Page 59

Marcellus’ answer was his palm clapping the side of her face.

On impact, Delilah’s knees buckled, but she recovered right before she hit the ground, standing and facing the man twice her size.

“You always do this.”

It’s the first time I hear a crack in her voice and a matching one forms in my heart at the rehearsed way she holds herself together. I can tell from the set of her shoulders and the fists balled at her side that she’s done this before.

She’s used to the abuse.

That’s as far as I make it. Six minutes into the August footage and I tap out like a bitch.

I wasn’t breathing the whole time I watched it. My nose burns and saliva pools in my mouth as a sick feeling invades my gut.

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

Ignoring the bottle I left uncapped, I snatch open my desk drawer and shove a handful of mints in my mouth.

More than anything, I need the bitter taste of bile out of my mouth. I need to focus on something else. Anything else.

Leaving my office, my fingers find the buttons at my wrist and work until my sleeves are folded up to my elbows.

Without thinking, I walk until I’m standing outside of a room I haven’t entered in months.

The door opens with a creak and seconds later, I drag the bench against the floor, creating enough space for me to sit.

Muscle memory has my feet poised above the pedals and my fingers caressing the keys before I can stop myself.

Every note that fills the room works to subdue the rage trying to consume me.

It’s working. It must be. Because the music chases away the heat scorching my skin until I feel normal again.

And when I finally take a break, my heart is beating like I just finished a marathon. The mints are burning the inside of my cheek, only halfway dissolved because my jaw is clamped so tight they’re tucked into a pocket between my molars instead of resting on my tongue.

My shower is calling my name. That’s what I need, to wash this day away and act like this shit never?—

“Can I come in?”

It’s the quietest I’ve ever heard her speak, yet it registers in my mind as if she shouted the question.

Not looking up, I clear my throat. “What time is it?”

“Two a.m.”

Shit.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Yes, but it’s okay.”

A light sniffle has my head snapping in her direction, taking in her messy hair and the blue pajama top hanging off her shoulders. Her face is the last place I allow my eyes to land and the pink staining her cheeks makes me seek out her eyes to see if they’re rimmed in the same color. Her glasses shield the answer from me.

“What’s wrong, menace?”

“Nothing.”Lie. “Can I come in?”