Page 45 of Deliah

I didn’t wake up until nearly one in the afternoon.

My head throbbed with a deep, dull ache, like a storm rolling behind my eyes.

The room was quiet, dimly lit by the afternoon sun spilling through the curtains.

Everything felt still—too still—except for the steady, warm weight of Damion beside me.

He was still there. Still by my side. He looked exhausted.

Dark shadows sat beneath his eyes, and his jaw was tight with tension.

His knuckles were swollen and bruised, and a purpling mark had bloomed beneath one of his eyes.

He looked like he hadn’t slept. Like he hadn’t moved.

Just waited. Watching. Guarding. Blaming himself.

As soon as my eyes fluttered open, his head turned sharply towards me. Relief washed over his face like a wave. “Hey, baby,” he said softly. “You okay?”

I blinked. Tried to answer. But nothing came out. A second later, I broke. The tears came hot and fast, spilling down my cheeks like they’d been waiting all night. I didn’t even know what I was crying for—shock, pain, humiliation, fear—maybe all of it. Maybe more.

Damion didn’t flinch. He just wrapped his arms around me, pulling me gently into his chest. “Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

I buried my face in his chest and sobbed harder.

“I’m so sorry you got hurt,” he whispered against my hair. “This is my fault. I should’ve protected you.” His voice cracked at the end, low and filled with something heavy. Guilt, maybe. Or grief.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just held onto him like a lifeline while he rocked me gently, pressing slow kisses into my temple as I cried myself back to sleep.

By the time I woke again, the sun had dipped and the room was filled with a soft golden glow.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, not moving, just letting the weight of everything settle over me.

Charlie’s words were still echoing in my head.

Twisting. Repeating. Just another one of his whores. A tear slid down my temple.

Damion noticed I was awake and immediately pulled me closer.

His arm came around my waist, and I let out a quiet whimper as the pain in my head flared.

“Here, take these,” he said gently, reaching for the painkillers he’d already set on the bedside table.

He handed them to me with a glass of water and waited until I’d taken both before setting them down again.

We sat there in silence for a while. Just breathing.

His thumb traced slow, comforting circles on my hip, grounding me in the moment.

Eventually, I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper. “I need a wash.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Okay,” he said, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll run you a bath.”

He disappeared for a few minutes, then returned to help me sit up. He stripped me down gently—like he was forbidden to touch me, careful not to rush or ask questions. He didn’t make me feel weak or helpless. Just held me with a kind of reverence I wasn’t used to.

When we got to the bathroom, the tub was already steaming, soft candlelight flickering from the windowsill.

He stepped in behind me, fully clothed, and lowered me between his legs, my back pressed to his chest. I didn’t speak.

He didn’t ask me to. He picked up the sponge and washed me slowly, carefully, as if each movement was an apology he didn’t know how else to give.

His touch was gentle, soothing. His lips occasionally brushed my shoulder as he whispered, “I’ve got you, baby.

You’re okay now. I won’t let anything happen to you again. ”

But inside, I was still spinning. Numb. Sick with the words Charlie had thrown at me like knives.

Words that dug in deeper the more I tried to forget them.

I stared ahead at the flickering candlelight, my voice trapped somewhere in my throat, wondering if Damion already knew what Charlie had said—and if there was any truth to it.

But for now, I didn’t speak. I just let him hold me in the water. And tried to breathe.

Eventually, I stepped out of the bath, skin wrinkled, eyes stinging from more than just the water.

Damion helped me into a clean oversized t-shirt and joggers, drying me gently with a towel like I might shatter in his hands.

His touch was careful. Too careful. I could barely look at him.

He walked me back into the bedroom, fingers still laced with mine like he was scared to let go.

I paused by the bed, ready to collapse back into it—until I saw it.

A dark stain on the pillow. Blood. My blood.

It stared back at me like a reminder I hadn’t asked for.

A slap of reality across the face. “There’s blood on the pillow,” I said quietly, almost to myself.

Damion stepped forward. “Don’t worry about that, baby. I’ll get some fresh sheets.”

But I couldn’t ignore it. That one patch of red shattered whatever numb calm I’d been clinging to. It was like everything cracked at once—grief, anger, shame, all rushing in, and I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “No, Damion,” I said, backing away. “I’m going to my room.”

He froze. I saw the flicker of fear in his eyes—like he already knew what was coming. “Deliah, no. Where are you going?”

“Just leave me,” I said, voice sharp, shaking. “I need space.”

His brows pulled together, and he stepped towards me. “Deliah, please, just talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”

“I said leave me,” I repeated, softer this time, the edge in my voice dulled by the tears forming in my throat.

He didn’t move, but I didn’t wait for him to. I walked out and across the hallway, head pounding again, body heavy. I shut the door to the guest room behind me and sat on the edge of the bed, and the moment my fingers touched the mattress—I broke.

My whole body gave out, and I collapsed into a heap, sobbing uncontrollably. Chest heaving, heart splintering in real time. I buried my face in my hands and let it all pour out. The pain, the confusion, the doubt. He knocked once, then opened the door. I didn’t look up.

“Deliah,” he said quietly, walking in, “I can’t leave you in here crying like this. Please, talk to me.”

I couldn’t speak. I just sat there in a crumpled mess, trying to remember how to breathe.

“I know you’re hurting,” he said, kneeling in front of me. “I know you’re scared. But shutting me out won’t fix it.”

“I’m tired, Damion,” I whispered. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“I know, baby, but I—”

And then it slipped out. The words I’d been choking on. “He said I was just another one of your whores, Damion.”

He froze.

“He said you’d use me, abuse me… and then throw me out for the next one.”

Damion’s mouth parted slightly. His fists clenched.

“Charlie’s a fucking idiot, Deliah. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

I looked up at him sharply, the tears still falling, rage now boiling under the surface. “Oh yeah? Then who the fuck is Layla?”

The silence was deafening. His face changed—guilt, shock, something dark flickering in his eyes.

I stood up. “Go on, Damion. You wanna talk? Let’s talk. Who the fuck is Layla?”

“Deliah, you’re upset. You hit your head. We don’t need to do this right now—”

“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me,” I snapped, voice cracking from the weight of everything. “Tell me the truth, Damion!”

He stayed silent. Eyes dropping. Breathing shallow. And that was it. That was the moment. That tipping point. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed the jacket hanging from the door hook and stormed out of the room, fury pulsing through my veins.

“Deliah!” he shouted, chasing me down the hallway. “Stop—where are you going?”

“I can’t fucking do this anymore, Damion! I won’t be hurt like this again!”

“Deliah, please!” His footsteps echoed behind mine. “Just stop for one second—let me explain. She wasn’t what he said.”

I flung the front door open and walked down the driveway barefoot, not even noticing the cold.

“Deliah, what are you doing?! It’s the middle of the night! Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,” I snapped, still walking. “Before I get my fucking heart broken again.”

“You don’t mean that,” he said behind me, desperate. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Go find another whore to save, Damion,” I threw over my shoulder.

The words hung in the air like gunfire—loud, final, brutal.

Behind me, the silence shifted. I didn’t have to look to feel it.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t chase me this time.

I could hear his breath catch—just slightly—as if I’d landed the blow straight in his chest. When he finally spoke, his voice was nothing like before. No anger. Just broken glass.

“Don’t say that,” he said quietly. “You know you’re not.”

But I was already walking. And I didn’t stop. Down the hill. Into the dark.

“Deliah,” he called again. “Please stop.”

I ignored him.

“Stop following me, Damion! Just leave me the fuck alone!”

“You hit your head. It’s not safe for you to be out here!”

“I don’t fucking care!” I screamed. “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

And that was when he grabbed me. His arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me off the ground. “Deliah, I can’t let you leave like this.”

“Put me down! Get the fuck off me!” I kicked and screamed, trying to fight my way free.

“You hit your head,” he said, voice tight with panic. “Please, Deliah, let’s just talk about this. Don’t do this—”

“I SAID GET OFF ME!”

And then it hit me. All at once. My body wasn’t listening. My chest caved in. This wasn’t fun anymore. This wasn’t play. This was fear.

“VANILLA!” I screamed, the safe word flying from my lips like a bullet.

He dropped me instantly. Stepped back. Arms in the air, face horrified.

I turned to him, tears streaking down my cheeks, my chest rising and falling violently.

“How fucking could you?” I whispered.