Page 92 of Swim To Me

“But you did, Grey,” she whispers, her words so powerful it echoes across the walls of my apartment no matter how quiet they are. “You did mean too, otherwise… otherwise you wouldn’t have kept it from me at all.”

I don’t stop her from leaving.

Sitting on the edge of my sofa, I memorize the sound of her heels clicking across my floor, the oh so final shut of my front door, taking Delilah away.

It’s still reverberating through my ears when Blake and Hudson find me slumped into my sofa cushions as the sun rises on Sunday morning, my eyes rimmed red raw and a bottle of whisky I don’t even remember retrieving, clutched tightly in my grasp.

Chapter 23

Delilah

Stepping out of the elevator, I allow my feet to take the lead, until it feels like I’m floating across the spotlessly clean marble floor of Grey’s building’s foyer. The receptionist behind the desk waves goodbye to me, but I can’t raise my hand. The doorman holding the door open for me, lifts his hat, wishing me a good evening, but I can’t force my lips to move to bid him the same thing.

It's still bright outside; people treading the busy streets of London, engrossed in their own lives without knowing mine feels like it’s crumbling.

I think I hop on the underground, but I can’t be sure.

Everything feels like a dream; coated in an opaque film I can’t seem to blink away.

A few funny looks are directed my way, but I can’t find it within me to be bothered, or embarrassed, or to feel any type of emotion other than anger and sadness.

The two simple emotions I can feel, fight between themselves to come out on top, but no sooner has the former overpowered the latter – the latter strikes back with poison in its grip.

My body feels like a husk, unbelonging to me. I peer down at my high heel clad feet, watching the concrete steps beneath them, with no clue where I’m going.

A familiar door appears in front of me, and subconsciously I must know where I am, as my fingers are forming a fist, hammering to be let in.

But I don’t fully recognize where I am until my sister opens the door to her apartment, standing there already wearing her pyjamas, a glass of something resembling wine in her hand.

“Delilah…” I hear her choke out, eyes bouncing across my face, the frame of my body. “Oh my god, what’s happened?”

I think I push past her, walking the few steps to her worn sofa and then collapsing face down.

The door clicks shut behind me with an extra twist of the lock, and then Aurelia is kneeling beside my head, frantically brushing the hair back from my forehead.

“What’s happened? Are you hurt? Has someone done something? Have you been mugged, assaulted?” Her breath hitches, coming thick and fast and wet with emotion. “Seriously, Delilah… you’re scaring me.”

I unpeel my face from the cushion, vaguely noticing the mascara and foundation smear I’m leaving on the fabric – I don’t fucking care – and stare at my baby sister through stinging eyes.

“Grey.”

It’s all I manage to get out.

If anything, his name makes Aurelia’s face pale even further.

“What about him? Did he hurt you? Did he… touch you? I’m going to fucking kill him, I swear—”

I shake my head, hair growing static with all the friction. “He… he didn’t touch me. But he… he…” My breath comes in an uneven, choppy lungful, more tears bursting from my tear ducts. I think I’m going to be sick. “He’s broken my heart.”

“Oh, Delilah.” Aurelia gathers me in her arms, tucking me into the safe space between her neck and shoulder. She rocks the two of us gently, an oddly comforting hum escaping from her. “Let it out, come on, let it all out.”

She’s crying with me I think, stroking back my hair and holding me tight to keep me from breaking.

“I think…” Bile fills my mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Aurelia’s small hand fits in mine perfectly, just like it did when we we’re younger, helping me to her small bathroom, placing a towel under my knees to avoid the cold floor and gathering my hair at the nape of my neck when the dinner Grey cooked for me only an hour or so ago, expels itself from my stomach.

Fresh tears overspill as I remember Grey holding my hair back so gently when I’d been vomiting from my migraine.

---