Page 70 of Antiletum
“You want to keep pecking away at my heart until there’s nothing left. Because then maybe you’d never have to be vulnerable and let me in without ever having to really blame yourself. You can blame me for giving up.”
“You have no heart.”
Gathering her hands in mine, I place them against my racing organ, against the bare skin of my chest. “I do. And it lives outside of my body. Right within your cruel little hands. Do with it what you please, Delaney. But no matter your lies to yourself, they will never, ever change whatis.”
The night is too loud, crickets and frogs humming an off tempo tune, assaulting my senses. Plucking at them like a maddening little harp. A breeze brushes at my fevered skin—too hot and cold with my yearning, my desire, my mounting outrage at my wife’s chosen ignorance. By the way she wants to continue with her self-destructive habits, instilled by her parents despite the fact that she is finally free of them.
She is free of everyonewho would have held her down.
Expectation is for Delaney to leave. To storm off like I did in the middle of our last argument, unable to handle anymore of her barbs. Not a single one, lest I bleed out on the floor as she witnessed. Butshe seems as unwilling to leave my presence as I am hers, despite our discussion. Despite her countenance.
“We should go somewhere more private,” I say quietly, though I hear no other living thing’s heartbeat, breaths, or movement around us at all. “Please, Delaney. Speak to me.”
“I have nothing left to say to you,” Delaney seethes, finally giving into my presumption and turning on her heel to leave.
18
Helpless under his knife
Delaney
Night noises are loud on my trek back through the cemetery.
Dappled silvery moonlight is scattered about the ground and headstones through the thick summer leaves. Arms wrapped around myself, I attempt to beat off the shivers wracking my body as I hurriedly weave through graves. Trembles of regret laced with lingering desire. Reconciling that the owl I adored so dearlyismy husband I want to run back to and who I equally want to avoid. Shakes refuse to fade, no matter how much distance I put between us, born from the way Val laid me out with his words, displaying every single truth about myself that I try to keep hidden but he can dissect me like a dead little frog, helpless under his knife.
Seeing through all my walls in a way that he has no right to, in a way that I have not allowed.
The gates of the graveyard loom, and through them walks a slight, older figure in a pair of dirt streaked overalls: the caretaker, coming from his stone house on the grounds.
I pause, heart skipping a beat.
“My Lady!” he calls, placing a hand over his heart as he startles. He recovers the action, inclining his head towards me in respect. “I came as quickly as I could.”
He glances over my shoulder. Following his stare, I’m met by a grave with a domed patch of grass over it, cracked and lifted from a dead body trying to escape the ground. Clearly this particular corpse broke through the casing of its coffin.
The caretaker continues uncertainly in my silence. “Apologies if I’m interrupting. I’m not usually out at this time of night. But I was woken by some disturbances. It was quite loud for a moment.” His voice grows quieter, his words slower, reasons for said disturbances becoming clearer the more he speaks in my highly disheveled presence.
I gulp. Hard. Thinking about all the other graves and moved bodies within mausoleums.
“You’re not interrupting,” I inform. “I was only…”
At that horribly inopportune moment, Val decides to quit the graveyard as well.
“My Lord!” the caretaker gasps, even more shocked by Val’s appearance.
My husband waltzes up, shirt draped over his shoulder and trousers undone to showcase ascandaloussight of dark hair between the open flaps, ending just before you can see his cock. A strong need to race over to Val and fasten them closed myself beats at me.
I suppose I should be grateful he deigned to slip back into his pants at all.
His lips are as swollen and red in the low moonlight as my own feel. I barely manage to keep from pressing my fingers against them, making our midnight tryst all the more obvious. Like we could ever deny it at this point.
Val’s hair is a wild mess from how I ran my hands through it, dragging his face closer to mine.
Deos, this may be more mortifying than learning all my secrets I spilled to my owl were, in fact, going straight to my husband.
Who I just raised half this cemetery with in a wave of passion, waking the caretaker.
“Cheers, Austin,” Val greets, wholly unbothered while my mouth drops. He claps a hand on the caretaker’s arm. “Apologies for the mess.” Val offers him a sly smile. “I’ll be sure to make it up to you. Name your price. I’ll be in touch.”
