Page 15 of Deliria

Hands on me. Touching. Tugging. Pulling.

Fear erupts into a sharp panicked scream that no one can hear over the music that is suddenly blasting out, before that haze turns to nothing.

To darkness.

To memory.

I blinkagainst the brightness of the morning.

My mouth is dry, as if I’ve been screaming for hours.

I’m safely tucked in my bed, but I don’t remember the walk back. I don’t remember anything beyond Rafe finding me in some sort of cellar, and then everything goes hazy after.

Christ, how am I meant to fight whatever the hell this is when I can’t even remember what happened only yesterday?

My head is pounding with the remnants of last night’s confusion as well as some awful dream that felt more like a vision than just my imagination.

The party, the music, the feeling of being watched, the hands, the glass shattering... Alex and Vincent.

Had it been a dream? A nightmare brought on simply by stress? Or had something happened, something I was meant toforget? Is that the cause of all my confusion, the accident my husband alluded to that left me here, in this house?

The uncertainty gnaws at me, a relentless hunger that refuses to be sated. But as I glance around the room, and at the luxury that surrounds me, a sense of dread settles in my bones.

I force myself up, ignoring how heavy my body feels. How my joints protest.

I’m dressed in a nightgown I don’t remember putting on, and for a moment, I wonder if someone undressed me, watched over me as I slept and then… the thought sends a shiver down my spine. I’m still sorethere, not just from the stick incident but from Alex’s brutal fucking afterwards. If someone had done something last night, I doubt I could physically tell much difference right now.

No, better not to dwell on it. Better not to consider it.

Nothing happened. I bumped into Rafe, he was a jerk, and then I came back to bed and slept with no further drama.

Padding across the room, I make my way to the ensuite bathroom. The mirror reflects a stranger—dark circles under dull eyes, skin pale and drawn. I trace the contours of my face, the features that once felt familiar now seem foreign.

Who am I becoming in this house?

A knock at the door startles me. “Scarlett? Are you decent?” Alex’s voice, smooth and controlled, filters through the wood. Like he actually cares if I’m dressed or not. Like he hasn’t seen me naked enough times to know every inch of my body, every scar, every freckle, all of it.

“Yes, come in,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

He enters, the picture of concern with his neatly pressed suit and perfectly coiffed hair, looking more irresistible than ever. “You had a rough night. I was worried.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. I did have a rough night, I just apparently know nothing about what actually occurred.

He approaches, cupping my face in his hands, and I see genuine affection in his eyes.

“I’ve arranged for breakfast in the conservatory. The fresh air will do you good,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead before leaving the room.

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I need to find answers, to understand the fragments of memories that haunt me. To know whether this is just my head going wild, or whether there really is something insidious going on.

And if I keep waking up like this, remembering nothing – it’s not going to get me out of this situation. It’s not going to provide information.

I have to be smart. I have to be tactical.

If my own mind can’t be trusted, then I need to keep a record somewhere that will work as a guide, an aid. It will hold my memories for me until I can recall them.

I know the perfect place. Somewhere I haven’t forgotten.

I just have to play nice and eat my breakfast like a good girl, and then perhaps I will have my chance.

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