Page 111 of Deliria

I take a silent step, then another, and quickly open the door.

For a second, I blink, wondering if I’m imagining this. If it’s an apparition before me and not my dear wife. Am I the one now mad and not her?

She shifts just enough to tell me she’s aware of my presence and when I clear my throat, she turns, meeting my hard gaze with those dazzling blue eyes.

They’re not glossy today. Not unfocused.

My lips curl into a sneer as I realise what it means.

She’s her. The real Scarlett. The fierce, conniving bitch and not the sickly spouse I’ve made of her.

She’s back then.

She’s present.

Will I have to grapple with her? Fight her, beat her into submission?

It fills me with an unnerving feeling looking at her, aware of all the history that has passed between us, history that right now she must be only too aware of. The air seems to crackle.

My eyes drop to stare at her stomach, to where my child was growing. There’s no hint, no sign that she was even pregnant, though I guess it’s far too early for that.

She killed my child.

It’s hard to contain the rage that suddenly boils inside me. I want to lash out, to grab her pretty little face and beat her senseless. I want to make her hurt, I want to make her suffer. I want her to be as devastated by this loss as I am.

But all in good time. I need her controlled. I need her subdued.

As I take a step, she takes one tiny one back, her eyes fixed on the syringe now in my hand.

“Wait,” She says quietly, almost demurely, as if she were a lady of fine breeding and not some craven witch.

“Wait for what?” I ask.

“I’m not going to fight you. I will do what you want. I will submit, or whatever the fuck it is you’re after. Just answer my questions first.”

There’s almost a hint of a plea to her voice. Almost.

I’m not so stupid to fall for this docile side. I narrow my eyes, trying to see the trick.

“You’ll submit?” I reply.

She inclines her head only as much is necessary.

“Fine,” I mutter, placing the needle on the side table where she can clearly see it. It’s still well within touching distance. I canplay this game, pretend to give in and then I’ll simply overpower her if I must.

She watches me warily for a moment and then she moves to one of the leather armchairs, sitting in it with all the poise and grace of a viper.

“Ask then.” I say, waving my hand in a show of impatience. Like I have all day. I have things to plan, things to put in motion. She’s not the only hassle in my life.

She clenches her jaw, clearly biting back a snarky remark, and deciding to continue playing nice. “Are you going to kill me?” Her voice is so devoid of emotion, it’s almost chilling the way she speaks.

“Yes.”

She doesn’t react beyond meeting my gaze, as if she’s daring me to grab a blade and slice her pretty little throat this very second, and I realise then that I am itching to do it.

That for all the fondness I have for her pretty face and nice body, when it comes down to it, she’s not enough, she will never be enough. The fact she killed my child is proof of it.

“You killed my brother.” She states. “Did you play a part in my aunt’s death too?”

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