Page 71 of Devious Delusions

I’ve stayed away from her because I can feel my resolve weakening and I knew it would happen, the same way it always has where she is concerned. All I want to do is fucking shake her and get the truth. Or some lie that would justify her deserting me after upending my life. We weren’t a fling or something to pass the time with. We were fucking real, and try as I may, I can’t stop myself yearning for those moments to come back.

I miss someone that never existed while she examines someone who doesn’t exist anymore. We’ll never breach that gap, and I look away first as she restarts her stitches. Her hair falls over her shoulder as she leans closer to my arm. Some of the strands have dots of red on them, and I gently lift them out of the way, exposing her increasing pulse.

The mask is supposed to create distance, a barrier, to stop me doing something stupid and giving her control of me again. Delilah is an expert at inhabiting someone and I’m still unprepared. Even without her seeing me, really seeing me, she knows how powerful she is.

Her voice is softer, the same one she used to wrap me around her finger, as she asks, “Why have you been ignoring me?”

Because I crave you more and more with each interaction.

Because the only thing that can save me is watching you in this glass house, knowing I can’t touch you.

Because I still want to sink down to my fucking knees and worship at your feet.

I clench my jaw to keep the truth back as she finishes up the final stitch and knot. This is what our lives could have been like, maybe not the luxury with me not having the funds at the time, but I could have had her as solely mine, sat on my thigh in a quiet house. All the old conversations come back. The ones where we would discuss having children, growing old together, a perfect life.

But she always has to fucking ruin everything and her red-stained hand slowly leaves my arm. I catch her wrist before her fingers can even brush the mask, and there’s no fear on her face as her tone hardens.

“Why have you been running away from me? You’ve still been watching, but you didn’t talk, or come closer.”

Is she hurt by my dismissal?

I hope she is, and I relish in the thought as I lean into her. The leather beak brushes the tip of her nose as I fall prey to her again.

“There was a time in my life that I had goals, ambitions, a family,” I say, “but I lost them all because of you.”

Her brows slam together, and she spits, “I am not a homewrecker.”

I laugh. I actually fucking laugh at the thought that Delilah is anything other than a force of destruction, such a delicate name for someone so prone to chaos and violence.

“You are, koukla mou,” I nod, brushing the tip of her nose against the beak. “More than you know. But I forgive you for that, for taking that family away, but I will never forgive you for leaving me.”

Twisting her wrists, she whines, “Let me see you.”

“No. You left me bloody once. Stay with me this time.”

She doesn’t attempt to remove the mask again, and I press my thumb to her pulse point. There’s no erratic thrum, she’s relaxed, and I tighten my hold as she watches me while making no attempt to free herself.

Whether she likes it or not, she trusts me. She trusts me enough to challenge me, and I want to take her apart. My old hobby of collecting items that other people had disrespected, disregarded, and allowed to be wasted comes back with one fixation. Delilah. I want to take her apart, rebuild her into something new while keeping all those fascinating pieces intactand displayed as the focal point. My new collection won’t be games, it will be one little doll only to be played with by me.

Her voice trembles as she asks, “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“Badly?”

“Yes.”

She takes in a shaky breath before her next question.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Maybe.” I sigh and relax into the seat as my arm grows a pulse around her stitches. “But the Devil can’t give your punishment when it’s owed to me.”

She falls silent at my answer. Her hand is limp, and the smell of my own blood has a groan building in my chest. The full expanse of her palm is coated in me. The edges have dried but the middle is soaked and I slowly graze her knee with my own bloody fingers.

Her breathing shallows and she fights the urge to watch as I move further up her thigh. “How did we meet each other?”

I smile under the mask and it’s genuine at the reminder of when things were innocent.

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