Page 41 of Devious Delusions

The fire I caused.

I nod and robotically stand.

We both know what he’s not saying. They hate me. His parents hate me because I stupidly caused a fire for a reason that isn’t even real anymore. It felt real at the time, but so have all the other memories and my head hurts. Every single time I feel like I’m finding my way through the mess of my mind something happens, a sentence or a comment, and I’m thrown off again. More obstacles are placed in my path and I keep tripping over them. Asher can’t be lying because there’s proof, pictures and small details that feel familiar, but it just hurts and I’d rather be in the middle of an episode where it all makes sense to me than be in the real world where I’m lost.

I slowly sit on the edge of the bed and stare straight ahead, each blink is slow and involuntary as I work through my memories and try to piece them together with facts. The flickersof the flames follow behind my closed lids and it’s so real that I can hear the crackling as Kane screamed my name.

“Delilah? Where’s Asher? Delilah? Can you hear me?”

My hand twitches with the urge to point just like I did that day as I stood outside of their lake house watching the embers lick the overgrown trees. It’s so real, too real, then it disappears as the bed dips beside me and I’m pulled into a strong side. It forces my voice out, the thought we’re both refusing to say, because the truth is that I fucked up and my guilt has caused this fracture in my life and in my mind.

“They hate me.”

His parents weren’t the warmest people in the world, but in comparison to my parents they were the sun. I can’t remember a time that I even had to knock on their door when going to their house because they always treated me like family, but I broke it. I don’t have his mom who would buy me gifts just because she saw something I liked, and his dad who always praised my talents to my face instead of congratulating my parents on raising me well and paying for my piano lessons. More importantly, Asher doesn’t have them either because he’s beside me and I’ve inadvertently taken away both of their sons.

Asher kisses the top of my head and I ask, “How don’t you hate me?”

I look up, genuinely curious about the answer when I killed his brother, my best friend, but he gives me a sad smile and carefully says, “It wasn’t your fault. We all know that.”

Lie.

I literally lit the match. I remember the burning, but I also remember pouring accelerants on Asher and now he’s in front of me, so I couldn’t have done it.

My vision fades as I try, yet again, to make sense of everything.

“How did the fire happen?”

It can’t be like my memory. Unless Kane is the one I set on fire. Lead drops in my stomach and I try to breathe through the pain in my chest.

Asher keeps me contained and softly says, “We bought fireworks, remember?”

I nod, despite it not matching what I know.

“They were piled up in front of the fire, you wanted to use one of the sparklers, but it burnt your fingers and it fell on the pile.”

I nod again.

“All the drinks were next to it, and it happened faster than any of us could notice. But it wasn’t your fault, Delilah. It was an accident.”

Another nod.

I remember the fireworks. We had to hide them from his parents because they were illegal. I remember driving to collect them and the place being creepy as fuck. But I don’t remember the events of the fire the same as he does.

He pulls me to sit on his thigh while I continue to stare into space. Asher might not hate me, but I do. I hate myself for not remembering. I hate that I can’t trust my own mind when it’s twisting memories and vindicating my actions while making them even more insidious than they really are.

“Do you remember why you went to the hospital?” he asks gently.

I know that one and nod as my voice lowers and unease crawls up my spine. “My parents said I was crazy, that I kept lying and making shit up.”

Those memories of the hospital are hazy due to the drugs, but I remember some of the arguments I had with my parents that made them decide to lock me away. They kept saying that I couldn’t remember things correctly and accusing me of fabricating stories for attention. There’s a foggy memory ofAsher’s parents being involved, an argument with his mom, but it’s not clear enough to provide me with the facts.

So, I word vomit it all out to Asher in the hopes he can tell me if I’m right.

“My dad kept calling me a liar, he said I was being a silly girl and ruining everything, and then my mom said…something. I can’t remember it because it goes fuzzy, but she was there when I went to the hospital. They were both standing in the room and they wouldn’t let me leave.”

Pulling on the hem of the t-shirt, I pull it over my knees and try to hide. Whenever the hospital, or any hospital, is mentioned, I can’t prevent the feeling of being dirty. It’s stupid when I know that’s due to my fucked up dreams and how my disgusting body reacts to them. Logically, there’s no want or desire for my dreams to become a reality, but I can’t stop it. I laugh to myself because I have no control over my mind or my stupid body.

Asher shakes his head and kisses my temple, a small smile touches my skin as I truthfully answer. “Because they’re cunts?”

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