Page 27 of Deliah

T he days blurred into weeks, and we slipped right back into our old ways like we’d never even tried to escape them.

The fights. The fucks. The lies. It was all there—again.

Only now, it was darker. The sex was brutal, angry, and possessive.

Full of all the things we couldn’t say out loud.

He’d take me on the floor, over the bed, bent over the kitchen counter.

Sometimes he wouldn’t even bother pulling my clothes off properly—just shoved them aside like he didn’t care who I was, only that I was his, and he was punishing me for staying.

And maybe I was punishing myself, too. Because that was the only time I felt anything.

He’d hold me down and call it passion. Spit venom into my ear between thrusts, then whisper, “I love you,” like those words made it all okay.

And maybe… maybe I believed it. Because I needed to.

Cherry had been spending most of her time at Tommy’s, only popping by for the occasional lunch or beach day.

I’d dodged every question. Brushed things off with fake smiles and too much bronzer.

She’d ask how I was, and I’d mumble “fine” and change the subject.

I knew what she’d say because I’d already said it to myself.

A thousand times. But one morning, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I woke up and felt like I was drowning in my own skin.

The sheets still smelled like him. Like us.

Like the mistake I kept making over and over.

She walked into my room, still in one of Tommy’s hoodies, coffee in hand.

Her smile dropped the second she saw my face.

“What’s happened?”

I didn’t even answer. Just burst into tears right there on the bed. My chest caved, and I broke open like it had all been waiting for this one moment to collapse. She rushed over, set the mug down, and pulled me into her arms. Between sobs, I choked it out. “I’m back with Jay.”

She froze. Pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. “You’re what?”

I nodded, shame washing over me. “I’m back with him. He’s been coming over for weeks.”

Her face twisted, a mix of anger and heartbreak. “Deliah… what the fuck are you doing?”

I covered my face with both hands. “I don’t know—I don’t know. I still love him. But I don’t want to love him anymore, Cherry. I promise you I don’t fucking want to.”

She let out a breath and wrapped her arms around me tighter. “Oh, babe…”

“I don’t want to hurt anymore,” I whispered, voice cracking.

She stroked my hair gently. “I know. I know that feeling. Like it’s got you by the throat, and no matter how much you scream, no one hears it.”

“I can’t let him go. I’ve tried. I’ve really tried.” I looked up at her, mascara smudged, chest still heaving. “I’m fucked, Cherry. I really am.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just held me like she wanted to squeeze the pain out of my body and carry it for me. “You’re not fucked,” she finally said softly. “You’re in love with someone who’s killing you.”

Her words hit me like a slap, but not a cruel one. A necessary one.

“One day,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from my face, “you’ll realise you don’t deserve this kind of love. That it’s not even love at all. Just an addiction dressed up as comfort.”

I rested my head on her shoulder, the fight in me gone. “I want to be free of him,” I whispered. “But when he touches me, I forget everything.”

Cherry exhaled, long and low. “That’s how they get you. With the highs. The flashbacks. The what-ifs. But you deserve better than this pain.”

“I just wish I knew how to start again.”

She kissed the top of my head. “You don’t have to start again today. Just… start with not going back.”

And for the first time in weeks, I let myself hope that maybe—just maybe—I could.

That night, after my shift at the club, I gathered every last thing Jay had ever left at my apartment—his t-shirts, his toothbrush, that stupid hoodie I used to sleep in, even his half-empty bottle of cologne.

I threw it all into a plastic bag and left it by the door.

I’d made up my mind. I was done. Done with the whiplash of being wanted and discarded.

Done with the way he crawled back into my bed and body like nothing had happened.

Done with bleeding out slowly while he played house whenever it suited him.

He knocked like he always did. Two soft taps, then one loud. I opened the door. He stepped inside like he owned the fucking place.

“What’s the matter, babe?” he asked, all calm and charm, flashing that fake soft smile like he hadn’t wrecked me five times already.

I didn’t smile back.

“I’m done,” I said, voice clipped. “This? You? Us? I’m out.”

He blinked, clueless. “Wait—what?”

I nodded to the bag by the door. “Take your shit. Leave.”

He stared at it. Then laughed. Laughed . “You’re not serious.”

“I am. I’m fucking done, Jay.”

“You always say that when you’re tired or hormonal.”

That was it.

“Are you… fucking joking?” I snapped, stepping towards him. “Don’t you dare reduce this to hormones. I am DONE. Not moody. Not emotional. DONE.”

He raised his hands. “Okay, okay, relax—”

“Relax? You want me to relax?” I exploded, voice breaking with rage.

“Do you know what it’s like? Sitting by the phone like a twat while you disappear for days?

Pretending it’s fine when you crawl back in like nothing happened?

Smiling through it like I don’t fucking feel it in my bones every time you leave me? !”

“Deliah, come on—”

“NO!” I screamed. “You don’t get to ‘come on, babe’ me. You’ve been toying with me for months, Jay. Fucking months. You come and go, hot and cold, like I’m a tap you get to turn on when you’re bored.”

He flinched. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” I shouted, pacing now, hands flying. “Then what is it, Jay? Enlighten me! Because I’m either everything to you or I’m nothing, and it changes depending on whether or not you’ve had a wank and a beer!”

“That’s not true.”

“I was loyal to you, you selfish, manipulative little prick! I made excuses for you when you vanished. I swallowed my pride and my fucking worth for you! And for what? So you can act like I’m insane for having feelings?!”

He was quiet now. Jaw clenched.

“Say something!” I yelled, choking on my breath. “Go on, fucking gaslight me again! Tell me I’m dramatic. Tell me I’m imagining it. Go on!”

“Jesus, Deliah, you’re losing it—”

“I already lost it! I lost it every time you walked in here and made me feel like I was finally enough, only to vanish the second I needed more than your dick and your excuses!”

“You know I love you,” he said quietly.

“NO. YOU. DON’T,” I shouted, stabbing the air with every word. “You love control. You love knowing you can fuck me and I’ll still make you coffee in the morning. That’s not love, Jay.”

“You’re being a bitch now.”

“GOOD,” I screamed. “I am a bitch. A bitch who’s finally had enough of being used like a fucking idiot with a heartbeat.”

His mouth twitched. “You’re pushing me.”

“Get out!” I shrieked, shoving him in the chest. “Get the fuck out, Jay! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want your apologies. I don’t want your fake promises. Just. Fucking. GO.”

He didn’t move.

I shoved him again, harder this time. “LEAVE. I don’t want you. I don’t need you. You don’t get to treat me like shit and expect me to open my legs and forgive you!”

His hands shot out. Grabbed my wrists. Spun me around and slammed me against the wall.

My breath caught. His chest was flush against mine, eyes blazing, hands pinning mine above my head.

“You done now?” he said, voice low, shaking. “You done screaming? Or are you finally ready to admit you still want me?”

“Let me go,” I spat, voice trembling with fury and something else I hated to name.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you don’t want me. Say you don’t love me. Look me in the eye and say it.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came.

“You can’t,” he growled. “You don’t want me to leave. Because you still fucking love me.”

“No,” I whispered, even as my thighs squeezed together. “I hate you.”

“You hate how much you want me,” he said, pressing his forehead to mine. “You hate that no one gets you like I do.”

I was shaking now. Crying. Fury and ache colliding in my veins. His mouth crushed mine. And I kissed him back like I was trying to erase myself. Fighting. Clawing. Biting his lip. Hating every second I needed. He grabbed my thighs, lifting me, slamming me back against the wall with a groan.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

I didn’t. I couldn’t. We fucked like enemies who didn’t know how to surrender; maybe, if we tore into each other hard enough, something might finally make sense. And after? I felt sick.

The next day, I told myself it was closure.

A last goodbye. But when he showed up again that night with Chinese food and that stupid smile…

I let him in. And then I let him stay. I hate even writing that—it makes me feel pathetic.

But he’d twisted something in me, carved out my common sense, and replaced it with need.

By then, I didn’t know who I was without him.