Page 60 of Devious Delusions

I don’t want him to be some faceless thing that I’ve made up. I want to see him, to know he’s real, but he hardens and steps back, taking his seat again and leaning his elbows on his thighs. He steeples his fingers together and flattens them, making a rectangle. I’ve never seen anyone do it before, but that hit of familiarity is there again. “You already have.” He moves closer. The mask smells of rubber and there’s no other scent on him. “Igave you all of me, Delilah. Just remember what you stole from me.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I cry out and my throat burns.

I’ve never stolen anything in my life. I grew up with enough money to wipe my ass with a hundred-dollar bill and never wear the same pair of underwear twice. There was no need to steal, and I wasn’t like Scarlet, who acted out as a “fuck you” to our parents.

He sighs and pushes up to stand, the mask skimming my lips, and there’s a faint smell of nicotine lingering in his sigh. I try to think of anyone I know who smokes, but I don’t know which people in my memories are real, so anyone on the planet could be a suspect when I don’t know who I’ve met and who I haven’t.

The box is still open as he walks around me, and I look into it. Each item is something I remember being in my apartment in Connecticut. The toys were in the drawer beside my bed. There’s a bright green thong that I never wore because it would show through my uniform at the diner, and a smashed photo frame that holds the last photo I had with my sisters. The sharp edges of the glass have scratched the aged surface, but I can still see Ruby’s face.

She’s not smiling, she never smiled, and Scarlet stands beside her, refusing to look at the camera. The pink dress I’m wearing is covered in flowers and my smile stretches from ear to ear because it was the day we moved to Wainscott, and I was excited about my new room.

The faucet runs, shuts off, and then Ghost walks towards me. He stops directly behind the chair and cups my jaw. The gloved hand slowly massages until he gently tips my head back and presses his thumb against my chin to open my mouth. His voice is softer, and that familiarity is back but I can’t place it.

“You need to hydrate so we can play again.”

He brings a bottle of room temperature water to my lips and slowly drips it into my mouth as frustrated tears burn the back of my nose and heat behind my eyes. There’s care in the movement despite everything he’s done. I’m not in a position to stop him and it soothes my throat, so I silently drink while I stare up at the edge of his mask where it meets his neck. There’s black material covering his skin, and the only parts of him I’ve seen are his dick and the smallest inch above his hips while he was fucking my throat.

Capping the bottle, he walks around me and takes his seat again. I try to gauge anything about his appearance under the dark clothes and mask, but there’s nothing to tell me who he is. There’s no branding or anything memorable about his attire, the only thing that sticks out is the mask. Especially the way it’s smudged. Little flakes have broken off, revealing a pink stain on the skin-toned rubber underneath.

He’s done it himself. Does it have some significance that I’m supposed to know about or is he just a fucking crazy person with a mask-making hobby?

At least it isn’t taxidermy.

His calm demeanor is unnerving, and I try to get him to speak as I croak, “They’ll find you, you know.”

He hums and rests back in the seat. His legs are long, and he sits like an obnoxious prick, stretching them out with his knees spread and his fingers threaded together before he stretches to push them behind his head. It pulls the sleeves of his hoodie taut and shows he’s lean. His biceps aren’t huge, but they’re defined against the black material. The hood is pulled back slightly, and I get a peek of his dark hair. There’s a small curl to the strands near the top of the mask.

“And who do you think will find you?” he asks teasingly as he discreetly adjusts his hands to cover his hair.

My voice comes out stronger than I feel given my position as I watch his mannerisms. “The police. They’ll lock you the fuck up, and I’ll watch you get strapped to a chair.”

He laughs and the insult sticks to my skin. I don’t have any escape, so I throw out, “Asher is going to come home and see what you’ve done.”

The laugh dies, and he slowly drops his hands to his sides to lean into me.

“He’ll see me?” he muses. “Will he see how hard you came for another man and defend you? Or will he see how you’re still unsatisfied?”

My throat tightens and I ignore the fear taking over me.

“Everyone will know I’m not crazy and that you’re a fucking weirdo,” I say as my blood turns cold.

He cocks his head to the side and sweeps his gaze over my bound body. It’s sadistic and the painted smile on his mask only adds to the icy sensation taking over my body with every moment he stares.

The cold seeps into his voice, mixing with smug pride. “Hmm, they will, will they?”

“Yes, you sick fucking cunt,” I hiss. “Your DNA is all over this house, all over me. They’ll test it and know?—”

“Like last time?” His head returns to an upright position and the back legs of the chair slowly lift off the floor as he leans closer to me. “Tell me, did you have any evidence last time I visited you?” He laughs and shakes his head. “Other than that gluttonous cunt salivating over me, I mean.”

It was real and he did sneak into my room while I was sleeping beside Asher. He took the pillow and changed me. Why did I even think it was a possibility that it wasn’t real?

But he keeps asking questions and adding to my self-hatred.

“Why didn’t you go to them after I covered that cunt in my cum?”

I shake my head, attempting to block him out.

“Was it because…” he slowly sing songs before his voice drops lower, darker, “you loved it?” The smell of rubber gets closer. “Or was it because you wanted me to visit you again?”

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