Page 20 of Deliah
Me:You better fucking come out your apartment. I need to talk to you. Now.
I stormed down the strip, adrenaline firing through my limbs, heart banging in my ears. By the time I reached his building, I was practically vibrating. The lift felt like it took years. Every second stretched out, my brain running a hundred what-ifs a minute.
The doors opened at the top. And there he was. Standing outside his apartment, leaning casually against the wall, like nothing was wrong. Like I wasn’t standing there with a heart full of broken glass.
“What’s up, babe?” he asked, like I’d overreacted about burnt toast.
I stepped out and walked straight up to him. “You fucked someone last night.”
His jaw twitched. Barely. “No, I didn’t.”
“Crystal fucking saw you.”
“I didn’t fuck anyone,” he said, like the words tasted bad in his mouth.
“Don’t lie to me, Jay.”
He rolled his eyes. “I was talking to someone. That’s what I do.”
“Oh, save the bullshit.”
He pushed off the wall, suddenly defensive. “What do you want me to say? I work in a fucking bar. Girls flirt with me. I flirt back.”
I stared at him, trying not to let my face crack. “You told me you fucking loved me.”
“Yeah, well…” He gave a half shrug. “Maybe I did. But you knew what this was.”
I blinked. Hard. My whole chest was buzzing, trying to keep it together. “Are you fucking serious?” I shouted. “After everything?”
He just stood there. Unbothered. Cold.
“You made me think I was fucking different.”
“You’re not,” he snapped. “You’re just another girl who caught feelings.”
That was when I fucking lost it. I got right up in his face.
“You absolute wanker, I fucking hate you. I didn’t even like you, you ugly piece of shit,” I shouted, tears pricking behind my eyes.
He looked at me and slapped me. Not playful. Not like in bed. Real. Sharp. I staggered back, eyes wide, cheek stinging.
“What the fuck?!” I gasped.
He didn’t even blink. “Oh, stop being dramatic, Deliah. I’ve hit you harder in bed.”
My mouth dropped open. I blinked. Once. Twice. The burn on my cheek hadn’t even fully registered yet. “You fucking prick,” I whispered.
I didn’t wait. I turned, pushed open the stairwell door, and bolted. I couldn’t wait for the lift, couldn’t be in that space with him for one more second. My whole body was trembling. My heart was collapsing in on itself. Then I ran. Down the stairs, flight after flight, feet slamming against the concrete stairs. I nearly tripped twice, didn’t care. Just needed to move. Needed to get away from him, from that apartment, from everything.
By the time I hit the street, I was breathless and soaked in tears—but I didn’t stop. I ran all the way back to the apartment, pushing through tourists, stopping for nothing. And finally, when I got back, I slammed the door behind me and locked myself in the bathroom. Then I broke. I fell to the floor like my legs had given up, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe. My chest heaved. My stomach twisted. I cried like I hadn’t cried in years. Loud. Ugly. Messy.
Everything came out at once. All the nights I’d waited for his text. All the times I told myself I was overthinking. All the little moments where I thought he loved me. Gone. He didn’t love me, didn’t even respect me. He’d slapped me and smirked, like I was a joke—a game. Something to win and discard. And the worst part? I’d loved him. Deeply. Recklessly. Honestly. Now? Now I was just a girl on a cold tile floor, holding her cheek, trying to remember how to breathe. I was broken, completely fucking broken.
Chapter 10 –
What the Fuck Is Wrong with Me
The next few weeks were brutal. Like can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t sleep kind of brutal. I was so heartbroken—fully, stupidly, heartbreakingly broken. And the worst part? I still wanted him. Even after everything, the lies, the slap, the fucking humiliation. My body still ached for his. My mind still reached for him in the dark. I was furious at him. But I was even more furious at myself. He’d made me feel like I was his person, like I was something special. Like I wasn’t just a stripper in a foreign country trying to make fast money and forget old wounds. He made me feel like a person again—and then he shattered me like a glass. And even after all that, I just wanted to fuck him.
