Page 85 of Deviant Illusions

“You caused all of this, and I understand why you did, but there’s always going to be a part of me that hates you for it,” I admit. “You broke us long before I ever did. We never would have had a future. I have his face. He hurt you, you hate him, but I’m stuck with his face.”

She’s silent for a beat, taking in the truth, and then softly says, “I met you first, so to me, he always had your face. It was always KanethenAsher.”

Fuck.

It’s all confusing and painful, so I latch onto hope as I ask, “Would you have given me a future? If I spoke to you when I got out, would you have given me that?”

We come to a silent understanding, putting our bitterness and hurt aside as she opens up with the stars and moon overlooking us, just like we’re teenagers again.

“There was a time that I’d dream about it.” Delilah shuffles closer, lifting the sheets to cover the back of my legs. “I spent years thinking that you hated me, then my nights were plagued with the idea of you. So, if you spoke to me—really spoke to me—I would have given you whatever you wanted to be able to keep you.”

“But you moved on.”

“I haven’t had a relationship since you. I would have waited for you if you told me that’s what you wanted. But after so many years of sending letters and getting no reply, I had to try and live my life. I’m sure you don’t really care, considering you put me in another man’s bed.” Her anger comes back and hardens her voice. “You tried to play with my head again like I would think months of my life had disappeared.”

“It was the only way I knew to stop you moving on. I could control him. I couldn’t control you.”

“Because I’m a whore?” she scoffs, shaking her head and moving away from me.

I wrap my arm around her hips, keeping her beside me as I correct her, “No, you crave attention, but you’ll use your body to get it. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how lonely you were.”

I’m only able to see her profile and her jaw tenses as she swiftly turns her head to look out of the window.

“I didn’t hate you at first,” I admit, begging her to look at me again. “I kept waiting for someone to visit me and I only ever wanted it to be you. But then no one ever came, and I was stuck in my cell for months at a time. It fucked with my head, and I didn’t have anything to distract me.”

Hate is the only thing I have that belongs to me. I can’t tell her that the emotion has been my only comfort, solace, friend, companion, for so long that I’m terrified of letting it go. Instead, I keep confessing to her like she can absolve me.

“That’s one thing no one tells you about prison. There’s so much time. It’s endless, like the world slowed down and all you have to do is think. There’s no distraction when that’s what you need. Distractions are good because not all thoughts are built equal.”

“Like?”

“Like trying to convince myself that you loved me while watching videos of you fucking other men. I knew you were doing it. I wasn’t fucking stupid, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care that you would leave my brother’s bed to come into mine. In my head it was justified because you were mine first. I’d romanticized it. You weren’t cheating on him, you wanted to be with me. You weren’t leaving me, you were coming to me.”

“I did,” she whispers, turning to look at me.

“Tell me,” I beg.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything, everything. Why didn’t you tell me what he was doing?”

“You wouldn’t have believed m?—”

“I would. I do.”

The moonlight shows her tears welling against her bottom lashes but she’s stronger than I am, managing to disguise her voice so she sounds cold instead of hurt.

“How could you, when my mom had drawn him a chart of acceptable places he could leave marks?”

38

DELILAH

Why the fuck am I embarrassed about someone else hitting me?

I didn’t do anything to him at first, but there’s a voice in the back of my head telling me that something is wrong with me because my own mother thought it was acceptable.

The stupid fucking chart was in Asher’s wallet, and he’d literally rub my face in it when I’d try to leave. No one in my life believed me. I slowly blink as I whisper, “Your dad didn’t believe me.”

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