Page 25 of Deliria

“Fuck this.” Rafferty says, shaking his head. “You’re just as bad as they are. The three of you are fucked in the head.”

“Rafe.” Our father snaps.

Only, he doesn’t stay to listen. He just storms out, following that same path down the hallway and I wonder if he’s off to try and convince our mother that this whole situation is out of control.

“He doesn’t like it, I take it?” The doctor says with the hint of a sneer to his voice.

“Rafe has always been…”

“An arsehole.” I cut across my father.

“He’s got different priorities.” My father states, as if that justifies it. As if that makes his disloyalty acceptable.

The doctor grunts. “Is he not a risk, knowing what he knows?”

“Rafferty will keep his mouth shut.” I reply. Because if he doesn’t, then I will silence him. I’ll have no choice.

My father shifts and that movement proves how conflicted he feels. Rafferty is his precious baby boy. I may be the heir but he coddled Rafferty, gave him far greater freedoms than I had. And look at the result. Look how he turned out. He’s a liability. He dresses like a gang member, he rides that damned motorbike everywhere, as if he’s some member of Hells Angels and not the second son of one of the richest men in the country. It’s a fucking joke.

“Fine.” The doctor says, “Shall I go see your wife?”

“She’s resting now, so the conversation will have to wait until morning.” I state.

He nods, following me as I go to leave. My father is right behind us, hot on my heels.

We climb the stairs in silence.

And when we get to her room, I open the door and see that she’s still there, tucked up in bed, and hasn’t moved a muscle.

“When did you give her the sedative?” The doctor asks, peering in.

I glance at my watch to check, “About an hour ago.”

He smiles, nodding, “So she’ll be completely out of it by now.”

“That’s the hope.” My father says behind me.

The doctor strolls in, easing off his jacket, and lays it over the chair. Delicately he pulls the covers back, revealing the pretty nightdress as well as her frail body. Thankfully the purple tinge is all gone and she’s back to a healthy colour.

“We’ll leave you to it.” I say as he leans right over her.

Silently, I shut the door.

“We’ll give him an hour.” My father says, as if he’s the one in charge here, as if my wife belongs solely to him.

“Let’s get a drink.” I sigh, because god knows I damn well need one right now.

Alexander

The machines beep. The room stinks of some sort of antiseptic that makes my nose itch.

I’m sitting here, in this same uncomfortable, poor excuse for a damned chair, feeling my back protest while every movement makes the nasty plastic cushion squeak against the fabric of my pants.

But none of that matters.

Not a damned thing.

I know I have slept, and yet I haven’t intentionally taken my eyes from the figure lying immobile in the bed. I haven’t dared too.

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