Page 61 of Devious Delusions

“Shut the fuck up!” I snap and my breathing escalates.

I have to remind myself of my life, or the one I woke up to, and ignore the literal stranger trying to turn it upside down again. I’d regulated my medication, become accustomed to dealing with my shit, and actively told myself the memories weren’t real. But now he’s sitting here telling me a different version of a life I still have no part in. Between my memories, Asher, and the ghost, I’ve got three different lives. They all seem unknown to me now. Even the memories I was confident about are becoming fuzzy.

“Just stop,” I whisper as my vision blurs and my bottom lip wobbles. “Stop lying to me.”

He stretches his arm forward and strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles, reaching my jaw, and he holds my chin and traces my lips with his thumb as he softens his voice.

“Oh, Delilah, I have never lied to you. I’m the only one telling you the truth.” His fingers tighten around my chin, and he pulls my face forward as he adds, “You lie to yourself when you only have to remember.”

His touch turns gentle as he strokes my bottom lip and his other hand wraps around my thigh above my knee. I wait for something, anything, to help me out of this haze. Each second is longer and adds more tears to the stream flowing down my cheeks, but he prolongs the silence while staring at me.

The familiarity is there again as he makes small circles on the inside of my knee and looks down when his thumb brushes the small scar in the crease of my knee. He traces the jagged line as he asks, “How did you get that?”

I follow his line of sight and watch him caress the two-inch scar from when I tried to escape the hospital my parents forced me into. My plan wasn’t very solid, and I got trapped between the window I broke and the bars that were supposed to deter me from leaving. The design was stupid with the casing going around the frame and having a few inches of space. Those few inches gave me hope.

“I don’t like being trapped,” I say.

He presses his thumb to the scar and slowly looks up as the double meaning sinks in. He’s trapped me, literally, but it doesn’t feel the same as those years in that hospital. The soft tracing restarts as he asks, “Do you feel trapped with me?”

The gentle voice just adds to my confusion. I can’t tell him the truth because that proves I’m insane, but he voices it as though he’s aware of my thoughts.

“Or do you feel free only when I bind you?”

I don’t answer, and I don’t need to. We can both see it as my body relaxes, and he cups my cheek. The latex is even warmer as he pushes his finger around the side of my neck to my nape. His fingers dig in, massaging the tension away, and my eyes roll at the feeling of the knots being broken.

“You’ve forgotten so many things,” he whispers brokenly and continues his massage. “I wish I could have forgotten you.”

Guilt floods me at the desolation in his deep voice. It’s like a physical entity in the room, robbing it of any light as I keep my eyes closed. Whoever he is, I knew him. I knew him well enough to hurt him, and I have no idea who he is.

The mask brushes my collarbone and I slowly look between my lashes to see him press the lips to my skin above my heart.

His voice is even lower as though he’s confessing to the organ. “I’ve missed you.”

Before I can ask him to remove the mask, he turns his head, aware of me looking at him and hardens his voice. “Do you trust him?”

Asher.

He’s asking about Asher, and I don’t think about my answer. “Yes.”

Ghost sits back and stops massaging my nape. His hand doesn’t leave my thigh as he implores, “Have you seen the scar on his back? It runs from near the middle of his spine, just near his heart,” he traces the path against his chest, “to his kidneys. Ask him how he got it.”

I audibly swallow and my heart rate picks up, drowning out my voice as I ask, “Did you hurt him?”

There’s going to be a bruise on my ribs from how hard it’s pounding in his silence, yet he’s comfortable and open in it as my emotions burn a path up the back of my throat. They break loose as he says, “No, you did.” Then he stands and picks up the roll of plastic wrap.

He roughly tugs the free edge and pulls until it’s taut. I don’t know what he’s going to attach to me next and look at the box, but he doesn’t pick anything up and I jerk my head back as he wraps the clear film over my face.

27

DELILAH

I’ve been awake for hours, watching the sun move across the room. Everything looks the same and the window is closed, but my muscles are sore. I can’t look away from the walkway connecting the disused building to our house and the twisted parts of me sink, not seeing the familiar figure that comes out in the dark.

His last words repeat in my head like an echo.

“You did.”

I hurt Asher, that’s why he has that pained jagged line etched into his flesh. I sink into the sheets as the pain of literally stabbing him in the back adds to my guilt. It weighs my body down, and I can’t move. I just lay there, watching the sun cast different shadows against each surface.

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