Page 15 of Deliah

It started that morning, like so many others.

Me sat outside the café, sunglasses on, head throbbing from last night’s vodka.

Cherry was asleep back at the apartment, and I was trying to stomach a lukewarm coffee, hoping the caffeine would cure the ache in my chest. That’s when I saw her—Crystal.

She was walking over with this look on her face.

That look. The one you wear when you’ve got something heavy to say and you don’t know how to say it.

I knew before she even opened her mouth.

“Deliah,” she said gently, sliding into the seat across from me, “I need to tell you something.”

My stomach dropped. The dread hit like a sucker punch.

“I saw Jay last night,” she said. “With some girl.”

I stared at her, deadpan. “Was he fucking her?”

Crystal winced. “I don’t know, babe. But… it didn’t look innocent.”

“Crystal. Was. He. Fucking. Her?”

“I honestly don’t know, babe, but he was definitely kissing her.”

The words landed like a blade. Not a clean slice.

But a twist. A slow drive right through my ribs.

I didn’t cry. Not yet. I just sat there, frozen, the air thick around me like smoke.

My fingers clenched the edge of the table.

The coffee went cold. My stomach flipped.

My ears rang like someone had smacked the side of my head.

It felt like the whole world had slowed down—but inside me, everything sped up.

My heart pounded. My throat clenched. There was a noise building in my chest—one I couldn’t let out yet.

Crystal was still talking, maybe apologising, maybe saying something gentle—but I didn’t hear it.

I stood up slowly. Not shaky. Not dramatic.

Just… done. Done hoping. Done doubting myself.

Done giving him the benefit of the fucking doubt.

I nodded once, more to myself than to her, and walked away without a word.

Because I already knew. I’d known for weeks.

And now? I was ready to burn it all down.

I was done. I wasn’t going to sit there and hope he’d explain it away with a charming grin.

I was going to face it head-on. I fucking knew.

I fucking knew it. My gut was right this whole time.

I texted him, fingers trembling with rage.

Me: You better fucking come out your apartment. I need to talk to you. Now.

I stormed down the strip, adrenaline firing through my limbs, heart banging in my ears. By the time I reached his building, I was practically vibrating. The lift felt like it took years. Every second stretched out, my brain running a hundred what-ifs a minute.

The doors opened at the top. And there he was. Standing outside his apartment, leaning casually against the wall, like nothing was wrong. Like I wasn’t standing there with a heart full of broken glass.

“What’s up, babe?” he asked, like I’d overreacted about burnt toast.

I stepped out and walked straight up to him. “You fucked someone last night.”

His jaw twitched. Barely. “No, I didn’t.”

“Crystal fucking saw you.”

“I didn’t fuck anyone,” he said, like the words tasted bad in his mouth.

“Don’t lie to me, Jay.”

He rolled his eyes. “I was talking to someone. That’s what I do.”

“Oh, save the bullshit.”

He pushed off the wall, suddenly defensive. “What do you want me to say? I work in a fucking bar. Girls flirt with me. I flirt back.”

I stared at him, trying not to let my face crack. “You told me you fucking loved me.”

“Yeah, well…” He gave a half shrug. “Maybe I did. But you knew what this was.”

I blinked. Hard. My whole chest was buzzing, trying to keep it together. “Are you fucking serious?” I shouted. “After everything?”

He just stood there. Unbothered. Cold.

“You made me think I was fucking different.”

“You’re not,” he snapped. “You’re just another girl who caught feelings.”

That was when I fucking lost it. I got right up in his face.

“You absolute wanker, I fucking hate you. I didn’t even like you, you ugly piece of shit,” I shouted, tears pricking behind my eyes.

He looked at me and slapped me. Not playful. Not like in bed. Real. Sharp. I staggered back, eyes wide, cheek stinging.

“What the fuck?!” I gasped.

He didn’t even blink. “Oh, stop being dramatic, Deliah. I’ve hit you harder in bed.”

My mouth dropped open. I blinked. Once. Twice. The burn on my cheek hadn’t even fully registered yet. “You fucking prick,” I whispered.

I didn’t wait. I turned, pushed open the stairwell door, and bolted.

I couldn’t wait for the lift, couldn’t be in that space with him for one more second.

My whole body was trembling. My heart was collapsing in on itself.

Then I ran. Down the stairs, flight after flight, feet slamming against the concrete stairs.

I nearly tripped twice, didn’t care. Just needed to move.

Needed to get away from him, from that apartment, from everything.

By the time I hit the street, I was breathless and soaked in tears—but I didn’t stop.

I ran all the way back to the apartment, pushing through tourists, stopping for nothing.

And finally, when I got back, I slammed the door behind me and locked myself in the bathroom.

Then I broke. I fell to the floor like my legs had given up, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe.

My chest heaved. My stomach twisted. I cried like I hadn’t cried in years. Loud. Ugly. Messy.

Everything came out at once. All the nights I’d waited for his text.

All the times I told myself I was overthinking.

All the little moments where I thought he loved me.

Gone. He didn’t love me, didn’t even respect me.

He’d slapped me and smirked, like I was a joke—a game.

Something to win and discard. And the worst part?

I’d loved him. Deeply. Recklessly. Honestly.

Now? Now I was just a girl on a cold tile floor, holding her cheek, trying to remember how to breathe.

I was broken, completely fucking broken.