Chapter 17 Delilah
DELILAH
There’s no effort required to appear broken as I limp into the bathroom. My bodily aches are good, they make me feel alive, but the one in my chest is life-threatening.
Why did he have to say he loves me?
It’s not fair for him to dump his emotions on me when it’s his fault. If I think about it, I’ll spiral, find illogical reasons to forgive him, then crumble. Wanting care isn’t enough of a reason to accept abuse. It’s what I’ve always done, whether it be from my parents or him.
I clean myself up without needing anyone to do it for me or be attached to me.
This place is fucking with my head because there’s a small spark of gratitude for all the fucked up shit I’m surrounded by.
Without it, I wouldn’t have seen my own errors, I’d still crave companionship, but now I’m not afraid of being alone.
It’s pretty difficult to fear anything when the monsters I once managed to escape have a face.
Tears burn up the back of my nose, but I refuse to fucking cry. They’re not of sadness or despair—it’s anger. I end up ripping my hair out as I battle the buckle on my nape to get the leash off in my rage and I grip the edge of the sink as I control my breathing.
My father always said there were three steps to success: find the weakness, exploit it, then provide the solution.
It’s why he would invest in companies pushing out material to make people self-conscious after he opened his plastic surgery wing.
Of course, his consultation fees alone covered the cost of the investment.
There’s something sinister in purposefully making someone feel like less to the point they’re riddled with so much anxiety they’re incapable of leaving the house.
They don’t just avoid the mirror; they avoid any surface that could possibly show them their reflection.
But my three steps to success are simple.
Don’t fall back in love with Kane.
Don’t forget anything they did to me.
Play my part of the broken idiot, so they can’t save themselves as I implode every part of their business and lives.
Attacking them from the outside won’t solve anything when they’re too organized. There’s no one better to learn from than the very people who fucked up my life. I’m going to do it better than them because I’ve learnt from them.
I manage to claw the tears back before I go back to him, wincing and whimpering as I do. He’ll need to get Helene to play a recording of us to pinpoint where the cameras are. Once we know, we’ll be able to find a blind spot other than the ledge.
But when I pull the curtain aside to climb through the window, I freeze.
Kane has his ankle balanced on his knee, the hem rolled up to reveal a patch of skin between his calf and the top of his boot.
There, on his skin exposed to the elements, are deep cuts.
He pushes his foot so his injured leg is dangling over the edge. “What do you need?”
“What are you doing?” My knee hits the windowsill as I climb up, still staring at him.
He hunches his shoulders forward as he grips the edge of the stone with white knuckles.
His eyes are fixed on the rocks below, so I have to crawl over the bag to sit beside him.
Our fingers brush as he quickly looks out of the corner of his then back to the rocks.
“Did she do that to you?” I ask, afraid of what he’ll say.
“No one did anything to me.”
If he tries to say I’m crazy again, I’m pushing him off this fucking ledge.
“How did you get those cuts?” I ask.
“I didn’t.” His lips tremble and he bites the inside of his top lip to get it to stop. It doesn’t prevent me from hearing his breath stuttering in his chest or how red his eyes become as he remains unblinking, still watching the rocks.
Then his tears drip in a line straight down to them.
“What happened, Kane?” I don’t think he can hear me over the sound of the waves, the wind, or his heartache.
I always thought someone would fight to breathe if they were drowning.
Yet as we sit here in silence, that’s what he’s doing.
Each inflation of his chest is easy but there’s a pause before he exhales, like he’s afraid of losing air.
“You can tell me,” I say softly.
He shakes his head, causing more tears to drip without touching his face.
“How did you get the cuts?”
Silence.
“Was it Helene?”
No answer.
“My parents?”
He sits there, silently crying. I don’t even know if it is crying when he’s like a haunting statue brought to life.
The screeching caws of the birds circling above the water are eerie as fuck, but I don’t look away from him as I lightly place my hand over his.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to pry the stone off from how hard he’s gripping it.
I don’t know how long we watch the rocks, but he finally makes a noise as he forcefully pushes all the air out of his lungs.
His lips tremble when he does it again. Then his teeth chatter before he brokenly whispers, “Nothing happened to me.” He finally looks at me, his face pinching as he repeats, “Nothing happened to me.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He violently flinches as his own tears hit his cheek. “Nothing fucking happened to me.” Bringing our joined hands up, he hits his temple as he says, “Not on one, two, three…” He continues counting until he reaches eighty-eight. “Not on eighty-nine.” His body crumbles around a sob.
“Okay, nothing happened.” I slowly bring his hand down to stop him hitting himself before wrapping my arm around his shoulders. “I won’t ask you again, it’s okay.”
He lowers his head, falling against my chest as he sobs, his tears soaking into my naked skin while he keeps repeating, “Nothing happened, it’s eighty-nine.”
“Okay.” I kiss the back of his head. “It’s eighty-nine.”
His cries turn his voice to a mumble, so I tilt my head to hear him. “No, she’s good. She loved me.” He pauses like he’s talking to someone then responds in the same manner. “She did. I’m sorry, Asher, I’m sorry, but she loved me.”
At this point in my life, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to believe in ghosts. If there was one vindictive spirit who would refuse to allow anyone peace, it would be Asher. I try to banish him as I softly say, “He’s dead, Kane. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
I nearly get smacked in the face as he quickly sits up, shaking his head. “No, he stops them.”
“Stops who?”
“Eighty-nine!” he screams, swiping at his arms and legs, like he’s trying to get something off his skin.
“Kane, breathe. There’s no one here, it’s just me and you.”
The erratic movements are going to make him fall. I hold my hands out flat, but he pushes back as I soften my voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. Put your hands on mine.”
“Delilah,” he breathes out through his tears. “Yeah, Delilah.”
“And you’re Kane. Can you put your hands on mine?”
His arms quake as he lifts them, lining his hands up against mine, leaving an inch gap as he talks to himself, “Eighty-nine. Delilah’s here.”