Sin With Me (Sugarland Creek #5)
Prologue
Wilder
*Please read the content warnings on the previous page before reading the prologue if you have any triggers.*
NINE YEARS AGO
“ H ello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?” a sweet female voice answers, and I swallow hard.
I’ve never called one of these hotlines before.
I don’t know why I’m calling now.
Curiosity mostly.
Curious how it works and if it’d help.
When I looked up local crisis hotlines, this was the first one that popped up.
“Hi, are you there?” the sweet voice continues. “Do you need help?”
“Um…” I sigh, not sure what to say, not sure how to speak when I’m choking on my own guilt.
“I can wait till you’re ready, but maybe you could tell me who I’m talkin’ to, please?”
Tears well in the corner of my eyes, but I fight them back and clear my throat. I try to say my name, but nothing comes out.
“I’m Delly,” she says softly. “Do you need medical attention at the moment?”
I look down at my leg and wince at the blood running down my thigh. “No.”
“Okay, good. How can I help you this evening?”
“I-I dunno. Not sure why I even called,” I finally admit.
“That’s okay, sir. I’m here to listen.”
“ Sir ? No, I’m only twenty-four.”
“Apologies, I was just being polite. Can you tell me your name?”
Hesitating, I lick my lips. I don’t want anyone to know I called. Sugarland Creek, Tennessee is a small town and this is a local crisis hotline, so it’s possible she’d recognize me if I told her my real name.
Shame . Guilt . Humiliation .
I feel enough of that. I don’t need to feel that way with a stranger too.
Especially from a girl who sounds as graceful as she does.
“Uh…it’s Luke.”
The first name that pops into my head is the guy who I got into a fight with last night. My head’s still throbbing from the hit he got on me after I decked him. But he deserved it when he asked if my little sister was of legal age yet so he could ‘tap that ass.’
Motherfucker.
But now I wish I’d picked a different name because hearing her say his name makes me pissed off all over again.
“Okay, Luke. Are you a danger to yourself right now?”
“I…have a razor blade.”
“It’s in your hand now?”
I swallow hard, looking at it like a lifeline. My knuckles are white from how tight I’m gripping it. “Yes.”
“Okay. Do you think you could set it down for me so we can talk?”
Shaking, I inhale a deep breath and then blow it out. “Sure, okay.”
I set it down on the edge of the tub but keep my gaze locked on it.
“Good. Can you tell me where you are?”
“The bathroom.”
“Have you harmed yourself before?”
“Yes.” Leaning my head back against the tub, I exhale. “When I was sixteen and nineteen, I cut deep enough to lose consciousness and was hospitalized.”
“Is there something makin’ you want to again?”
I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining my thoughts. When I say them aloud, they sound stupid.
When I don’t respond, she continues, “Do you struggle with depression often, Luke?”
I stifle a laugh. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Are you on medication for it?”
“Not anymore. I stopped takin’ it when I turned eighteen.”
“How come?”
“Because they wanted me to go to therapy, which I did for almost two years. Even sent me to a psychiatrist after the first hospitalization.”
“Well, I’m no therapist or doctor, but considerin’ you called tonight, I can safely assume you don’t want to relapse and harm yourself.”
“I’m tryin’ hard not to, Delly…”
“But?”
“I’m in a lot of pain. Hell, I can barely remember a time when I haven’t been. But tonight, I needed some relief from this doom feelin’ that I haven’t been able to escape in weeks. The urge to cut until I pass out is…strong,” I confess, but if I were being totally honest, I’d tell her I’ve already made a cut on my upper thigh. Not deep, though. It only bled a little, but it didn’t numb the pain either. It’s why I didn’t know when to stop the last time I landed in the hospital. I kept going until I felt that numbness and by then it was almost too late.
“Have you felt that urge since the last time you cut?”
“Yeah, a few times.” Few dozen .
“And what stopped you those times?”
“Um, rememberin’ the consequences and how the relief is only temporary. Thinkin’ about my family. My brother, mostly. He’s the one who found me in our parents’ bathroom the first and second time.”
“Does your brother live with you now?”
“Not exactly. He lives in the apartment below mine. We share a duplex.”
“Is he home?”
“He’s still workin’.”
I asked Waylon to cover for me with the evening chores at the retreat barn so I could go home. Told him I wasn’t feelin’ well and he didn’t ask any questions.
“What would he tell you if he knew you were strugglin’ right now?”
He’d probably wanna punch me in the face.
“He’d tell me to think about our parents and what it’d do to them seein’ me in the hospital again. How they’d worry. He’d remind me how scared he was last time and how losin’ his twin brother would destroy him. He’d beg me to get help.”
“You’re twins?” she asks.
“Yep. And the oldest of five kids.”
“Wow, so it sounds like you have a lot of people who love you and wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“You’d be correct.”
“So thinkin’ about them helped you stop last time?”
“Right, but it’s not always enough.” I blow out a shaky breath. “I already used the razor before I called you. But I stopped after the first cut.”
“Are you bleedin’, Luke?” The fear in her voice adds to my guilt. Without even knowing who she is, I hate hearing how concerned she sounds.
“No, ma’am. It stopped. But it’s why I’m in the tub, so I didn’t make a mess.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for havin’ the strength to stop when you did and for callin’ here. I know that couldn’t have been easy. But I need you to be straight with me. How many times have you cut tonight?”
“Just the one time, Delly. I promise,” I say sincerely.
She blows out a breath I don’t think she meant for me to hear because she quickly sucks in air to compose herself.
“Can you tell me why? Maybe we can talk it out.”
I’d rather hang up than say the words aloud, but I say them anyway. I’ve already admitted this much. Might as well keep going.
I tell her about the pain, the sadness that overcomes me, and the darkness that consumes my thoughts. And how I sometimes need the relief to quiet the vile thoughts in my head and that relief comes from cutting my thighs until they bleed down my legs because that’s when my mind clears. That’s when I focus on the physical pain instead of the mental pain and all the negative thoughts disappear.
“It’s a much-needed distraction from the depression, and even if it’s temporary, the physical pain is more bearable than the mental pain.”
And that barely scratches the surface.
“I’d like to say a prayer for you, Luke. Would that be okay?”
“Sure,” I say, although I haven’t prayed in years.
“It’s okay if it’s not your thing.” Her voice is soft and nonjudgmental.
Then I squeeze my eyes closed as she says her little prayer.
“I pray for your strength so you can remind yourself why you fight. I pray for the courage to seek help if you find yourself in this same position tonight. And I pray you feel worthy enough to get treatment because you deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks, Delly. I appreciate you takin’ time out of your night to speak with me. I’m sure you have a lot better things to do.”
“I volunteer at the church three evenings a week, so I assure you, it was no trouble.”
“Three times a week? Wow. Are you some kinda saint?” I half laugh because I haven’t been to church in years, even when my mom begs me to go.
“I enjoy helpin’ people,” she says without missing a beat. “And it was a pleasure to meet you even in these circumstances.”
Goddamn, she’s too sweet for her own good.
“How old are you, Delly?” I ask before hanging up.
“I’m almost twenty-three.”
So she’s about two years younger than me since I’ll be twenty-five soon. That means she would’ve been a sophomore when I was a senior. Everyone knows everyone in our small town, but her name isn’t ringing a bell. Not surprised, though, because in between dealing with my depressive episodes, I drank in high school…a lot. Shit, I still do. But also, I rarely paid attention to the underclassmen.
“And you’re spendin’ your Friday night answerin’ crisis hotlines instead of a bar?”
“Yeah, because if I don’t, who would’ve answered your call?”
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?”
I smile when I hear her voice.
“Hi, Delly.”
“Luke, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
“Whaddya mean?”
I lift a shoulder even though she can’t see me. “It means…hearin’ your voice is what I needed to clear my head.”
She sighs happily as if she was expecting the worst. “Okay. What would you like to talk about, then?”
“I was feelin’ down and had the urge to cut but didn’t get out my blade this time.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Luke. Did somethin’ trigger you tonight?”
“Just a little self-deprecation.”
“Talk me through what’s goin’ on in your mind.”
And without hesitation, I do.
She’s the first person I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to spill those secrets. And even though it’s because she can’t see me and has no idea who I am, it’s still a weight off my chest to speak the words aloud to someone.
“You’re a good listener, Delly…” I say when the silence between us gets too loud.
“Thank you for sharin’ that with me.” She sniffles a few times before clearing her throat. “Truly.”
“Are you catchin’ a cold?”
“Um…no.” She sniffs again as if she’s trying to control her emotions. “Just havin’ a heavy night.”
“You?” I stammer. “I don’t like the sound of that. What’s goin’ on?”
She’s quiet as if she’s contemplating telling me.
“I had a caller before you that was quite challengin’.” Her voice cracks, deepening with sorrow. “I had another volunteer call 911 while I kept him on the phone. Safe to say, I was relieved when I heard your voice because it…”
“It what?” I furrow my brows, wondering why she paused.
“It meant you were still alive and trusted me enough to call again.”
My gut tightens at what she must’ve heard from the other caller. “Did the previous guy not make it?”
She swallows thickly. “I’m not sure. The operator disconnected when she confirmed paramedics were on the scene.”
“What was his drug or weapon of choice?” I ask curiously.
“You know I can’t share that confidential information.”
Her sadness pours through the speaker and it breaks my heart.
“Okay, let’s get your mind on somethin’ happier,” I suggest, hoping she’ll take the bait so it takes my focus off my own tortured thoughts. “Tell me what you did today.”
“We’re supposed to be talkin’ about you,” she counters, her voice back to sweet and tender. “Why don’t you tell me about your day instead?”
“Only if you tell me about yours after?” I counter.
She sighs, but I hear the smile in that one calm breath. “Okay, fine.”
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?”
“Delly!” I cheer and then hiccup.
“Luke?”
“Mm-hmm. I’m so glad you picked up.”
“Are you… drunk ?”
“Eh, kinda.”
Considering I’m slurring my words, it’s no surprise she quickly caught on.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Fuck, I dunno. Lost count.”
“It’s seven in the evening on a Wednesday.”
“Okay, and?”
“How’re you this drunk already?”
“I thought this was supposed to be a judge-free zone?” I quip stupidly.
She clears her throat. “This is, Luke. I’m just tryin’ to figure out what happened to cause you to be this drunk so early. Did you harm yourself?”
“No…unless you count the substance abuse. I took a few fireball shots, too.”
Which is still burning my stomach.
“Do you drink often?”
“Uh…yeah.” I breathe out a laugh. “But it’s better than cuttin’ up my thigh, ain’t it?”
“Are you at home?” she asks without responding.
“Yep. Why? You wanna come over?” I ask seductively.
“No, I wanna make sure you’re not gonna drive drunk.”
“Nah. My brother usually picks me up if I’m out drinkin’, but tonight I stayed in. Just me and Mr. Jack Daniel’s.”
“Are you havin’ thoughts about harmin’ yourself?”
“Not anymore. That’s why I’m drinkin’, Delly. When I get close to passin’ out, it numbs the sadness and thoughts. Can’t be depressed if I’m drunk.”
“So you traded in one vice for another.”
“Alcohol has longer lastin’ effects, too. You should be happy about that. Less blood,” I muse.
“I’m happy you’re safe at home but not that you’re usin’ alcohol as a copin’ mechanism. There are many ways that being an alcoholic can lead to other issues.”
“What other option do I have?”
“Therapy. Medication. Journaling. Support groups. Church. Praying.”
“Yeah, I’m not doin’ any of that,” I scoff, looking up at my ceiling and realizing my bedroom is spinning.
“Why? Think it makes you weak or less of a man for needin’ help?” she challenges.
Instead of responding, I hang up the phone and chuck it across my room.
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?”
“Delly?” I ask pitifully like a dog with its tail between his legs.
“Hi, Luke.”
Her soft voice instantly relaxes my shoulders, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“I’m so sorry for the other night. I feel like a jackass for callin’ you when I was drunk like that.”
“No need to apologize. That’s why I’m here.”
“Don’t do that. You didn’t deserve my drunken rambles or me makin’ you worry. I shouldn’t have treated you like that, and I’m sorry for callin’ when I was in that condition.”
“You needed to talk to someone, and I was happy to be that person, even if you did hang up on me.”
The line stays silent, several seconds pass, and then minutes—and she doesn’t rush me—before I finally speak up.
“I’m a coward.”
“What?”
“I’m a coward,” I repeat louder. “That’s why I don’t do those things you suggested.”
“You can change that, ya know? Even if it’s just baby steps. Callin’ here was a good first step. You’ve shared a lot with me already. Maybe your next step could be seein’ a professional?”
“It’s easy to talk to you because you can’t see me and have no idea who I am. I don’t think I could face someone in person and tell ’em all the ways I’ve fucked up in life. I don’t have to see the look of shame and pity on your probably beautiful face.”
“ Probably beautiful ? Are you seriously hittin’ on me?”
I gulp. Most girls melt into a puddle when I say sweet bullshit to them.
“Just payin’ you a compliment. Based on the sound of your beautiful voice, I imagine the rest of you is, too.”
She doesn’t respond for several seconds.
“Well…as nice as that is, this ain’t a datin’ phone service, Luke.”
“Probably a good thing. Based on my record, we wouldn’t have talked again after the first conversation.”
“Is that right?” she drawls, and I hear the amusement in her tone. “You’re a hit-it-and-quit-it kinda guy?”
“Guess ya could say that,” I admit sheepishly.
“One of your mechanisms to avoid rejection, shame, and guilt?”
I clear my throat, growing agitated that she’s sounding a lot like my old therapist.
“It’s easier not givin’ them hope. I can’t promise anythin’ more than one night. I’m already a burden to my family. I don’t wanna burden a partner, so might as well give ’em a good time for a night.”
“Well, without the burden of proof, I don’t believe your family feels that way. And you callin’ here—more than once—is proof that deep down you know you’re not. Your family loves you unconditionally.”
“You’re wrong.”
I know I am.
I can see it in the way my brother looks at me. The way he follows me like a shadow because he doesn’t trust I won’t do something stupid or risky. And it’s the way I let him because I don’t trust myself either.
He hasn’t even introduced me to his new girlfriend because he doesn’t trust me not to fuck it up for him.
“Am I?” By the tone of her voice, I imagine her lifting a scolding brow at me. “If that’s true, then you’d stop callin’ me.”
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?”
“This is the fourth night you’ve volunteered this week.”
“And this is the fourth night you’ve called this week.” There’s a hint of amusement in her voice but just a little to where it’s not inappropriate to say to someone who’s been calling a crisis hotline for two months.
It’s actually the sixth night I’ve called. When she’s not there, I hang up.
I have no interest in talking to someone new and starting over. But I also didn’t want to scare her off by asking which nights she’d be there.
“The holidays are the most stressful time of the year,” I say, only half-joking.
“Are you feelin’ stressed or more worried than usual? Do you have the urge to?—”
“No, no. I haven’t felt that since I started talkin’ to you.”
“Oh. Really?” she asks as if that shocks her. Truthfully, it shocks me too.
“Yes, really. I look forward to talkin’ to you. I’m finally not lettin’ someone down for once.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“I don’t wanna disappoint you. I appreciate the way you listen to me without judgment, so the least I can do is make you proud.”
It makes me think twice before grabbing my razor because I’ll get to talk to her without feeling like a failure.
The line goes dead silent, and I worry we got disconnected.
“Delly?”
“Ya know, that kinda sounds like somethin’ a therapist would also do for you. Have you thought any more about seein’ one?”
“Why do I need one when I have you? You’ve done more for me in two months than my psychiatrist did in two years.”
“Because I won’t be here forever and you’ll still need someone.”
“I’ll magically be healed before that time comes.”
“Is that so?” A laugh slips out of her mouth and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
“Mm-hmm. Maybe you could be my sponsor. Then you’d have to gimme your number.”
“You’ve tried that before, remember?”
“I’m nothin’ if not persistent.”
“So I’ve learned. But right now, we’re supposed to be talkin’ about you and your feelings.”
I exhale through my nose because I hate doing that the most. I’d much rather just listen to her.
“Pass,” I quip.
“Nice try,” she says sternly. “How ’bout you start by tellin’ me about your day?”
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?”
“I need you to talk me off the ledge, Delly.”
“Luke? Are you in danger?”
I hate how panicked she sounds but also grateful she picked up and recognized my voice. I almost didn’t call because I didn’t want to torture myself even more with her sweet voice.
“I’m really drunk.” Again .
“Where’re you right now?”
“Lyin’ in my bathtub.”
“Are you holdin’ a razor blade?”
“Yeah…I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop tonight if I start,” I admit.
“What happened? Talk me through it.” The fear in her tone makes me regret calling her, but if I have any chance of stopping myself, I need to hear her voice.
“The sadness and dread are so fuckin’ heavy. My chest burns. My heart’s racin’ so damn fast. My throat is dry and somehow wet at the same time. I’m sweatin’ through my shirt. My mind is scrambled with thoughts. And…I just wanna make it stop.”
“Luke, you’re havin’ a panic attack. I want you to put down the razor blade, close your eyes, and then listen to the sound of my voice.”
“Alright.”
After following her orders, I lean my head back against the cool porcelain and wait.
“I’m gonna count back from thirty. I want you to inhale a deep breath on the first five counts and then release it on the next five, and so on.”
“Okay,” I murmur.
“Deep inhale,” she demands. “Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, twenty-six and now exhale…”
I do as she says, listening to her counts and breathing in time with them. Clinging to her voice gives me something to focus on besides how foolish I feel for needing to be talked down.
When she gets to zero, my breathing goes back to normal.
“Good, Luke. How do you feel?”
“That tightness in my chest is a bit lighter,” I tell her. The slow exhaling and deep breathing helped to release the tension locked in my ribs.
“Thank God. I’m glad to hear that.” She releases a sigh of relief.
“But the sadness is still lurkin’, taunting me to cut and release the pain so I can finally be free of it,” I murmur honestly.
“That dread feelin’ is temporary . It won’t last forever and will eventually pass. Try to stay strong and fight through it the best you can so you don’t give in to it. I’ll stay on the phone with you as long as it takes. Think you can do that for me?”
“I dunno, Delly. I’ve been tryin’ for three hours, but the urge is gettin’ harder to resist.”
Do it. Do it. Now. Do it.
The words have been on repeat.
A part of my brain knows it’ll numb the pain and that’s all it wants right now.
Fuck the consequences.
“Oh, Luke. Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
I sigh, squeezing my eyes to hold back the scream I’m tempted to release. “I didn’t wanna hear the way you sound right now.”
Disappointment. Worry. Pity .
“It’s why I’m here. And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for callin’ before you hurt yourself.”
“I’m a fuckin’ mess, Delly. You deserve better than spendin’ your night with me.”
“Listen to me…” she says in the sternest tone I’ve ever heard from her. “I volunteer damn near every night so I don’t risk missin’ your call. And not just because I worry about your safety, but I need to hear your voice just as much as you need to hear mine.”
“You do?” I whisper in disbelief, my eyes watering.
“Yes…” she says softly. “It brings me comfort to hear you breathin’. I could hear it for hours and never get bored.”
“Like a dog pantin’ in your ear? That does it for ya, huh?” My words come out more flirty than I intended, but she must find the humor in it because a laugh escapes from her mouth. Though I don’t think she meant for me to hear it because she quickly clears her throat.
But it’s too late because now that I’ve heard it, I want to hear it again and again.
“I’d stay on the line just to listen to you snore because it’d mean you’re alive,” she says, not humoring my dog panting comment.
“If I didn’t know any better, Delly…you’re getting attached to me, too.”
My words are genuine even though I’m fighting a battle inside my head that feels as if I’ll never win. It’s armed and ready to pull the trigger, but the only defense I have is holding onto hope that I’m strong enough to resist.
“I think you’re right, Luke. I am.”
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?” a sweet old lady’s voice I don’t recognize picks up.
“Uh, hello. Is Delly workin’ tonight?”
“I’m sorry, honey. She’s not. Is there somethin’ I can help with?”
That’s weird. She’s been there every Friday night for the past six months. We spoke two nights ago, but I already miss her.
“No, thanks. Can you tell me when her next shift is?”
“I don’t think she’s comin’ back, sweetie. Her little sister is in the hospital.”
My heart drops into my stomach. She’s told me a bit about her sister and how she’s ten years younger than her, which would only make her thirteen.
“Oh my God. What happened?”
“I can’t really say, but she’s in critical condition. And with her dad’s accident last year, I don’t think she’ll have time to volunteer anymore.”
She never told me about her dad, so I don’t know what happened, but now I’m worried about her and afraid I’ll never get answers.
“I can’t believe I finally get to meet this girlfriend of yours,” I say, sliding my boots on.
“She was two years below us in high school, so you might recognize her once you see her, but please…” Waylon turns, his eyes pleading. “Don’t be an ass. Or hit on her. Or?—”
“Dude…why would I hit on her?”
It’s possible I did back in school, considering I dated around…a lot.
He pierces me with a look. “Because I know you.”
“I take offense to whatever the fuck that means!”
If we didn’t look alike, you’d never know we’re identical twins based on our different personalities. Waylon’s quiet and reserved, my complete opposite, but in terms of relationships, we’re pretty much the same in that we don’t have them. So for him to let me meet her after all this time must mean they’re getting serious.
“Just…don’t be obnoxious. She’s not much of a drinker and she’s been goin’ through a lot with her family the past few months.”
I stand once my boots are tied. “Me, obnoxious?”
He stares at me, and I laugh at his deadpan expression.
“It took a lot of convincin’ her to come out tonight, so don’t make her regret it.”
I snort. “Wow…she sounds like a ball of fun. No wonder she’s datin’ you.”
“And now your ass is stayin’ home.”
“Oh, relax. I’ll be nothin’ less of a gentleman to Daphne.”
“Delilah,” he corrects.
“Right. Like the flower…”
“I guess.” He shrugs, grabbing his wallet and keys. “Ready?”
Waylon drives us to the Twisted Bull. It’s the best dance bar in town, with western decor and a mechanical bull. I’ve been trying to master it ever since my twenty-first birthday and I’ve yet to make it past four seconds.
Probably because I’m always wasted when I attempt to ride it, but it’s still a fun time.
We walk in and make a beeline for the bar. Most of our high school friends who still live here also come out on the weekends—well, the ones who aren’t married or have children. Most of the crowd is college-aged, but we still enjoy coming here.
“Here ya go.” I turn around and hand Waylon his beer. We’re almost shoulder to shoulder with how packed it is. “Is Landen meetin’ us?”
“Yeah, he should be here soon,” he tells me.
Our younger brother is twenty-two and usually parties with us. He’s as wild as I am, which Waylon hates because then he’s stuck babysitting both of us.
Tripp, our youngest brother, is only twenty and can’t come out yet. Not sure he would even if he was allowed. After losing his best friend two years ago, he rarely does anything outside of work.
They both live with our parents and little sister, Noah, who’s eighteen.
Mom kicked Waylon and me out at twenty-one because she got sick of hearing us stumble into the house at three in the morning. So now we live in the ranch hand duplexes on the property, which is way better anyway. We get our own spaces but are still close enough to everyone and our jobs at the equine retreat that’s attached to the family horse ranch.
His gaze looks past me and his mouth twists into a wide smile. “Here she is.”
Taking a pull of my beer, I turn and watch Waylon pull a blonde into his arms. Then he kisses her cheek before whispering something in her ear.
Probably warning her about me.
“Babe, this is Wilder,” he tells her, then shifts his attention to me. “This is Delilah Fanning.”
I hold out my hand and she takes it, smiling sweetly. “It’s a pleasure to meet the woman brave enough to date my lookalike.” I wink.
Her face tilts with scrunched eyebrows as if she can’t believe how similar we look. “It’s great to finally meet you, too. I’ve heard so much already.”
“They’re all lies, I swear,” I quip.
“You’re saved by the burden of proof.” She smirks, but now I’m the one tilting my head because I’ve heard that exact phrase in that same sweet voice before.
One I’ve missed hearing.
And I do recognize her but not for the reason Waylon would assume.
Delilah… Delly . She gave me her nickname, not her full name.
Whenever the impulse to cut rushes through my mind, it’s her voice in my head I focus on. It’s not one I could ever forget.
I’ve called the hotline once a week since then to check if she’d returned.
It’s been weeks since we talked, but I’ve continued fighting against touching a razor blade. When I get the urge to grab it, I hear her reminding me it’ll pass. I hold my breath and exhale as I count down from thirty when my chest is tight. I remind myself of our conversations and hold onto them when I’m down.
I even threw out the blades because I hoped I’d get to speak to her again and wanted to make her proud. In fact, I was living for the possibility of hearing it in her voice—have been dying to hear it—and now she’s standing in front of me and I can’t even tell her what she’s helped me accomplish.
“Sorry I can’t say the same. He’s only recently told me about your existence,” I drawl, turning my focus to Waylon.
And I was right when I guessed she was beautiful.
Fucking stunning .
Long blond hair curled into waves down her back, bright blue eyes that I can’t stop staring into, and luscious pink lips.
If she wasn’t my type to a tee, I might find this a hilarious coincidence, but her dating my twin brother when she spent half a year talking to me on the phone isn’t the kind of irony I expected.
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since our first conversation. It’s crazy to think how I’m not even that same person anymore, thanks to her.
If I believed in fate, I’d say that’s what made me call the same night she was volunteering and made us meet. If someone else had picked up that night, the past six months would’ve gone differently.
Although I still struggle with depression and the urge to cut still lingers in my mind when it gets bad, she gave me the strength and confidence to fight through it instead of give in to it.
Go fucking figure, I finally meet her in person and can’t even tell her it’s me without admitting I gave her a fake name. Facing her after confessing all my dirty, dark secrets plus the times I called her drunk would be humiliating.
And I’d have to pretend my feelings for her didn’t exist because Waylon deserves to be happy. He has taken care of me most of our lives and I’ve never seen him look at a woman the way he’s looking at her.
But worse, I don’t want to see that look of pity and concern that’ll inevitably flash across her face when I tell her. I get that enough from Waylon and my own reflection.
So I’ll say nothing and pretend it never happened.
Even if it kills me.