I brought her in here, because, for some absurd reason, I thought she belonged here. It didn’t occur to me that perhaps I shouldn’t have brought her here. Not until this moment, as she stares back at me. Her eyes are filled with a knowing look as she whispers, “Yes, you scare me.”
The confession forces me to turn my back to her, my palms keeping me steady and upright as I flatten them against the top of the dresser. The old wood feels cold beneath my skin, but it holds me up as I let it sink in.
“Christopher,” she calls out and instinctually I condemn the name with a threatening tone as I tell her, “Don’t say that name again.” The murmur awards me a sharp intake from behind me. Yet again, since I’ve taken control, I hate myself.
Loving her has proven that in spades. The more I love her, the more I hate myself. Every event leading up to this moment swarms me. Regret lingers on all of them.
I question everything. Even the moments in the barn, when I let her father live because he truly loved her. How … wrong. How fucked up! Anger simmers along my skin and I rip away the thin T-shirt. My blunt nails drag across the back of my shoulders and up the nape of my neck.
“You scare me, but I love you.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I bite out, leaning forward on the dresser and slowly opening my eyes to see my reflection as I add, “I don’t deserve that.” The moment the statement is spoken, I deny it; I deserve everything she throws at me. I don’t hold any right to anything from her. Certainly not her honesty when I’ve kept so much from her for years. Sorrow and regret chill my skin, to my flesh, down to the marrow of my bones.
She murmurs, “You can love someone while fearing them.”
“No, you can’t.” It hurts to admit that, especially to her. To the only person I know I’ve truly loved since I was a child. Maybe I’m broken inside, so badly broken that I can’t recognize what true love is. I only imagined it.
No, that’s not true. Denying the question in my head, I know damn well I love her. I have loved her for as long as I can remember now. Hanging my head, I mutter, more to myself than to her, “The only fear that’s to be had when you love someone is the fear of losing them.”
I don’t even know she’s heard me until she answers, her voice strong enough to force me to look back at her, “You’re wrong. There are so many different kinds of love.”
“I only know one.” I stare back at her, my gaze lingering on every inch of her skin until I make my way to the pain in her eyes. This is my fault. It’s time that I pay for it.
“I wish I weren’t afraid of you,” she confesses, her voice distorted by raw pain.
“That makes two of us, little mouse.” It takes a deep inhale before I can get the rest out. “I’m sorry I brought you into this.” My voice shakes as I say words that sound like goodbye. My sweet Delilah rages against the cuffs for the first time, the metal clanking against the iron frame as she attempts to pull herself upright, but it’s no use. She’s not getting out of there, not until Walsh comes to get her.
“I never should have come near you.” I utter the confession as Delilah shakes her head, her wild eyes refuting it.
“No,” she exclaims. “Stop talking, stop it!”
“I’ll leave you alone. I won’t hurt you again.” I speak aloud what I know to be right, even as my vision blurs and my chest seems to hollow with agony.
“Marcus, I’ll call you Marcus!” she screams over top of my apology. “Please don’t leave me!” she cries out, fresh tears spilling. “Please, Marcus, please,” she begs me, her body arching in protest.
I am a weak man as my grip tightens on the doorframe, so close to leaving her like I know I should. “Please, Marcus, please! Don’t leave me!
“Walsh will come for you.”
“Please! I want you! Please!”
She wants me. I let the soothing balm of her words calm a piece inside of me that longs for her affection. I know it’s only because of the predicament she’s in. Cuffed to a bed in a broken-down house, all alone and in the dark, she’d seek