Page 24 of Devious Delusions

Unpeeling her legs from around me, I shut off the water and get the fuck out. I wrap a towel around my waist, ignoring her stare drilling into my back.

There’s no way for me to tell my wife everything, or to even explain this shit in a way that doesn’t ruin everything. I need the normal moments, the ones where I can just hold her, or kiss her cheek, or see her smile while she’s doing something totally random. Without those moments, I will be the one who is driven insane. Without her, I’ll crumble.

Delilah has been the only motivating factor of my life since I was seventeen years old. Without her there I wouldn’t know whoI am. Fuck that—even before then, before the fire and the shit, she was my every thought.

But the stubborn woman follows me out of the bathroom and refuses to allow the conversation to drop.

“Tell me, please,” she asks softly.

Her footsteps are directly behind me as I walk into the closet, and she grabs a towel to squeeze the excess water out of her hair.

“Asher, you said we have to talk. That’s what married couples do, and I think this situation calls for more communication, not less.”

I turn, unable to keep my emotions back and my voice raises. “What the fuck do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you how you call me another man’s name when you forget? Or that there’s a chance that you’re going to fuck me, then wake up and sob because you think you’ve been raped?”

Her eyes widen and her fingers loosen around the towel. It leaves her head tilted to the side like she’s frozen in time. Tears line up on her lashes, but they don’t fall.

“Have I done that to you?” she asks with her bottom lip wobbling.

The sight of her pain chokes me, but my anger is still there, and I let it all blow away with my answer. “Accused me of raping you? Yeah, you fucking have.”

I’ve given her too many truths. It’s all fucked, and I can’t claw back the words as understanding falls over her. She gives me a curt nod, swallowing around a lump in her throat, then walks out of the room.

12

DELILAH

What the fuck have I done to him?

Asher has never been the type of person to let things get to him. He could have someone scream in his face then forget about it three minutes later. Now, he’s pissed because of what I’ve done.

No, not just pissed. He’s hurt. It’s there in his eyes and I leave the room to fix it as much as I’m able to. My phone lights up with a random notification from the news that no one gives a fuck about. There are no contacts other than my husband for people to reach out to me, so I don’t even bother reading it as I swipe it across to load the camera.

Aiming it at me, I press the red button and watch it blink for a few seconds before speaking.

“My name is Delilah L—Newman and I’m forgetful.” He walks out of the closet in my periphery, and I smile widely to rid myself of the guilt. “Like I said, I’m forgetful. That means I end up doing dumb shit. One of those things is making false accusations against my husband.”

Asher gets closer. Each slow step has the crease between his brows deepening until he’s standing at my side. He’s out of the camera’s shot, but he watches me. I turn so I’m looking at him as I say the next part.

“This is my video evidence if I ever forget again. I love my husband and he isn’t a rapist. He’s the best man I know, and I give him permission to do every filthy thing he thinks of.”

Some of the hurt leaves and he smiles.

“Every filthy thing I think of?” he repeats.

I nod and lower my arm. “Yeah, I trust you. I might not be sure of who I am now, or what is actually happening around me, but I trust you to keep me safe. I trust that you know me, and that is all I need to know.”

He takes a step closer and works backwards deconstructing my speech. “You love me?”

I don’t move as I say with conviction, “I always have. You’re my first love and my last, just like I promised.”

Another step and another question. “Will you ever break that promise to me, Delilah?”

There’s an edge to his voice that has never been there before. But I play along with the game and adore the possessiveness.

“I guess you’ll have to force me to admit the truth.”

“Hmm.” He takes another step. “Would that be by doing those filthy thoughts you mentioned?”

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