Page 43 of Deliah
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “What we have… it’s passion. It’s fire. We fight, we fuck, we scream—but that’s us. That’s what makes it real.”
I shook my head. “That’s not what I want. Not anymore.” I paused, then added quietly, “I want the old us back.”
His face softened like I’d touched a nerve. “I want that too,” he said quickly. “I know I’ve fucked up. Over and over. But please, just give me one more chance. I swear to God, Deliah, I’ll never hurt you again.”
I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him more than I wanted to breathe. But deep down, I knew better.
Still, I crumbled.
I didn’t have the heart to argue. Didn’t have the strength to list the lies, the letdowns, the bruises he’d left behind—ones no one could see. I was too tired. Too raw and too desperate for someone to stay.
“Okay,” I whispered.
And then he kissed me. I let him. His lips tasted like nostalgia. Like cigarettes and regret and a hundred promises we’d broken. It wasn’t like before. No fireworks. No flames licking at my skin. Just warmth and familiarity. Safety wrapped in lies I was too fucked to untangle. We didn’t rush. There was no hunger in it. Just this slow, sad echo of what we used to be. I clung to him like a lifeline. Not because I loved him anymore—but because I remembered what love once felt like with him. And sometimes, remembering is easier than being alone. I knew it was wrong. I knew this wasn’t what I wanted, not really. But you do crazythings when you’re lonely. And even crazier things when you’ve convinced yourself it might still be love.
And that was it. We made it to the bedroom without saying much. Just the sound of our breathing and the shuffle of clothes falling to the floor. He kissed me like he was trying to remind me who he used to be, and if he said it enough with his mouth, I’d believe it.
Forget everything else. Forgive everything else. His hands slid over my waist, up under my top—slow, like he thought I might break. But I already had. Long before tonight.
He pulled my dress over my head and let it fall to the floor. Just stood there for a second, staring at me like I was something he’d lost and never thought he’d get back.
“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. I didn’t say anything. I just pulled him closer. Because if I stopped to speak, I’d start crying again. He kissed my neck. My shoulders. His lips were soft and slow like an apology. Maybe he thought that if he were gentle enough, he could take back the past. Like he was scared I’d vanish beneath him if he moved too fast.
Our bodies moved without rhythm at first—just need. Not lust. Not fire. Just aching familiarity. He lay me down, kissed me deeply, fingers brushing the sides of my face like I was made of porcelain. And then he was inside me—slow and warm and overwhelming in the worst, most perfect way.
“I love you,” he whispered into the crook of my neck. “I need you. I’m sorry.”
Every word sank into my skin like poison—and I didn’t just let it. I swallowed it like I needed it.
I held onto him like he was air. Let my legs wrap around his waist. My arms clung to his back. My mouth pressed into his shoulder to muffle the sounds of all the things I wasn’t saying. We moved together like we used to. Like muscle memory. But it didn’t feel the same. It was slower. Sadder. I was pretending it meant something it didn’t anymore.
He looked at me like he still loved me, as if he was trying to remember how we used to fit. But it felt like trying to hold on to a dream that was already fading.
His forehead pressed against mine as he whispered again, “I miss you, baby. I’ve missed you so much.”
I nodded. I didn’t know why. Maybe I missed him too. Or maybe I just missed someone.
When I came, it was quiet. Not explosive. Not wild. Just this soft, aching wave of release. I was exhaling pain, letting go of something I didn’t realise I’d been gripping so tightly. And then he collapsed beside me. Wrapped himself around me like nothing had changed and we were still us. As if the damage was just a dream we’d woken up from.
I let him hold me because it was easier than moving, or speaking, or facing the truth. His fingers traced soft circles on my back, just like they used to when we were happy. When things were good. When I still believed in promises that came at 5 a.m. But now? Now the silence between us felt like a wound that wouldn’t close. And I lay there in the dark, blinking at the ceiling, thinking,Maybe this isn’t love. Maybe it never had been. Maybe it was just a familiar place to hide. A place where I could pretend for a little longer that I wasn’t broken. A place where the past could wrap itself around me and feel warm again—even if it was only for one night.
I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, while he breathed steadily beside me. His arm slung over my waist like I was his. And still, I didn’t move. Because sometimes, even poison tastes like comfort. And I wasn’t ready to be strong again. Not yet.
Chapter 17 –
Haunted by the Living
The days blurred into weeks, and we slipped right back into our old ways like we’d never even tried to escape them. The fights. The fucks. The lies. It was all there—again. Only now, it was darker. The sex was brutal, angry, and possessive. Full of all the things we couldn’t say out loud. He’d take me on the floor, over the bed, bent over the kitchen counter. Sometimes he wouldn’t even bother pulling my clothes off properly—just shoved them aside like he didn’t care who I was, only that I was his, and he was punishing me for staying. And maybe I was punishing myself, too. Because that was the only time I felt anything. He’d hold me down and call it passion. Spit venom into my ear between thrusts, then whisper, “I love you,” like those words made it all okay.
And maybe… maybe I believed it. Because I needed to.
Cherry had been spending most of her time at Tommy’s, only popping by for the occasional lunch or beach day. I’d dodged every question. Brushed things off with fake smiles and too much bronzer. She’d ask how I was, and I’d mumble “fine” and change the subject. I knew what she’d say because I’d already said it to myself. A thousand times. But one morning, I couldn’t pretend anymore. I woke up and felt like I was drowning in my own skin. The sheets still smelled like him. Like us. Like the mistake I kept making over and over. She walked into my room, still in one of Tommy’s hoodies, coffee in hand. Her smile dropped the second she saw my face.
“What’s happened?”
I didn’t even answer. Just burst into tears right there on the bed. My chest caved, and I broke open like it had all been waiting for this one moment to collapse. She rushed over, set the mug down, and pulled me into her arms. Between sobs, I choked it out. “I’m back with Jay.”
She froze. Pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “You’re what?”
