Page 42 of Deliah
I couldn’t help but smile. Just a little. “Yeah. I think I fucked it with him.”
“Why d’you think that?”
I sighed, pulling the duvet tighter around me like it could hide me from my own guilt. “Because of everything with Jay yesterday. Because I was drunk and angry and spiralling. Why would Damion want to get dragged into that?”
She looked at me for a beat, serious now. “Don’t be daft, Deliah. You’re just hungover and overthinking it.”
I wanted to believe her. But I couldn’t. The silence Damion left behind was louder than any fight I’d ever had. I forced a smile and pushed myself upright.
“Anyway. Time to get my glad rags on. Club life waits for no one. Fucking great.”
Cherry snorted. “You need concealer and holy water, babe.”
She wandered out, leaving me in the dim quiet again. I sat for a while, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were still raw from crying, skin pale beneath the remnants of makeup I hadn’t bothered to wipe away properly. I didn’t wantto do my hair. Didn’t want to put on lashes or heels or fake a smile for drunk strangers. But I did. I pulled myself together—just enough. Painted the mask back on. Because falling apart in private was fine. But out there, I still had a job to do. Even if the person in the mirror didn’t quite look like me anymore.
It had been over two weeks, and I’d heard nothing from Damion. Not a message. Not a call. Not even a fucking full stop. I kept checking my phone like an idiot. I figured he’d finally seen what a car crash I was and decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. And honestly? I would have done the same. He came into my life like calm after a hurricane, and I hit him with a category five mess. What did I expect? But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less. I cried most nights. Silent, embarrassing tears into my pillow like I was seventeen again. Not because I was heartbroken. No—it hadn’t even got far enough for that. But because, for once, I let someone see behind the curtain… and they left anyway.
Work felt like hell. Every song grated. Every man who tried to touch me made my skin crawl. My body felt like it wasn’t mine anymore—just a costume I had to wear until I could crawl back to bed and fall apart again. And the silence? That was the worst part. It was loud. Echoing. A constant reminder that I’d let something good slip through my fingers.
Then—my phone buzzed. I picked it up, expecting Cherry or another shift reminder. But no.
Jay:Babe, how did we get here? How did we end up in this place? I’m sorry about the other week. Can I come and see you?
I stared at the message like it might catch fire in my hands. What the actual fuck? He had the audacity to waltz back in after everything? After screaming at me in public? After watching me unravel and still doing nothing to help? I wanted to ignore him. Wanted to delete it. Block his number. Burn my phone. Move to a different country.
But I didn’t.
Because the truth was—I was tired. Lonely. Empty in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
Damion was clearly done with me. And even if Jay was poison, he was familiar. And sometimes familiar feels safer than silence. I typed slowly. Hesitated. Deleted. Rewrote. Sent anyway.
Me:I don’t know, Jay. I don’t know how we got here. But I need the old you back.
It was pathetic. I knew that. But still, his reply came fast.
Jay:I miss you, baby. Let me make it up to you. I know I’ve been a prick. Please. Let me explain. Just once.
My heart thudded. Not from love. From fear. From shame. From knowing exactly what this was and still stepping towards it anyway. Every part of me screamed no. But I typed anyway.
Me:Fine. Come over after my shift.
And just like that, I opened the door again, knowing full well he’d probably slam it in my face. But loneliness does strange things to people. And I was no exception.
It was almost 5 a.m. The streets outside were silent, the kind of quiet that only exists in the hours before the sun comes up. I’d finished my shift early. My heels were off before I even got to the front door. My makeup smudged, lashes half-hanging. I looked how I felt—drained. Hollow. Cracked open in places I couldn’t name.
I stood in the kitchen, fingers hovering over my phone. My thumb trembled as I typed.
Me:I’m home now.
Ten minutes later, he was at my door. He walked in like he’d never left. Like everything between us hadn’t been reduced to screaming matches and slammed doors. He didn’t even hesitate. Just wrapped his arms around me like I belonged there and the last week hadn’t happened.
“Come here, you idiot. You know I love you to bits. I’ve missed you.” His voice was soft. Really soft. It made something in me ache.
“What the fuck does that even mean, Jay?” I mumbled against his shoulder.
He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I loved you—I still love you. And I just… I fuck everything up. Everyone who cares about me. I hurt them. I don’t know how to stop.”
I blinked, my heart a warzone of logic and longing. “You hurt me, Jay. Over and over. That’s not love.”
