“Please,” I beg him. And that single word is his undoing.
“Not here,” he says as he lifts me into his arms and I cling to his broad frame while he takes me to his bed.
When he’s done with me, after fucking me until I scream his name and forcing my release from me, I thought he’d done exactly what I’d asked: to fuck me to sleep and make me forget it all. I thought he had, but he didn’t. Sleep eludes me and all I can see are the palest of blue eyes watching me from a memory in the dark night, judging and waiting.
Cody’s eyes close faster than mine and even though my lungs beg me to breathe in time with him, the sound of his inhales and exhales so soothing, I can’t fall asleep.
I can still feel him inside of me as I slip out of his bed. Leaving the warm sheets behind, I let out a small hum of satisfaction at the hint of pain and pleasure that lingers.
I’m quiet as I slip out, gathering a chair from the dining room and bringing it to the hall closet so I can have just one more look. Sitting cross-legged in the early morning on a hallway floor, plagued by insomnia, digging through a box of a lover’s darkest moments … that’s certainly not anything I ever thought I’d be striving toward. Yet here I am, obsessing over doing exactly that.
As I reach up to the box, my shirt lifting, I’m only vaguely aware of the floor creaking behind me. With my mind focused on the little boy in the photo labeled with the names of two brothers with their uncle, and what exactly each of those papers tells me about him and maybe little hints of what made Cody the man he is, it doesn’t register.
My subconscious is aware that someone is behind me, but my desire for the truth is greedy and requires answers.
“Those aren’t yours.” The single sentence is chilling. With my heart slamming into my throat, I whip around to face Cody, nearly falling off the chair. Caught red-handed.
What makes matters worse are that his eyes look how mine feel. Exhausted and spent. The remainder of his expression, though, is hard and lacking forgiveness.
Swallowing thickly, I tell him, “I’m sorry.”
“I mean it, Delilah.” Cody’s pale blue eyes hold a warning as he adds, “Everyone has their boundaries.”
Marcus
The majority of people in Delilah’s hometown, a staggering ninety-two percent, are born in the hospital that’s thirty miles from her home. It’s where she was born and her sister too. We’re far away at the moment, but I think of that hospital oh so often.
Nostalgia, perhaps.
When I looked up her birth records years ago, I noted her mother was also born in that hospital, delivered by the same doctor. A woman named Meredith was proud to be the lucky doctor who brought them both into the world. Isn’t it a beautiful thing, bringing a new, innocent life into this chaos?
Staring at the monitors while Delilah stares at Cody, I think back on those days, the earliest ones of my life. There’s not much before the barn that I remember. Only the immediate events leading to it. I consider those events my conception. After all, had they never happened, I wouldn’t be who I am.
She was born in the hospital and I was born in that barn.
“I appreciate it, Cody, really I do … but I can’t stay here.” With her arms crossed, Mr. Walsh should know he’s not winning this one. It’s his controlling nature, his arrogance even, in thinking his home is better suited than Delilah’s.
Turning my head to face the window, I can make out their silhouettes through the curtains. From my vantage point, and given their positions, it’s easy to tell they’re having a heated argument. Having the monitors, though, is far more helpful. I should feel guilty that a system I put in place years ago is now being exploited. I should feel many things … and I am, just not the correct emotions.
My phone buzzes with a message, but it’s not one from either of them and I’m far too interested in this development.
Their argument is unfortunate. Not because I wish them pleasantness, or because either of the two are making a better case than the other. It’s unfortunate simply because the raised voices and harsh tones are so very reminiscent of a lovers’ quarrel.