Page 25 of Deliah
“Fucking hell, Deliah,” she said, glancing over with a smirk. “You’re miserable. You’ve barely said two words all day.”
“Shut up, you twat,” I muttered, managing a laugh. But she wasn’t wrong. I felt like I was rotting from the inside out.
“I’m not being funny,” she said, leaning in with a look that meant business, “but he’s barely even messaged you in days. He’s mugging you off, babe.”
I sighed, staring into my wine like it might offer a better explanation. “I know.”
“Like—come on. You let him come back, you let him stash his weed in your fucking wardrobe, and now he’s vanished. Again.”
“I know, Cherry.”
She raised an eyebrow. “So what the fuck are you doing?”
I stared out at the sky. “I don’t know. I just… I love him, don’t I?”
Cherry shook her head. “You know he’s using you, yeah?”
I nodded, throat tight. “Yeah, probably.”
She was quiet for a moment. “So what are you gonna do next time you see him?”
“I’ll tell him I’m done,” I said firmly. “Next time, I swear. It’s over.”
Cherry looked at me for a long second, then softened. “Alright. Well… we will see, but we both know you deserve better.”
That moment, sitting there with her, wine in hand, makeup half smudged from nothing but exhaustion and sadness—I finally felt something click. Fuck it. Fuck him. Fuck everything. What the hell was I doing? I was letting a man who’d ghosted me, lied to me, cheated on me, and dumped his shit in my flat control my mood like I was some broken doll.
I wasn’t broken. I was Deliah fucking Rose.
I stood up, suddenly electric with adrenaline. “I’m going out tonight.”
Cherry blinked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my wine glass and downing the rest. “Fuck Jay. I’m going out, and I’m gonna have a fucking mess of a night.”
Cherry grinned. “That’s my girl. Boiler Boys?”
“Boiler Boys.”
She squealed and launched off the chair, dragging me into the flat. “Right, glam squad time!”
We spent the next hour getting ready like we were going to war. I wore a tight black silk strappy dress that hugged my waist, dipped low in the back, and clung to my tits like it had been painted on. Black sparkly Versace stilettos, a flick of eyeliner sharp enough to cut someone, and glossy lips that looked like trouble.
Cherry wore cherry white, her tits practically bouncing with every step. Her hair was curled to perfection, and her confidence was fucking contagious. An hour or so later, Tommy’s Porsche pulled up like a mafia don had arrived. She slid into the front and kissed him with a cheeky grin. I jumped in the back, heart already racing with anticipation.
“What’s happening, Deliah? You alright, yeah?” Tommy asked, his thick London accent wrapping around the words.
“Better now.” I grinned.
“Good. Let’s go fucking party!”
The music blasted as we cruised into the city, lights blurring past the windows. I’d already had a few drinks getting ready, vodka with orange juice and a splash of rebellion. Now it was starting to hit. And honestly? It felt good. Free. Alive.
The cobbled street shimmered under the streetlamps as we stepped out of the car. The city air felt different—crisper, charged. Cherry clung to Tommy’s arm like they were in their own little bubble, giggling and whispering something in his earwhile I trailed a few steps behind, heels clicking against the stone like a countdown.
My head was clear for once. I wasn’t thinking about Jay. I wasn’t aching. I felt… sharp. Like myself again. Dressed to destroy in a black silk mini dress with barely-there straps and my lips painted a deep, dangerous red, I was a walking warning sign—and I liked it.
Tommy turned back and grinned. “The lads are up here.”
