Page 48 of Devious Delusions

Knock.

Knock.

The bed vibrates and light shines up from beside my shoulder, splitting my attention from the devious apparition, and I watch my phone screen light up.

Knock. Knock.

There’s barely a pause between each knock and my head snaps up to see the freak cock his head to the side before he dramatically slows each thud.

Knock.

The black gloves are pulled taut over his knuckles.

Knock.

I speak to the crazy again and whisper, “Who’s there?”

He slowly turns his head so it’s straight and gets larger, his shoulders broader, and fear isn’t the only emotion working through me. Excitement is too because I’ve managed to surprise my own mental defect, that’s got to prove that I’m not crazy.

Until I don’t.

Until he’s real.

And the handle to the window creaks.

I look down and watch the brushed metal knob twist, the light playing off each groove, and the hinges creak from infrequent use as the locking mechanisms click before cold air fills the room. The metal edge is slowly peeled away from the frame as the floor-to-ceiling window opens and I grab my phone as I kick the sheets off, ready to run. My ankles get trapped in them, causing me to trip, and my knee takes the brunt of the force against the edge of the bed frame, but I push myself forward, ignoring the pain. The cold intensifies and the sound of the leaves rustling on the trees lining the property aren’t muted by the glass because it’s real. Hallucinations can’t open windows; they can’t disturb the air or exist anywhere other than my mind.

I frantically tap against my phone as I try to run again, and my muscles seize at the deep raspy voice behind me.

“Koukla mou,” he croons, extending the unknown syllables.

I’ve never heard them before, and I’ve refused to search for a translation because this isn’t real.

Goosebumps erupt on every inch of my body and my t-shirt does nothing to stop the chill from settling into my bones. My muscles burn from how tightly they’re coiled, and I don’t move anything other than my eyes as I plot my escape.

I’m five paces from the door, but I don’t run because this isn’t real. My thumb hits my phone screen, and a soft trill comes from it as Asher’s name glares up at me. He’ll be able to convince my mind of what’s real. All he has to do is answer then I’ll be okay. I’ll be safe, but the trilling distorts.

23

GHOST

Fuck! I can smell her.

She always did smell different when she was frightened, and she doesn’t run. No, my beautiful Delilah stands fixed in place, goosebumps dotted up the back of her pretty legs as they tremble, and her spine is ramrod straight.

A trill tone breaks up my examination as I watch her, soak in her fear, and she snaps her head to the side. My dick is harder at the sight of her wide eyes. So fucking huge, like marbles I want to collect just sitting in her pretty little head.

I used to do that, before…Before her.

Collect things, examine them. Enjoy them.

Not now. Not after her, Delilah. She’s taken all the innocent enjoyment away from me and replaced it with this deep need for depravity. Only wherever she’s concerned though. With anyone else I don’t give a fuck. Not koukla mou. Nothing else exists apart from her.

But she does something utterly ridiculous and attempts to run as she screams into her phone, “Pick up, please pick up.”

There’s barely any exertion required from me, and I take two large strides to cut her off before she can reach the door that shenaively thinks is her escape. We’re finally alone and she’s so lost in her fear that it only hinders her ability to escape as I wrap my arm around her waist to pull her into me. In her struggle, her ass rubs against my dick, trapping a groan in my chest, and she throws her limbs back to hit me.

I laugh at that. The mask makes it echo around my ears under the helmet portion of it until I see the name on her phone screen. She didn’t try to call the police. No, she called her fucking husband. I’m the one that’s with her but she calledhim.It’s always fucking him that she chooses.

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