Page 19 of Deliah
Cherry was the best thing that happened to me that season. We were a fucking dream team. From the minute we stepped onto that floor, it was like we’d been dancing together for years. We laughed our way through shift after shift, bouncing off each other like absolute dick heads. The chemistry was effortless. The banter was sharp. And the way we rinsed the blokes—God, it was art. We’d lock eyes over a dance, silently clock who was spending what, and tag-team them without missing a beat.
“Babe, he’s got a Black Amex,” she’d whisper.
“I’m on him like glitter on tits,” I’d reply.
Every night we’d leave making an absolute fortune, and for a little while, it was enough to distract me. But not completely. Jay started pulling away more, and I felt it like a bruise forming under the skin—dull at first, then impossible to ignore. I told myself it was nothing, that we were both working. Late shifts, weird hours, and it was exhaustion. It was bound to be like this. But then the replies got shorter. And colder.
Me:Miss you x
Jay:Miss you too, babe. Just knackered, babe, speak tomorrow xx
Me:Babe, I haven’t seen you in ages.
Jay:I know, babe, work’s mad rn.
Me:Do you still love me?
Jay:Of course I do. Don’t be paranoid x
Every time I wanted to scream, I swallowed it. He said I was overthinking. That he was tired. That I was being dramatic. And for a little while, I believed him. Or at least, I tried to. I’d stare at my phone like it owed me answers. Sometimes I’d scroll through old messages—ones where he’d called me gorgeous, where he said, “I fucking love you, Deliah.” Now I was lucky to get a “wyd” text before midnight. The worst part? When we did see each other, he acted like everything was fine. He told me I was crazy, and he loved me to pieces. But I just had this gut feeling that something was off. I’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, silently stressing while Cherry dozed next to me with her fake lashes still on. She caught on fast.
“You alright, babe?” she asked one night as we sat cross-legged on the floor, eating cereal with whipped cream on the top. What a fucking combo.
“Yeah,” I lied. “Just tired.”
“You’ve been tired for a week and a half.” I looked down at my spoon.
She shifted closer. “Is it Jay?”
I didn’t even answer. Just blinked fast, trying to hold it in.
“Babe…” She sighed. “He loves you. Of course he does. He’s probably just got a lot on.”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, maybe.” But I didn’t believe it. Not really. Because love doesn’t go quiet like that. Doesn’t ignore calls or struggle to text you back. I missed him so much it made me physically ache. I missed the stupid texts. The surprise kebabs and the early mornings he’d wake me up by kissing the back of my neck. I missed how I used to feel around him—alive, wanted, obsessed. Now? I felt invisible.
At work, I wore the smile. I poured the drinks, danced on the pole, teased and flirted, and let men believe they were the centre of the universe for ten minutes at a time. But behind the scenes, I was unravelling. Cherry did everything she could. Dragged me to the beach, made me laugh till I cried, told me I was too fit to be stressing over a man who couldn’t even be arsed to send a heart emoji.
“Honestly, babe, if I had your tits, I’d be ignoring him.”
She meant well. And sometimes, it helped. But the gut feeling stuck. I couldn’t explain it. It was like my body knew before mybrain caught up. Something had changed. And I didn’t know how to fix it. And then I got the news.
It started that morning, like so many others. Me sat outside the café, sunglasses on, head throbbing from last night’s vodka. Cherry was asleep back at the apartment, and I was trying to stomach a lukewarm coffee, hoping the caffeine would cure the ache in my chest. That’s when I saw her—Crystal. She was walking over with this look on her face. That look. The one you wear when you’ve got something heavy to say and you don’t know how to say it. I knew before she even opened her mouth.
“Deliah,” she said gently, sliding into the seat across from me, “I need to tell you something.”
My stomach dropped. The dread hit like a sucker punch.
“I saw Jay last night,” she said. “With some girl.”
I stared at her, deadpan. “Was he fucking her?”
Crystal winced. “I don’t know, babe. But… it didn’t look innocent.”
“Crystal. Was. He. Fucking. Her?”
“I honestly don’t know, babe, but he was definitely kissing her.”
The words landed like a blade. Not a clean slice. But a twist. A slow drive right through my ribs. I didn’t cry. Not yet. I just sat there, frozen, the air thick around me like smoke. My fingers clenched the edge of the table. The coffee went cold. My stomach flipped. My ears rang like someone had smacked the side of my head. It felt like the whole world had slowed down—but inside me, everything sped up. My heart pounded. My throat clenched. There was a noise building in my chest—one I couldn’t let out yet. Crystal was still talking, maybe apologising, maybe sayingsomething gentle—but I didn’t hear it. I stood up slowly. Not shaky. Not dramatic. Just… done. Done hoping. Done doubting myself. Done giving him the benefit of the fucking doubt. I nodded once, more to myself than to her, and walked away without a word. Because I already knew. I’d known for weeks. And now? I was ready to burn it all down. I was done. I wasn’t going to sit there and hope he’d explain it away with a charming grin. I was going to face it head-on. I fucking knew. I fucking knew it. My gut was right this whole time. I texted him, fingers trembling with rage.
