Page 80 of Deliria

My bare feet stick to the freezing cold floor. This house has always been chilly. And with the gloomy weather outside, it makes the place feel even more creepy. My breath catches in the air in front of me and I freeze, seeing movement just ahead.

It could be the staff.

It could be a bird flying past the window.

Fuck, it could be anything.

I hug my body, reminding myself that this paranoia is actually part of the medication. That it is real. That on some level, despite the fact my husband and his family are plotting to murder me while pretending I’m the one who’s lost their marbles, I am also not completely stable.

Each echoing step reverberates through my mind, stirring the images of creeping shadows that lurk at the edges of my vision.

Even during the day, the mansion feels insidious. Each flicker of movement I perceive could easily be a ghost from my past, a spectre haunting me for my choices, for being here, trapped.

The walls seem to close in, their disconcerting silence amplifying my paranoia.

Did laughter ever once ring out in these rooms? Was this place ever somewhere of joy, or happiness?

Did the Forster family ever exist here in anything akin to peace, before the darkness seeped in and claimed it?

Or has this mansion become a mausoleum only now, only since I came here?

I can practically feel their whispers curling around me, as if Alex and Vincent, and all their faces are hanging up there on all the walls, painted in stark colours, surrounded by fine giltframes, watching my progress as I walk from one wing to the other.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I am the shadow, the ghost flitting through this house.

Right now, in my lucid state I feel like an avenging angel. A creature of wrath. I feel powerful. I feel vengeful. I feel strong.

I don’t know how long this will last, how soon it will be before that awful fog of confusion steals me away again but while it’s here, while I have it, I need to make the most of this. I need to plot, and plan, and do everything necessary to beat my bastard of a husband.

I just need to put on some more appropriate clothing first.

When I get to my room, it feels like this sanctuary will stretch its arms wide and gather me in, heal my wounds. But that peace is shattered as soon as I step inside and my breath hitches.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

My stomach drops.

I freeze as I see Alexander is there in all his wrath.

When did he get back? How the hell did I not spot the chopper?

He lowers his gaze, taking in the t-shirt – Rafe’s t-shirt. I didn’t bother putting his sweatpants back on after we had sex but right now, I’m not sure that helps my cause at all.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He snarls before striding to close the few metres distance between us.

I shriek as he takes a fistful of my hair, using it to throw me across the room and then face first onto the bed. “You dirty fucking whore.” He spits, bringing his hand down on my thighs. “You fucked him, didn’t you? You fucked my piece of shit brother.”

“I didn’t.” I gasp.

My heart races, panic rushing through my veins as I struggle against him, desperate to free myself from his grip.

His hand comes down hard on my exposed thighs and I scream out at the searing pain.

“You filthy little slut.” He spits. “Did you beg him, huh? Did you beg him to make you feel all better after I left?”

“No,” I sob into the mattress. “I didn’t. I didn’t.”

He pulls my head back, yanking it as far back as it will go before my spine snaps and then he shoves me forward, burying my face so deeply into the mattress that I can’t breathe.

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