Page 45 of Devious Delusions

“Hey, I’m the one that can reach your food. Do you think you should be sarcastic with me?”

It rubs the tip of its nose against my cheek, and it tickles. Taking it as agreement that I’m not insane when it’s proof of otherwise, I bring the carrot back to its mouth. We fall into a relaxing routine as I continue feeding it and stroking the side of its neck until a small body slams into my legs. I look down to see a little girl push her curly hair out of her face with the back of her hand. Her cheeks are red, and her eyes are freakishly wide as she squeals, “Horsey!”

A woman runs up after her and she breathlessly apologizes, “Sorry. Scarlet, baby, say sorry for hitting the nice lady.”

What the fuck? I’m way too young to be referred to as a lady.

I ignore the insult and lower to my haunches in front of the little girl. “You have a very pretty name. My sister has the same one and she was always running everywhere too.”

The woman, who I’m assuming is her responsible adult, laughs lightly and holds the girl’s hand. “There must be something in the name.”

I nod and give up my space with the horse so the child can have it since she’s forced me to think about my sister. Ruby filled the role of a mother because she’s the eldest, but Scarlet was my loud protector. She never gave a shit about anyone or anythingand she never ran away like Ruby did. She walked out of the house with her luggage rolling behind her and not a single care in the world. But that Scarlet would be with me. She wouldn’t leave me alone or choose our parents over us. She wouldn’t have forgotten me.

There’s no distraction from any of the other volunteers who have all been assigned tasks as I make my way to the barn and a pedal piano sits in the center. The wooden surround is aged and for the first time, I feel excited. The older equipment was always better to play on because it takes an adjustment to learn how to work with it rather than having it tuned to perfectly fit my parents’ preference.

The bench is newer and even if it was made out of nails it would be comfortable with the excitement coursing through me. It doesn’t take long for me to work through an old composition that I’d use as a test for any new instrument. It runs through each note and my eyes close to get a feeling of the strings and how they react.

When I open them, the man from earlier is standing beside the barn doors staring at me. He quickly turns when I meet his eyes. I’m stopped from going after him as a little boy lifts himself onto the bench. He can’t be older than four, and he slaps his hands together.

“Can you play the clap song, please?”

I nod and play the tune he wants as he claps and sings to himself. It’s a strange parallel to my childhood. I’m still playing to someone else’s command, but the boy isn’t taking, he’s inviting me into his game and more children end up joining him. They all clap offbeat and out of order, but I get to feel like I’m doing something with my life. Something that is worthwhile and actually helping someone other than frustrating me and making me want to climb inside of my skull to physically sort through the mess that sits there.

There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.

? william shakespeare’s hamlet

22

DELILAH

The first day without Asher was tense, but I’ve managed to survive another three without giving into the tricks my mind plays on me by doing the creative therapy Asher mentioned. I feel more like myself with the faint scent of oil paint clinging to my hair and the tips of my fingers being slightly sore from the hours I’ve spent at the piano. Having a job is a task for another day, and I’ll go back to the activity day in six months when they’ll need volunteers again.

The freak kept showing up in the tree line wearing a different mask than the usual balaclava since I’ve been alone. But I know that it isn’t real, it’s just all of my thoughts about the hospital manifesting within the psychosis and trying to make it all tie together when the only time I’ve seen a plague doctor mask was while watching an old horror movie. At the time, they freaked me out and I had to search why anyone would want to have a huge beak to put me at ease.

But it’s not real.

None of it is real.

I pace, waiting for Asher to call. He’ll end up worrying if I call him first, like he has in the last few days. Today is a new dayfor me to prove to myself that I’m independent. One where I’ve decided to become a new version of Delilah who doesn’t freak out over imaginary shit, and I even researched my diagnosis to understand it better.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I answer before it can reach the second ring. His exhausted voice comes through straight away and I lay back against our bed.

“Hey, Lilo. How you doing, baby?”

There’s no joy on the other end of the line and I temper mine, so he doesn’t hear how much my days revolve around him.

“Have you been sleeping?” I ask, checking the time.

It’s 11 pm in Wainscott, and he woke up at 4 am to go to the hospital. I know his mom is still in a coma from the small amount of information he’ll give me, so he can’t be getting any sleep at the hospital. His dismissal comes almost instantly, like it does every time I’ve asked anything about him.

“I’m fine, it’s just late.”

I turn the ceiling lights off and dim the bedside lamps as I shuffle back and get under the covers. Plugging as much light into my voice as possible, I whisper, “Why don’t we go to sleep together?”

It’s too early for me but I need to feel useful instead of just taking from him. The imbalance of my brain is physically represented in our relationship, but he refuses to put himself first.

“Do you need me to read you a bedtime story, you little baby?” he teases while hiding his laugh.

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