Page 40 of Deliah
His eyes twitched. “You think you’re better than me now?”
“I know I am.” I grinned, baring my teeth. “I mean, look at you. Same clothes. Same attitude. Same stale lines. Jesus, Jay, do you even hear yourself?”
“You really think that posh twat you’ve got trailing after you is gonna change anything? Make you someone?”
“He doesn’t need to,” I said, eyes narrowing. “Because I already am someone. I was someone when I met you. I just forgot, thanks to your emotionally stunted bullshit.”
He looked ready to explode. “You can’t live without me. You never could. You’ve always come crawling back.”
And that was when I properly cracked. I laughed. Like, full-on belly laughed. Head thrown back, hand to my mouth, choking on my own amusement.
“You genuinely believe that, don’t you?” I said between gasps.
“You’re nothing without me,” he hissed.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I sighed, voice dropping to sugar-sweet venom. “I was nothing because of you.”
People were watching now. The music still played, but the energy had shifted. Cherry caught my eye from across theterrace, frozen mid-laugh, lips forming a silent ‘what the fuck.’ Even the DJ looked uneasy. Like the beat wasn’t the only thing about to drop. Jay stepped in again. Shoulders squared. Jaw tight. And I looked him dead in the face, tilted my head, and smiled.
“Don’t worry, Jay. He might not last. But neither did you. At least he didn’t come with a manual on how to lower my expectations to fucking dirt.”
That did it.
“Fuck. You,” he spat.
“You already did.” I smirked. “And look how that turned out.”
Then I walked. Shoulders back, head high, legs wobbling slightly in my skyscraper wedges—but I didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them whisper. That was the moment I buried it all. Every half-hearted apology. Every fake promise. Every slap disguised as passion. I didn’t even flinch. I was done.
The sun had dipped behind the buildings, casting everything in gold and neon. The strip was glowing, loud with music and the smell of sweat and spirits. I was past tipsy. Past euphoric. I was angry. Drunk. And fully in my unhinged mode. I grabbed Damion’s arm like I owned it. “Let’s go.” He didn’t say a word. Didn’t flinch. He just stood, caught me when I stumbled, and let me drag him away—though, really, he was the one holding me up. I muttered the entire walk home. About Jay. About how he always knew when to show up and ruin things. About how stupidI was to let him. About how nobody ever just stays. About how I must be the problem. My words were slurred, a mess of rage and vulnerability.
“He has the audacity,” I spat, “to look me in the eye like I’m the one that’s insane.”
Damion said nothing. Just kept walking, steady beside me.
“I should’ve known better.”
Still nothing. Not silence like judgement. Silence like safety.
“No one ever chooses me and fucking stays,” I muttered.
I don’t know why I said that. It wasn’t even true. I’m usually the one to leave. But Jay had a way of making me forget who I was—and remember every reason why I wasn’t enough.
“How can I fucking love someone like that?” I ranted. “How does he do it? Get me so fucking angry, every fucking time.”
Damion opened the door to my apartment, and I kicked it shut behind us.
I turned to him. “I deserve better.”
He didn’t answer. But his eyes said yes.
Something inside me snapped. I grabbed him—clumsily, desperately. Hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him towards me. I tried to kiss him. Tried to press him against the wall like maybe, if he touched me, I’d forget Jay. Forget how broken I felt.
“Deliah,” he said, catching my wrists gently. “Stop.”
“Why?” I hissed. “What the fuck are you even doing here? What do you want from me?”
His voice was calm. “You’re drunk. I’m not doing this. Not like this.”
