Page 25 of Deliah

Silence dropped like a stone. And then Damion moved. Not fast. Not loud. Just... there. Closer. Taller. Solid. A stillness that meant something was about to snap.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk to her like that.”

His voice wasn’t raised. But it cut through the room like a knife. Low. Even. Steady. The kind of voice that made bones remember how easily they could break.

Jay scoffed. “Oh, what, you her new saviour now?”

“No,” Damion said, eyes locked on his. “I just don’t like disrespect. Especially not in her own home.”

Jay laughed. Dry. Nasty. “Fuck off, mate. This has got nothing to do with you.”

That was the final snap. “Just take your shit and get the fuck out of my apartment!” I shouted, voice breaking.

Jay turned on me. Stepped forward. I saw it before he moved—his jaw set, his fingers twitching. I knew that look. He raised his hand. But he never reached me. Because Damion was there. In one sharp motion, he grabbed Jay’s wrist mid-air and twisted it just enough to make the message clear.

“Try that again. Try and put your hands on her,” Damion said, his voice dropping into something lethal. “Go on, do it, and I’ll make sure you leave here in a body bag.”

The room went still. I could barely breathe. Jay yanked his arm back and looked at both of us—eyes flicking between Damion and me, down to the floor, back up again. He was calculating. Weighing up his chances. And he wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d lost this one.

“She’ll see through you eventually,” he muttered to Damion, venom in every syllable. “You’re not special. You’re just new.”

Damion didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. Jay turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him like a child who hadn’t gotten his way. I stood there, chest heaving. I grabbed the stash from the cupboard, stormed to the hallway, flung the door open, and hurled it at him.

“Here’s your fucking weed!” I shouted.

He caught it clumsily, stumbled, then disappeared down the corridor. I slammed the door so hard the apartment shook. Frames rattled. Something fell off a shelf. And then—silence. Just the sound of my breathing. Fast. Uneven. Damion still hadn’t moved.

I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. The whole apartment was silent now—except for the hum of the fridge and the sound of my pulse still thrumming in my ears. Damion turned to me slowly, voice softer now but still simmering beneath the calm. “He show up like that often?”

I shook my head, eyes fixed on the floor. “No. Just when he wants something.”

He nodded once. Didn’t press. Didn’t ask the hundred questions I knew were simmering behind those sharp eyes.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Was I okay? I was. I wasn’t. I didn’t know. So I said the easiest thing. “Yeah.”

I turned and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and twisting the cap with hands that were still shaking.

I hated how obvious it was and how exposed I felt even now that the storm had passed.

Damion didn’t move. Didn’t fill the space with noise or pity.

He just watched. Waited. That quiet presence of his?

It was louder than anything Jay had screamed.

I leaned back against the counter, the cool bottle pressed to my cheek. My skin was flushed, my heart still thrumming somewhere near my collarbone. I took a long sip and tried to get a grip. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” I said finally.

He walked over then. Not fast. Not intense.

Just… sure. He stood in front of me, close enough to feel the heat between us but not so close that I felt trapped.

One of his hands reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed a piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear like I might break if he moved too fast. “You don’t need to apologise for someone else’s bad behaviour. ”

I looked up at him. “You handled that like I’m not a walking disaster.”

He gave me the faintest smile. “You’re not. You’re just someone who’s had to be your own armour for too long.”

That almost undid me. The lump in my throat swelled fast and sharp. I pulled myself together and told him, “Let’s get out of here.”

The walk down to the beach club was… quiet.

Understandably. Damion stayed calm as ever—shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable—but I knew he’d seen more than I wanted him to.

And I knew he was watching me now, reading every tiny shift in my mood as if I were a book he didn’t want to close too soon.

I, on the other hand, was trying to act like I hadn’t just thrown weed at my ex and slammed the door hard enough to shake the foundations of my self-esteem.

My skin still buzzed from the adrenaline.

My jaw ached from clenching. I just needed a drink.

As soon as we arrived, Damion peeled off to the bar with a quiet, “I’ll get us something,” and disappeared through the sun-kissed crowd. I spotted Cherry straight away—already halfway through a cocktail, in a barely-there bikini and Tommy’s sunglasses. I ran over like my life depended on it.

“Fucking hell, babe, guess who turned up at ours while Damion was there?”

She blinked, sensing the frenzy in my voice immediately. “Don’t tell me—Jay?”

“Only fucking Jay. Coming to grab his weed.”

“For fuck’s sake, babe. What did he say?”

“What didn’t he say? He went mental, and Damion nearly killed him in the middle of the kitchen.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re fucking joking?”

“Do I look like I’m in a joking mood?” I said, eyes wide. “It was a fucking nightmare, Cherry.”

She took a long sip of her drink and grinned.

“No shit. Two men fighting over you? Babe, I’d be soaked.”

“Shut up, you dickhead.”

She laughed. “Anyway, fuck Jay. He’s a prick. Let’s get smashed.”

And that’s exactly what we did.

Within an hour, I was so drunk I’d forgotten what happened—loud, laughing, dancing barefoot in the sand, bouncing between the girls, sunglasses crooked on my nose.

That kind of reckless sunshine joy you only get from bad decisions and cheap prosecco.

Damion sat nearby, sipping his drink and watching me with a calm that grounded me.

He didn’t hover or interfere. Just… existed beside the madness.

Like he belonged there, even if he clearly didn’t.

Eventually, Tommy pulled him into conversation, and before long, the two of them were laughing together, relaxed, like this wasn’t their first rodeo.

Tommy, of course, kept the champagne flowing—then the shots started. And then more shots.

Before I knew it, I wasn’t just drunk—I was fucking wrecked.

All of us were. Dancing. Screeching. Causing our usual brand of chaos that had tourists filming us and locals pretending not to know us.

But Cherry? Cherry was on a different level.

She was paralytic. All over Tommy like glitter on a hen party invite.

Full PDA. No shame. Tongue down his throat, straddling him on a sunbed, forgetting we were in public, surrounded by every worker and promoter on the strip.

Discreet? Absolutely not. Getting sacked tomorrow?

Most likely. But did she care? Not a chance.

And honestly? I didn’t have a single ounce of energy left to stop her.

Somewhere between smashed and euphoric, I made my way to the bar—sweaty, smiling, skin tingling with booze and bass.

I just wanted another drink. Something stupid.

Something fizzy and cold that would carry me through the next few hours of sun-drenched drama.

But then I saw him. Jay. Leaning against the bar like some washed-up villain from a low-budget crime film.

Arms folded, eyes narrow, t-shirt clinging to him like he’d picked it a size too small on purpose. He clocked me instantly.

And of course, he stormed over like he had the right.

“What the fuck was that earlier, Deliah?” he snapped, voice slicing through the music. “You fucking him now?”

I blinked, slow and deliberate. “What, you jealous?”

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“And I answered it,” I said coolly. “I’ll fuck who I want, Jay. You don’t own me. You never did. But I get it. Must sting, watching me glow up without your hand around my throat.”

He stepped closer, breathing heavy now. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

I let out a laugh—light, loud, mocking. “Oh, come on, that’s your opener?” I clutched my chest theatrically. “What happened to the smooth talker I once made the mistake of fucking?”

His eyes twitched. “You think you’re better than me now?”

“I know I am.” I grinned, baring my teeth. “I mean, look at you. Same clothes. Same attitude. Same stale lines. Jesus, Jay, do you even hear yourself?”

“You really think that posh twat you’ve got trailing after you is gonna change anything? Make you someone?”

“He doesn’t need to,” I said, eyes narrowing. “Because I already am someone. I was someone when I met you. I just forgot, thanks to your emotionally stunted bullshit.”

He looked ready to explode. “You can’t live without me. You never could. You’ve always come crawling back.”

And that was when I properly cracked. I laughed. Like, full-on belly laughed. Head thrown back, hand to my mouth, choking on my own amusement.

“You genuinely believe that, don’t you?” I said between gasps.

“You’re nothing without me,” he hissed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” I sighed, voice dropping to sugar-sweet venom. “I was nothing because of you.”

People were watching now. The music still played, but the energy had shifted.

Cherry caught my eye from across the terrace, frozen mid-laugh, lips forming a silent ‘what the fuck.’ Even the DJ looked uneasy.

Like the beat wasn’t the only thing about to drop.

Jay stepped in again. Shoulders squared.

Jaw tight. And I looked him dead in the face, tilted my head, and smiled.

“Don’t worry, Jay. He might not last. But neither did you. At least he didn’t come with a manual on how to lower my expectations to fucking dirt.”

That did it.

“Fuck. You,” he spat.

“You already did.” I smirked. “And look how that turned out.”

Then I walked. Shoulders back, head high, legs wobbling slightly in my skyscraper wedges—but I didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them whisper. That was the moment I buried it all. Every half-hearted apology. Every fake promise. Every slap disguised as passion. I didn’t even flinch. I was done.

The sun had dipped behind the buildings, casting everything in gold and neon.

The strip was glowing, loud with music and the smell of sweat and spirits.

I was past tipsy. Past euphoric. I was angry.

Drunk. And fully in my unhinged mode. I grabbed Damion’s arm like I owned it.

“Let’s go.” He didn’t say a word. Didn’t flinch.

He just stood, caught me when I stumbled, and let me drag him away—though, really, he was the one holding me up.

I muttered the entire walk home. About Jay.

About how he always knew when to show up and ruin things.

About how stupid I was to let him. About how nobody ever just stays.

About how I must be the problem. My words were slurred, a mess of rage and vulnerability.

“He has the audacity,” I spat, “to look me in the eye like I’m the one that’s insane.”

Damion said nothing. Just kept walking, steady beside me.

“I should’ve known better.”

Still nothing. Not silence like judgement. Silence like safety.

“No one ever chooses me and fucking stays,” I muttered.

I don’t know why I said that. It wasn’t even true. I’m usually the one to leave. But Jay had a way of making me forget who I was—and remember every reason why I wasn’t enough.

“How can I fucking love someone like that?” I ranted. “How does he do it? Get me so fucking angry, every fucking time.”

Damion opened the door to my apartment, and I kicked it shut behind us.

I turned to him. “I deserve better.”

He didn’t answer. But his eyes said yes.

Something inside me snapped. I grabbed him—clumsily, desperately. Hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him towards me. I tried to kiss him. Tried to press him against the wall like maybe, if he touched me, I’d forget Jay. Forget how broken I felt.

“Deliah,” he said, catching my wrists gently. “Stop.”

“Why?” I hissed. “What the fuck are you even doing here? What do you want from me?”

His voice was calm. “You’re drunk. I’m not doing this. Not like this.”

“Not like what?” I snapped. “Oh, I get it. You think you know me now, huh? Prince fucking Charming. You think you know exactly what I need?”

He didn’t respond.

“YOU DON’T KNOW ME,” I screamed, suddenly shaking. “YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT I WANT.”

Then he moved.

Not away.

Towards me.

He wrapped his arms around me. Fast. Firm.

Gentle. And everything inside me shattered.

I sobbed. Loud, ugly sobs that sounded like they’d been waiting in my lungs for months.

All the pain. The heartbreak. The shame.

The guilt. The ache of being too much and never enough.

I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe, and when my knees buckled, he held me tighter.

He didn’t say a word. No platitudes. No promises.

Just silence. And arms strong enough to carry my wildness.

At some point, I must’ve passed out—exhaustion hitting like a freight train.

I don’t remember when. Just that the world blurred, and I felt weightless.

He carried me to bed. Tucked me in like I was something precious.

Sat beside me for a moment, fingertips brushing hair from my face.

And then, somewhere between sleep and survival, I heard him whisper it.

“You deserve so much more, Deliah…”

A pause. A breath.

“…but you’re not ready yet.”

By the time I opened my eyes, he was gone.