Page 133 of Deliria

They dolled me up, bathed me, drugged me again and got me all ready for this, my final sendoff. My final soiree. Of course, mydear husband stood there watching the entire thing, he wasn’t going to take any risks this time.

God, he really is stupid, isn’t he? I turn my eyes back on him, on my handsome, eligible, deadly husband. I wouldn’t have tried to escape then, I wouldn’t have run, because I needed to behere. In this moment.

“My beautiful wife.” Alexander says, steering me down the steps and into the centre of the room.

Despite the sedative, my heart thumps so loudly in my chest that I swear I can hear it above the music.

This is meant to be a birthday celebration. My birthday.

My eyes dart about, to the balloons, the flowers, the great show put on supposedly just for me. Only, this isn’t for me.

Something stirs beneath my skin, and it feels like a monster crawling up my spine, using every vertebrae like a rung on a ladder.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to meet all those pairs of eyes, those leering expressions. However this night ends, whatever goes down, I know I will endure more abuse before it is done.

My mind flickers to Rafe, to what they did to him, whathedid to him. I know he’s back in the cellar, that they tossed him in like a sack of shit. I can’t even say goodbye. I can’t even have that.

My tears well up and it takes everything I have to fight the emotions swirling in my head. I need to master myself, to remain calm, because this is not over yet. It is not over.

My heels click-clack with every step and my ankles almost buckle from the stupid height of them. I wonder if Alexander did that on purpose, if he deliberately dressed me in a manner that would not only show me off to the max, but would also incapacitate me, make me as defenceless as possible.

Far above my head, a great Tiffany skylight glimmers. It’s antique, one of a kind, and it’s absolutely priceless. I glance atit, seeing the abstract swirl of colours as if they’re moving now, spinning before my very eyes. A piece like this should be in a museum, should be somewhere the world can admire it. But that’s not the Forster way. No, they like to covet things, they like to hide things away, like to act like they’re entitled to the whole damn world and everything in it.

A shadow falls on my face, and I blink rapidly as I realise that I’m really not paying attention. That Irene is right in front of me, and I was completely unaware of it. Christ, if I want to survive this, I need to fight. And not just physically, not just with my fists. I need to fight these sedatives; I need to fight these damned drugs.

“Happy Birthday, Scarlett,” Irene says with a big simpering smile on her face.

She grabs my shoulders, leaning in to plant a lipstick covered kiss on my cheek. I bite my tongue as I try not to react, not to pull my head back and slam it into her smug, self-satisfied face. Oh, she thinks she’s won. They both do. I can practically taste the waves of victory coming off them both.

Her hands dig into my skin as she holds me tight, as if she wants to deepen this loving moment between us, and she leans in close enough to whisper into my ear. “You’ll look so much more beautiful after my son slits your throat. I can’t wait to witness it, to see how all your blood gurgles and sprays. Maybe he’ll even fuck you then, use you one last time for prosperity’s sake while you’re gasping your last pathetic breaths.”

My eyes widen. I jerk back, but Alexander squeezes my hand so tightly that I swear some of the smaller bones snap.

Irene straightens herself, meeting my gaze. “You’d probably still get off on that, wouldn’t you? You’d probably still enjoy it, you whore.”

Alexander lets out a chuckle before he steers me away. Not that I could reply, not that I’d be able to. My head is too fuzzy.My words are a jumble of syllables in my head, and they make no sense.

I feel disoriented, delirious, out of control.

My hands cling to my husband as if he’s my saviour, as if he’s Jesus Christ himself and I’m the biggest sinner on earth.

I guess in a way I am. I have sinned, I’ve committed awful transgressions. I’m guilty of adultery, even if my marriage isn’t legitimate. I’m guilty of pride too. Vanity.

And wrath.

Wrath is a sin. Anger, rage, all those emotions are sins I’ve committed so many times I’ve become the living manifestation of them.

But I don’t deserve the kind of deliverance he is offering.

Afterall, he is not a god. He is not pure himself.

I don’t deserve to die here today, and I certainly don’t deserve whatever twisted things he intends to inflict on me.

As he leads me into the very centre of the room, the panic that’s been slowly simmering in my belly explodes.

My eyes land on the two men waiting for me. My father’s business associates, his partners, along with Vincent. Only, that was a lifetime ago. Two decades ago.

But this is also the very reason that I’m here. The point to all of this. Why it had to be like this, why I had to put myself through all this suffering.

---