Page 66 of Deliria

Either she can’t hear me above the howl of the wind, or she’s so out of it that she’s beyond reacting.

Bits of dirt stick under my nails, my hands slip on the slimy substance covering the boulders.

If she falls from that height, she’ll break her damned neck.

“Scarlett!” I yell louder, and again, she doesn’t respond.

I haul myself up the last bit of the cliff, feeling how my t-shirt catches on the edge and tears. Once I’m at the top, the wind that was howling before becomes even more ferocious.

The waves smash into the shoreline. On the horizon I can see that flickering amber of a distant lighthouse.

Sea spray drenches my skin, soaking my tattered clothes and making them stick to me.

Scarlett is dancing, pirouetting, spinning, arms spread wide, the fabric of her clothes whipping around her legs like ghost-white wings.

She’s singing some tune I don’t recognize, her voice eerily childlike. It’s wrong. Everything about this is wrong. Her movements are too loose, too uncoordinated. She’s clearly high as a fucking kite. What the fuck has Alexander given her?

I’m getting closer, but I’m not fast enough. The fading sunlight catches on her wet nightdress, making the thin fabric all but transparent. She’s soaked through. The wet material clings to every curve of her body, and in any other situation, I’d look my fill, but right now, all I can focus on is how close her bare feet are to the cliff’s edge.

“The stars are waking up.” she calls out, twirling faster. “They’re dancing with me, Rafe. Can’t you see them?”

There are no stars yet, just the dying sun and the growing shadows that threaten to swallow her whole.

Ten feet away. Eight. Six.

She teeters backward, and my heart lodges in my throat. I lunge forward, catching her just as her feet leave the ground. She falls into my arms with a giggle, her skin shockingly ice-cold against mine.

“Dance with me,” she murmurs, trying to pull me toward the cliff’s edge.

Her pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the rich brown of her irises. “The colours need us to dance.”

“No more dancing,” I say, tightening my grip as she writhes in my arms. Her wet hair plasters against my chest, leaving dark stains on my t-shirt. “We’re getting you inside.”

“But the starlight,” she protests, reaching toward the sky with desperate fingers. “It’s calling me. Can’t you hear it singing?”

Her body arches like a bow, trying to escape my hold. “Please, I need it. I need the colours.”

I adjust my grip, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She’s lighter than she should be, and the realization sends a fresh wave of anger through me. I knew Alexander was abusing her, but it’s never been more evident than in this moment. “The only thing you need is to get warm and to come to your senses.”

She turns her face into my neck, and I feel her lips move against my skin. “You don’t understand. They’re waiting for me. They promised to show me everything.” Her words slur together, a jumbled mess of consonants and vowels that makes my stomach clench.

“Who promised, Scarlett?” I don’t know why I bother asking, it’s not like you can reason with crazy.

But she’s already distracted, her head lolling back to stare at the darkening sky. Her hand traces patterns in the air, following something only she can see. “So pretty,” she whispers. “All the colours dancing together. Like fire and ice and starlight and life.”

I start walking faster, my boots crunching on the rocky ground. She’s shivering now, her skin clammy where it touches mine. The wet nightdress is as good as useless, and I force myself to keep my eyes forward. She doesn’t need my gaze on her body right now as much as I’d enjoy it.

“No, no, no,” she suddenly thrashes in my arms, nearly making me lose my balance. “Take me back. I have to go back.”Her nails dig into my shoulders as she tries to twist free. “They said I could fly. They promised I could be with the stars!”

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, tightening my hold. “Nobody’s flying tonight. Someone’s fucked with your head, sweetheart.”

She starts crying then. Soft, broken sobs that tear at something deep in my chest. “Please,” she begs, her fingers clutching at my shirt. “The colours are fading. I can’t lose them again. I can’t go back to the grey.”

The raw desperation in her voice makes me falter for a moment.

She sounds so lost, so broken. Even back in the woods, back when she was on her knees begging for my help, she didn’t sound this pitiful, this pathetic.

“Keep talking to me,” I say, trying to keep her focused as I navigate the darkening path back to the house. “What colours do you see?”

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