shoulder in the direction of the bathroom, the spell of denial was over…the behavior was back again. Paul was almost contemplating marching down the hallway and ramming his knuckles on the bathroom door to scare her out of it. Instead he went the route of cowardice spinning around in haste on onset anger, going for the passive aggressive route throwing open the fridge door.

His blue eyes shun in triumph as Paul spotted the apple pie one of the staff had brought around after purchasing from the farmers market earlier in the week. Slamming the the pie down on the counter glaring at it for a few moments Paul's mind raced with stress and resentment flinging open a drawer pulling out a knife. He was so frustrated as he began cutting into the pie but quelled his anger by cutting small and deliberate pieces in a manner most soothing. Thoughts about the past year began to overtake him. Paul had tried so damn hard to be the husband Carla needed, to love her and try accommodating her every need, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough…not for her. He wasn't that stupid boy in the Memoir. There was no possible way to compete with the perfect man who remained timeless and untainted in his wife's mind.

Carla had betrayed him in so many ways and all of her loyal fans never heard those sort of stories though. They never heard how after the second miscarriage she had completely shut him out. How she had accused him of cheating because she was so damn paranoid; the grueling sessions they had to go through when she wouldn't even open up. And the blame had been put on him…

"…Now do you want to remember it or do you want to forget? Your marriage depends on it…"

Paul laughed cruelly now just thinking about it. What he would give to throw all the copies of that bloody Memoir into a bonfire now and forget he ever read a word. Writing it was supposed to be about healing and moving on, or that's what Carla claimed. But that didn't change the fact that Paul found the memoir to be a completely polarizing experience, that if he choice to go back in time he would not endure having to even so much as skim the pages ever again. Fresh in his mind still were the first drafts transcribed in messy ballpoint pens and little anecdotes on the computer, which Carla had him look over and give opinions on from time to time.

Those little ramblings were telling. Carla had a habit of trying to hide behind her feelings in pain sight where in Paul would then have to seek things out instead of getting the answers straight from her mouth. In the jumble of words hidden amongst simple impressionable teenaged thoughts wasn't a story about moving on it was story about being stuck in the past. That's how Paul felt when he read it, he felt stuck along with that fifteen/ sixteen-year-old Carla, trapped like her words now clung to the pages and he wanted to get every word and image out his head. The passages were Carla's way of telling the truth, a truth that couldn't be said out loud. He had been asking all the wrong questions because this wasn't about 'what' had happened to her it was only ever about 'who'. And aside from her mother and everyone else in the world that seemed to hurt her, the hurt that mattered most was all about that boy. The Memoir hadn't truly done any healing like he had hoped it would. It still somehow kept Carla trapped under the illusion of freedom but in Paul's opinion people were there secrets more than anything and she was completely trapped by some of those things in the Memoir. The lines that existed between fiction and life were very close. But there came a time when she would have to choose between the two because he was tired of being regulated to something pretend while the man, the memory of a boy slowly took over all of Carla's reality.

The music was just a smoke screen, albeit a poorly devised one because Paul had figured out almost all of her tricks years ago. From the iPod jack one of the staff placed on top the bathroom counter, a trail of songs played to thinly veiled ears behind her as Carla emptied out the final contents of her stomach before that familiar feeling of relief rushed over her. There had been a few moments in the day where Carla felt out of control and she knew she had promised Paul she wouldn't and she knew it was bad, but she couldn't help the patterns, it was just something that had to be done.

Things had been teetering on the fence all day. The press obligations were bearable though and the meet and greets were heartwarming. Carla felt suddenly she could free herself of this pain inside, that this condition could be controlled when fans approached after the reading tonight and told Carla how much the book had changed them and they couldn't have survived the hurt without her words reminding them they could make it through. It had been so nice to hold Paul's hand and stand for a few pictures. She glowed when people showered him with compliments because it warmed her heart to see him so happy. Most of the people managed to say things to him she herself could never find the words to. Essentially she was more grateful to Paul than anyone in the world and she wished he knew just how important he was in so many different ways. It had so much to do with him that Carla was now here with a successful memoir today. He had given up his own career to be her PR Agent, but that was only the beginning of Paul's sacrifices for Carla's betterment.

The events of the evening would take a turn for the worst and she would pushed to the ledge when an assistant pulled aside after a picture handing their mobile insisting that she had an important call. Carla thought nothing of it grabbing the mobile at once and asking not a single question as she walked away from Paul and the crowd towards a more quiet area before speaking into the phone…

"Hello?" Carla said in a bubbly fashioning she was such a high giving a quick wave and winking at Paul as he posed for a photo with a little old lady. He looked so gorgeous and so dapper, she smiled halfway before noticing a gentle breathing on the other end. The person still hadn't answered so she repeated again figuring they hadn't heard her the first time around, "Hello?"

"Carla?" the voice on the other end finally answered after a few moments.

Her heart did something strange; it sunk halfway down before raising in a panic immediately which was confusing and not good for her psyche when she needed to start over. Carla's throat went dry and she had problems formulating a response when she was tongue tied and practically under his spell with poor judgment like in the old days. Finally she managed to respond rather weakly, "Sorry, she's not here. You have the wrong—"

"—I know your voice Carla," the interruption sent shivers down her spine and it that wasn't enough, it oozed of seduction sending her places she'd rather not remember if she knew what was good for her and her marriage, "I'd know that voice anywhere. Talk to me…"

She took a deep breath and big swallow hissing into the phone, "I told you not to call me. How did you get this number?" Carla demanded panicking at the thought of her whole world coming down if he insisted on continuing this behavior.

"Did you get my gift?" he said rather cockily into his end. He was able to pick up on her breathlessness and could sense the fact that she was blushing or felt ashamed.

Carla was getting incensed. Why was he bothering her now? She didn't know what gifts he was taking about nor did she like his constant games. "Leave me alone," Carla managed through clenched teeth, "We were a mistake. I love Paul and it will always be Paul. So leave me the hell alone."

There was a moment where Carla thought the message had finally gotten through and that maybe he had hung up because things had gotten rather silent. When he spoke again however his voice was one a mixture of venom and hurt.

"Careful now," he whispered, "I may have to make a few calls to the media outlets with that mouth on you. I hear that everyone is dying to know about the identity 'Man in the Memoir'…might just have to give a few interviews saying it's me."

"You're pathetic!" Carla was about the rage, " You wouldn't dare! That's absolute lies—"

"—But they don't know that."

The lengths he would go through to hurt her nowadays was despicable. She had trusted him so much at one time. Especially when Paul had went off on his lonesome leaving her to deal with pain and lingering thoughts of paranoia all alone. She had felt something close to love during that period but now all she felt was hate. Carla almost yelled into the phone, "I hate you and disgust me. Do you hear me, I hate you!"

"Then why," he whispered in a way that she could just picture his smirk, "Why hold onto the call for so long? Just hang up—"

She hung up immediately. Anger, panic, and stress took over as she felt she couldn't breath. Carla had been on the ledge all day but now this call, hearing his voice was all it took to push her over the edge and there was no coming back…

She was thinking, reasoning with herself why she had to do it, Carla was manipulating so many people. All those fans that lined up and clamored around just to meet her, telling her all this stuff about how she was an inspiration and so strong, it almost made her want to laugh because what did they know. They didn't know a thing about her secrets outside of what Carla wanted them to know. The media was still intent on hounding her in a relentless pursuit for the identity Man in the Memoir. It wasn't enough for them to read his name as 'Lucas' in the pages, the people just wanted more and more and Carla was not about to sign away every last bit of herself to these vultures. Liam was hers and her memories of him in the truest form belong to her alone, she would never share his identity, she had promised herself that when she started formulating the first drafts. Not even Paul knew the identity and she wanted to keep it that way, only now things were getting impossible to hide. With threats from past indiscretions threatening to go to the media in light of her success and spread outlandish lies; Carla didn't know what to do. There was a very real chance that he would do it. Paul was her husband and PR/ Book Agent; he was supposed to squash any negative press. But Carla was in a conundrum of sorts. She couldn't exactly get Paul to squash anything when she was unwilling to reveal things, which could ruin their marriage. She was losing depth and footing with everything. She was losing control of what this Memoir was supposed to mean.

Flushing the toilet she turned on the bathroom sink faucet running her fingers under the water for a few seconds before scooping up a handful and pressing it to her mouth to rinse the aftertaste away. Right now her main concern was how to keep this feeling of control going. How long could she put off coming out the bathroom and still have enough control that once she rejoined Paul she could easily combat his accusatory stares and deny, deny, deny with a convincing amount of innocence. If she could make him feel silly or a bit out of place for even thinking that…the thing, which they both knew to be true; it would be a successful evening.

It was a somewhat selfish thing to do, but he would never understand all her reasons. He would never understand how powerless she felt, how this was about trying to stop bad things happening. Bad things in her experience only happened when she did not have control. If she had had control over whether to part with her baby or whether to be with Liam then bad things wouldn't have happened; she wouldn't have lost both as a result. She had been too trusting when she let her mother and Helen have all the control and she swore never to let herself get to vulnerability at such a state caused by any other hand that wasn't her own. No one could get to Carla and hurt her unless she let them. So she tried to condition the pain, build up her immunity and become numb. And it really hurt less and less each time she did it; Carla didn't even have to cry anymore.

Still she felt like a fraud lying to all those women about how she didn't even love Liam in all those intimate ways anymore. How could she not, when in so many ways she felt stuck at that same age emotionally stunted in the same era that she first met him? Carla didn't know anything about the person Liam was now. She didn't know what he liked or disliked, if he was married, had children. Maybe to him, she was just some memory now of a good fun and exciting time, a lesson in growing up...something belonging to the past. That was another reason why she did what she did, because it made her feel physically ill, because the love she felt for him was still so strong and so great that it broke her heart to know that he could somehow love others now. The way it sunk her stomach, making her feel bloated and like she had to empty the feeling out because it was ridiculous and shameful when she herself had moved on and married Paul. So then she'd want to fill that hole where shame exists, filling it up with whatever she could get her hands on. Carla found herself in a tug of war with food constantly staring at plates in front of her in shambles about what to do, whether to shove it all down when she was only going to expel it again.

In the car service home after the 'A Night With' and autograph signing Carla had been on fragile ground. It was then that Paul decided to spring on her that he had cleared the next two weeks of the scheduled book tour without consulting her so that they could go home to England and be with their daughter Mia. The thought of seeing Mia was nice but it was like Paul decided everything and that everything in the world was about him and what he wanted. Sometimes she still felt like some child, still stuck at fifteen, unable and unwilling to control whom the hell she wanted to love and having no choice over the baby she wanted so desperately to keep. None of this was about the body image in her mind; it was about balance when things in life and everyone in it tried to decide everything for her. She could control the food...

Walking away from the bathroom and down the hallway Carla's confidence built up with every passing step and she felt somewhat confident in her ability to trick Paul as a disingenuous smile formed across her lips. It reached the point of overconfidence as she glided walking on air only to be brought to a steady halt as she spotted an elaborate bouquet of roses, blood red resting up top the counter in the kitchenette.

"Did you get my gift?"

The blood drained from her already paling and exhausted face. Paul who was standing around gingerly enjoying a bowl of ice cream with some apple pie glanced up at her in a look of surprise. His blue eyes roaming over her whole body, trying to retrieve her thoughts and gauge her present feelings, whilst trying convey he hadn't any clue what she had just done in the bathroom. Paul wasn't fooling anyone.

"You came out just in time," Paul said gripping his dessert with one hand while holding a spoon in the other. He motioned towards another plate on the counter which Carla hadn't even seeing in the wake of those gorgeous flowers, "I put together some dessert."

Carla glanced down at the bowl, her eyes trickled over the melting ice cream, slathered against bits of apple pie soaking it up and making her queasy. It looked like chunks and mush from all the time it had been out waiting for her on the counter. What was she to do? This was a test, if she said no thanks to eating Carla could still be in control. But something inside of her was struggling halfway between wanting to shove it all down her mouth and make disappear or just throwing it away after limiting herself to a few complimentary nibbles. She was frozen at first but quickly snapped out of it walking towards the bowl and picking up the spoon waiting next to it. It felt like lead on her hand.

"Thank you for the flowers?" Carla mustered glancing between Paul and the flowers. It was a leading question as she was certain he likely didn't send them. Paul would have given her them in person. Dreading his response but hoping it was enough of deterrence she quickly placed the spoon down unable to look away from the bowl in front of her. The pie just seemed like a chunky mountain impossible to overcome and devour.

"They're not from me," Paul remarked, "The door man sent them up while I was putting together dessert and you were still in the bathroom.

Carla's heart sunk as she pried her eyes away from the bowl in a state of absolute chaos. This could not be happening right now. She placed the palms of her hands on the counter placing one over the other in a state of distress, "Who are they from then?" she managed faintly knowing full well the answer. Carla had wanted so badly for it to be all lies about the gift sent earlier in the conversation on the phone.

"Didn't say…no card or anything but the floral delivery insisted apparently that it's meant for you. Perhaps it's a fan? A secret admirer, maybe…Carla are you okay?"

She had began repeatedly pacing back and forth in front of that one spot, her hands gently grazing the counter as she contemplated the lost of control. Everything that Carla had felt earlier, the panic and anxiety was rushing back. She couldn't stop looking at the dessert even as the bile rose in her throat. Finger over lips, Carla shook her head in anguish. Maybe just one little bite to shut Paul up...It had to stop bothering her, he had to stop bothering her; everything that was threatening her could be summed up in that single pie right then. It had to disappear, if she could make it vanish then maybe the flowers would too.

But she was terrified; terrified that her true feelings would give way and with them she would lose the power that writing this Memoir had given her. He had threatened her, the flowers were only the beginning. It was too much to handle, that she might not be able to control aspects of the story she had to share about Liam with the world; with an array of options on how she chose to tell it and what details she could divulge into while also keeping other things to herself. That little phone call tonight was a reminder that Carla wasn't as powerful as she thought she was. It was a reminder that she could never truly enjoy the success of the Memoir when others were around to constantly remind Carla that nothing written on paper changed the fact that she did not have control over the actual events within themselves. She didn't have control...

"Carla?" Paul whispered again, "Carla, what is wrong?"

In a rush, almost in tears she snatched the spoon up once again plunging it into the thick piece of apple pie. Shoving mouthfuls upon mouthfuls into her mouth she was unable to stop that sick feeling forming of her insides resisting wanting to keep it all out. It had to disappear and she removed herself from the feeling as the teeth smashed down on the food, grinding at times or almost swallowing whole at others. The sound of the plate smashing against cutlery into the kitchen sink brought Carla to again.

"Carla?"

Shoving past Paul, staring through him like he didn't exist, Carla rushed down the hallway before he could stop her. Locking herself in the bathroom glancing between the toilet and the sink, hating herself for every moment she messed up and lost control.

They had been so happy earlier. What a difference a few hours could make.

He had almost backed out of the petty passive aggressiveness The anger had calmed Paul after cutting up all the pieces and then those flowers came. Beautiful blood red roses and they were not from him. He read the note and his eyes slowly moved down the hallway looking at the bathroom, Paul basically felt exhausted with the marriage. Years ago he had thought she might be having an affair, but it was only ever a feeling. He couldn't know for certain. That's why he laughed inside during therapy. He fondly remember the first time he stood up for his feelings back then.

"…Now do you want to remember it or do you want to forget? Your marriage depends on it…"

"No, I don't want to forget doctor...she is supposed to love me and only me. This isn't all of my fault"

It broke his heart to know that she could love others. It broke his heart when he read the memoir and it had nothing to do with the past, everyone has a past. This was all about the present. After all Paul had done for her, she could still be in love now with somebody else. Carla was hiding his identity and Paul didn't understand why, when the man in the memoir seemed intent on ruining their life.

He shuddered just reading the words on the card the first time around but forced himself to do so again:

Sweetheart,

You've looked absolutely beautiful for the whole of this press tour. I missed you so much along the way but I will be patient. We may have to wait a while until we can be together for good, but when we are it will be worth the wait.

M. xx

"M," Paul whispered just glaring at the note. Whomever this M was he had a sinking suspicion it was somehow code for the man in memoir. The person was so obviously gloating rubbing it in that he had been Carla's first love and revelling in the secrets which protected him. Therefore Paul made it his mission to unveil his identity and bring the cocky piece of shit down. But it was obvious Paul would have to do it without Carla's help. Marching into the main area just near the door, Paul picked up his carry work bag unzipping it and pulling the Memoir out. He had read the damn thing so many times, but he would read it again and approach its pages differently this time around. There had to be a slip up in there somewhere inside and just so he didn't miss anything he would get a second set of eyes in his father Barry. No one was going to break apart his family and damn everyone to hell if some stupid selfish boy from the past thought he could trap Carla. Paul was her husband, he was the only one capable of ending this insane and unusual love triangle once and for all.