Page 139 of Severed Heart
“I have every right because you’re fucking killing yourself!”
“I’m taking treatment—”
“To pacify your nephews, but I see right through it. Do you really think you can fucking hide this from me?!”
“Tyler,” she sighs in annoyance, as if I’m a fly refusing to be batted away, “I am not worth this effort. Go find a woman—”
“Worthy?” Another step. “Yeah, you’re definitelynot that, either. But my fucking heart remains here, as it always has, loyal to you, faithful to you, as much as I hate it, so here we fucking are. Butagain, I’m not here forthat. My promise remains intact. Look at me.”
She lifts her eyes to mine as I keep the mask she’s forced me to sport for eight years firmly in place, knowing I’ll be forced to keep it there indefinitely in order to win this war. “Do you see any sign of a lovesick teenager?”
Her gaze instantly drops.
“Yeah, didn’t think so. So now that I’ve held up my end, I’m going to have to ask for my fucking general back.”
“That is a very tall order, Soldier. One I regret I cannot fulfill.”
She takes a large sip of her drink, and it’s all I can do to keep from snatching it from her.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Delphine, there’s no one left. They left you to live their lives while you’ve continually suffocated in this fucking prison you built.” The brief pain my statement causes in her eyes is dismissed a second after it appears.
“As did you,” she admonishes with surprising pride. “You left to live your life, and look at you, Tyler. Mon Dieu, look at you.” Her eyes roam me greedily, softening as they did briefly when I was here.
She’s in there, Jennings. She’s just buried.
“You have finally become what you’ve hoped to be, non?”
“And you didn’t. Why?” I utter, looking around. “Jesus, you’re wealthy, have been foryears, why are you fucking living this way?”
“It would be money wasted.”
“I made sure—” Her eyes snap to mine, but I don’t bother to deny the accusation there. “We allmade sure you didn’t have to fucking live this way. Why haven’t you moved? Jesus, do you still need a daily reminder to keep men at bay? Because we both know you’re more than capable of that feat without continuing to dwell in this shithole.”
I stalk over, snatch the bible from her lap, and snap it closed as she keeps her gaze lowered, her voice resigned. “You have continually insulted me from the second you walked into my door with no remorse. I had hoped to have a conversation, but I understand now that’s not possible. Please keep our friendship in your memory, and please be well, Soldier. I want nothing but happiness for you, always. I truly mean that.”
“I’m sure you do, General. Thanks for your blessing and send-off, but I’m an adult now and not so easily swayed or intimidated anymore. Where I come and go remains my fucking decision. And if I’m unapologetic, it’s because the shell you’re dwelling in is resigned tofucking killmy best friend. So, I think it’s pretty important I don’t tap dance around that. Why are you killing her?”
“I’m taking treatment,” she whispers.
“That’s not what I fucking asked you.” I take another step, my posture as demanding as my eyes. “Answer me, Delphine.”
She licks her lips, keeping her eyes lowered. “Why can we not just keep this civil? Tell me of your life—”
“You need someone to confess to?” I cut in, refuting her diversion and tapping the leather spine of her bible to my chest. “Confess tome. Keep your relationship withHim, but He’s going to let you die if that’s His will, right? But, you see, General, I’m going to be the man to witness it, so I deserve your fucking confessions as well.”
A small part of her exterior cracks at my words, and her lips begin to tremble. I make peace with the fact that might be the most of what I get from her—if anything.
“It’s a pointless choice to stay here. Your faith in me is—”
“Scarce at most because you’ve lost twenty years grieving the fictional life you wanted and are still mourning while your real life might beendingwith the help of your own fucking hand.”
“It’s a little early for this.”
“It’s too goddamn late!” I roar.
She doesn’t so much as flinch. Her reaction the same as if I’d whispered it to her. She seems to have hardened herself to me. Just another man who swore he loved her and abandoned her. To others, she’s a junkyard dog everyone believes should be put down. But wounded animals—especially when cornered—are their most vicious because of hurts others can’t see. I’m so intimate with her wounds at this point—they’re my own, a part of me.
“Tell me where the guilt still is,” I demand, “and who is it for?”
