Page 140 of Severed Heart
She remains quiet, her gray eyes steadily boring into mine, all pretenses between us gone.
“You hate yourself, and that’s evident. Jesus Christ, Delphine. Why? For being a victim?”
“I amnotavictim,” she states emphatically.
“The fuck you aren’t,” I counter. “That’s all you’ve ever been. First, by the men who wronged you and then by your own maliciousness. I’m not sure who won in that fucking battle, but Jesus, have you tried to outdo them since I left.”
“Just leave, Tyler,” she says in a whisper. “Spare yourself this pointless argument.”
“Don’t waste your breath by repeating that again. I’m not leaving. I was cut short of finishing our argument years ago, and that’s my biggest regret in the eight years since you ripped my heart out and sent me packing with it.”
I’ve explored psychology for over half my life for several reasons—to better understand the actions and decisions of those I’m close to, as well as my opponents. An education that has served me well and that I desperately need now as I try to decipher what’s happening inside her—why she’s made the decision to stop fighting. Looking at her from a psychological standpoint, there’s nothing I can do for her but enable her if I want to keep things civil. Fuck that.
“What did you do, Delphine, that you can’t live with?”
“I’m tired, Tyler.”
“Neither of us is moving an inch until you fucking answer me.”
“And who are you really?” she snaps icily. “Who are you to me now?” She shrugs. “A boy I spent a few years with when you were younger to teach, to train.” She shakes her head in exasperation. “What do you think you can mean to me, Tyler, after all this time away?”
“Then why the red-rimmed eyes, Delphine? Who the fuck were you crying for when we left? I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because of Cecelia’s gesture.”
“Get out.”
“Truth?” I shrug. “My reasons for being here are more selfish than anything at this point.”
It took me the anger-filled drive back here to face the fact that if I make this my sole mission and fail, it will haunt me until my fucking dying day. That if I fail, she dies in this state, and as I stare down at her, I decide I can’t live with that any more than I can live with the failure of trying. In loving her, I’m already haunted enough.
My head screams for me to run—that she chose her fate over and over again for close to two decades—it’s my masochistic fucking heart that still wants to be with her in any way I can. As of right now, she’s just as much of an obstacle for me in living my own life as she is for herself.
“More truth? Thisdelusional manis the only person on earth who will grieve you long past your death. Who wants and cares about your confessions.” I hold her gaze. “The only man who’s ever truly loved you, despite the fucking mess you’ve made and continue to make of yourself.”
“I tried!” she booms in a sudden outburst, and I damn near jerk back at the sight of it. “I have tried! Many times!”
“When?” I cross my arms. “When have you fucking tried?”
“Many times, I—” She shakes her head. “I tried after Celine died, before Tobias left for France, beforeyou. I tried when we were friends and only drank during the night. When I only drank pint. I tried many times in the years since you left, so that when—” She clamps her mouth closed.
“So that when what?”
Her eyes spill over as she shakes her head. “Oh, fuck you! Fuck you, Tyler! You knownothing.You’ve been absent for nearly a decade, and here you are, coming back with your condemnation. I don’t need your fucking judgment and—”
“No, no, you need another fucking drink!” I take the bottle and pour its contents until it floods the glass on the table, the liquid soaking the surface and trailing onto the carpet beneath. “You need to continue to live the very definition of insanity, right?”
She watches raptly as I continue to pour the vodka until it’s running in rivulets off the table.
“Take a good look at your life,” I grit out. “Isn’t itbeautiful? Every single one of your memories, they all look the same.”
“Stop.” The word comes out faint as I empty most of the bottle, saving a few drinks for myself. Tapping her glass harshly, I motion toward her to lift her glass as I lift the bottle to my lips.
“Stop, why? You’ve never pussy footed around how you thought I was wasting my potential. Allow me to do the same, or better yet, lift that glass, Delphine. Let’s toast to your wasted fucking life.”
I toss the vodka back, the burn only fueling my anger. Fully expecting defiance, instead, she bows her head, her hands visibly shaking as she folds them in her lap. No fight. None. It’s utterly gone.
“What future do you see for me?” she utters softly. “Even if I battle the drink, I might not survive.”
“Years ago, you told me you didn’t know who you were, but we both know who you are beyond your past, what life you want. What future you’ve longed for. That future is so fucking easily attainable, Delphine, it’s laughable. You beat the alcohol, and you’re already halfway there. You want to be a soldier? I know of a club that could use your expertise.”
