Page 50 of Deviant Illusions

Her dress floats behind her, revealing small glimpses of her long legs through the slit. There’s no gentle walk or slow pace like most brides dream of on their father figures’ arm. She’s forcefully pulled to me with defiance in her eyes. Somehow she’s even more majestic because of it.

She doesn’t look away from me. Not as she’s dragged towards me or as Harkin unravels the chain from his hand when they reach the steps, and her chin is pulled down due to the weight. He doesn’t kiss his daughter’s cheek or shake my hand. He walks up the steps and stands opposite me, leaving a space for my pretty girl.

I walk backwards and escape Lennox’s barrier. Stopping at the edge of the altar, I place my foot on the top step and hold my hand out to my wife. In another life, we’d be in the middle of a forest either under a sky full of stars or as the sun rose, and once she put her hand in mine, it would never leave. In this one, it still won’t happen. She belongs to me in the opposite of everything I ever wanted. There aren’t any notions of bringing her peace or whatever bullshit people pay lip service to in their vows. No,this is going to be an exchange of her pain, misery, and eventual death. I suppose there is a vow we can keep.

‘Til death do we part.

She looks at my hand as though it’s covered in shit. Her shoulders twitch as she assesses the guests out of the corner of her eyes, who are all waiting for her to move. I stretch my hand further, urging her to take it, and her eyes widen as she’s distracted by something over my shoulder.

Helene’s eyes turn colder as she slams her stick between her feet, layers both hands over the top, then begins grinding it into the floor. Lennox has always said that every family has their secrets. I look around the pews. Both my family and Delilah’s family have hidden their skeletons in the same closet. From Ruby’s outdated marriage agreement bullshit, I deduce that this is a business decision.

My stubborn fucking woman is close to running so I tightly grip her hand, pushing my thumb into the delicate bones on the back of her hand to drag her attention to me while everyone stares. Being cruel to her was my way to right the wrong of the cruelty she showed me, but now it’s to get her to fucking move so no one else attempts to take my place.

“Did you think that you meant anything to me?” I ask, pulling her attention to me only for it to go back over my shoulder. “You’re only a business asset.”

24

DELILAH

The doctor is real.

All the blood in my body sinks to my feet as I see those fucking eyes. The eyes that have been in every one of my twisted nightmares are staring back at me, the edges crinkled as he smiles, and he slightly tilts his head. The movement forces me to look to the side, and my father is there beside the doctor. Like my nightmare, they’re together.

The chain around my neck loses weight at the sheer dread and fear coursing through me. It’s not fucking real. None of this is real. But then Kane moves his head, blocking them, as he snarls, “Now move before you ruin everything again.”

I silently beg him to make it stop. To send them away and torture me on his own. I can fight him and make him see sense. I can beat him, but I can’t do the same with the rest of them.

He looks down at his outstretched hand with his own silent command. I take the safety of his harm, following Ruby’s instructions—this is the boy who I loved, the one who loved me, and he’ll keep me safe.

The illusion of that boy still being there is enough for me to breathe again. It becomes harder when he gently guides mecloser to my living, breathing nightmares. My father stands at my back and the doctor stands in place of an officiant. He smiles and extends his voice whilst I force my limbs to hide the tremor taking root.

“I’m sure we can all agree that my,”—he stares at me, his smile widening—“nephewhas picked a suitable wife.”

Light laughs fill the cathedral while I fight tears. Nephew. The doctor who isn’t supposed to be real called Kane his nephew. Kane only ever mentioned one uncle, and Lennox was everything to him. But there are two people with the exact same face surrounding us, identical twins—just like Asher and Kane. I never met Lennox, since his visits were during the summer when I’d be forced to spend time with my grandparents.

The spikes in the back of the collar dig into my nape and little pricks of blood trickle down. The side of my neck takes the brunt of the metal due to the chain piled on the floor. Physical pain forces me to stay in my body when I want to run mentally. I’m held in place in every conceivable way by the heavy duty steel when I shouldn’t be.

Everything blurs.

The surroundings, the people, the fucking voices.

Everything apart from Kane’s pale green eyes becomes a haze. The side of his eyes move, his cheeks pushing up and reducing the amount of the hue I can see. His hand is warm in mine, and he lightly squeezes.

I can’t speak, squeezing back as my father steps closer. I bite down on my teeth and tense my throat to stop the scream from leaving as the man who was supposed to be my protector from birth places his hands on my shoulders. He doesn’t apply any pressure. Kane’s eyes get closer. The edges harden and then tearing fabric ripples through the haze. I look down, expecting to be left naked. That’s what happens in bad dreams, but my legsare still covered other than the slit in the dress. Slowly looking back up, a tattooed torso comes into view.

Kane got his tattoos. He’s not Asher’s reflection anymore.

A large snake wraps around his left bicep, the unhinged jaw coming up over his shoulder as though it’s lashing out to protect his heart. Roses are nestled around the coiling tail with hidden notes like it’s tucking a nest away. An octopus is on his right pec, their tentacles wrapping around his shoulder to his back, and a series of small lines. Hundreds of the lines blend into the shading around the tentacles. There’s another Gorgon head on his ribs, but it’s a different style to the one on his hand. The one on his ribs is sadder, her mouth open as she screams, and the white orbs of her eyes are broken with bars. And I find the third Gorgon sister on his right forearm, with harsher features and large wings dropping down to his wrist.

Stheno, the strong. Euryale, deathly bellows. Medusa, the queen.

His right forearm. His ribs. His hand, that is made up of half of my features.

Standing in front of me, bare from the waist up, he holds his arms out and leans his head forward, so his nose is nearly brushing mine.

“Look at me,”he mouths.“Only me.”

I do it instinctively as he flares his nostrils, his neck cords, and he holds himself taut.

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