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15

DELILAH

W armth wraps around my wrists as I scream. The sound isn’t stuck in my mind. It’s real and hurts my ears. There’s no pain associated with the hold. It’s gentle and caring as a soft voice calls out to me.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s just a dream, baby.” A sob cracks my chest as I’m held against a hard body and Asher continues speaking softly. “You’re okay. I’m here, no one will hurt you.”

Gently swaying side to side, he kisses my crown and waits for me to open my eyes. Everything mixes together and I remember the freak was here. I push deeper into Asher’s chest, knowing his promises are lies.

“I’m here, Lilo, it’s okay.”

He was lying beside me, and it didn’t stop anything. As sick as it is, I have proof and quickly turn my head to grab the pillow. No feathers fall out as I lift it and I freeze. Each fiber of the material is still held together. There should be a cut in it. Any mark, even a tear. But there’s nothing. Not even a stray feather on the floor.

Kicking the sheets off my legs, I stare unblinking at the socks. Socks that don’t belong to me. They have frills on the edges and a diamond pattern weaved into them down to the toes.

The panties are mine. But I wasn’t wearing them.

I continue looking at my own body until I reach my covered chest. I’m dressed in a tank top, panties, and those frilly fucking socks. I was naked.

Moving my eyes back down the length of my body, I talk to myself. “I went to sleep naked.”

Asher hugs me closer and kisses my head again. It takes longer for him to speak as his arms tighten around me. “You got dressed in the middle of the night. You said you were feeling cold.”

He strokes down my arm and pauses again. Each repetition of his hand comforts me while my mind breaks. Everything hurts, inside and out. My muscles are sore and there’s an ache forming deep within my skull.

It turns to guilt as he asks, “Did something happen, Delilah?”

I don’t even know how to answer him. I was naked and woke up to the freak. I touched his dick. I liked it. But there’s no evidence of it, so I look up at the open pale green eyes waiting for an answer.

“No, it was just a bad dream like you said.”

He nods once and takes a deep breath.

It’s not a lie when there’s no evidence of anything being real. I must have dreamt it all. If I can’t remember dressing myself then what else am I forgetting?

But the socks are evidence and I wrap my arms around Asher as I try to ease my conscience. “Did any alarms go off?”

He shakes his head and lifts me so I’m sitting on his thighs. Hugging me closer, he asks, “Why would they?”

I shrug and avoid his eyes as I look out of the window at the morning sun lighting up the world. There’s no one standing on the external walkway between the two buildings, but I can’t look away from the direction of it.

My voice lowers as I slowly blink. “The socks aren’t mine.”

Asher sighs and takes a controlled breath that brushes his chest into my side. “The packaging is on the floor, Lilo.”

I turn and look over my shoulder. There on the floor is a three-pack of frilly socks. The ones on my feet are black, but the packaging has the two remaining white and gray pairs still held in with the plastic tab.

Crawling forward, I snatch them up and just stare at them because I’ve never seen them before. I haven’t left the house without Asher, and they are not mine.

Everything else is pushed aside, including Asher, as I get off the bed and nearly trip over my own feet as I run into the closet. I don’t know what I expect to find, maybe a feather, or some evidence to show that it wasn’t a dream. But there’s nothing out of place. My packages are piled up in the corner from when I was bored while I was in the house on my own. There’s a t-shirt on the floor that I tried on and hated, so I dumped it there.

Hesitant footsteps come closer from behind me, and I turn my head to see Asher approach me like I’m dangerous. His eyes are filled with emotion, and he hunches his shoulders to make himself smaller.

He walks around me without looking away from my face and reaches into an open package to pull out a slip of paper. He scans each line on the sheet before handing it to me, continuing to speak in the same gentle lilt. “Look at it, they’ll be on there.”

I do it. Slowly.

“They’re yours. You ordered a bunch of different things,” he says softly.

Holding the sheet in front of me with the socks in my other hand, I read through the packing invoice. It’s filled with random shit: hoodies, dresses, hats. And socks.

Three pack, one size, lace-trimmed crew socks in black, white, and gray.

There’s no amount attached to the line, and I fold the sheet so none of the other items in the table distract me.

Free gift for orders over $250.

They were free. I don’t remember ordering them because I didn’t, and they were free.

Asher stops me staring at the words. “It’s your favorite place to order from. You always say the hoodies have the perfect size hood.”

I nod weakly and lie, “Yeah, the socks were free. I forgot about them.”

I think I did, anyway. I must have. How else would they be here?

He takes a step closer. “You probably picked up the first thing you found. You know what you’re like in the middle of the night and you never open your eyes because you think it will stop you from losing sleep.” He gives me a small smile and continues taking small steps until he’s standing in front of me. Taking the sheet of paper from my hands, he sets it behind him and tips my chin up with his knuckles. “Is this about last night?”

His voice is lower and there are creases in the corners of his eyes. He looks older, haunted. When I don’t answer, he takes a deep breath and says, “You don’t remember what happened.”

It’s not a question and he drops his hand from my face as the other works through his hair. The tension in his jaw forces the bone to protrude from his skin and he turns, looking away from me.

A hollowness opens up my stomach and I don’t know how to fix it. The deeper I hold on to the false memories, the more it’s hurting him. He’s keeping back all the ways I’ve upended his life, from accusations to whatever the fuck else I’ve done.

So, I tell myself it’s not real. That I’m crazy and beyond insane. I have to be, otherwise I cheated on my husband while he was sleeping beside me, and I’ve got a freak breaking into my house. Not only the house, but my bedroom.

“I do,” I whisper before strengthening my voice. “Remember, I mean. I know what happened and I know that it was real. That you’re real.”

I don’t mention that parts of my nightmare were real too. It’s always the same eyes. I don’t know what they mean, but I know they scare the ever-living shit out of me. It’s been years of the same eyes. Piercing light blue, so light they’re nearly white. They just stare at me while pain sears through my entire body. They’ve become easier to deal with over the years, or easier to compartmentalize, and I do the same now with the new nightmare that has overtaken my life.

It’s not real. It’s another thing my fucked up mind has implanted. That’s how I’ll go through life until it all calms and there’s no longer a fight over fake memories and what is actually in front of me.

Asher nods once before he walks away. There’s no kiss to my cheek or smile. He walks away and my eyes follow him until he enters the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. I don’t have the energy to stand and lower to the floor, bringing my knees up. Hugging them, I toy with the lace trim on the socks and rest my cheek on my knee.

Everything inside my mind is disturbing. It creates disgusting images and tries to tell me they’re memories too. So, I hold myself physically, hoping it’s enough mentally. I don’t close my eyes and stare at the corner of the room where the walls meet. There’s a light spot from the sun shining through the window and I wait for the terror of my dream to be over.

The dreams aren’t real. No father would do that and I’m a disgusting daughter for even allowing the thought in a dream. Even more disgusting is the fact that I’m wet despite my screaming and knowing how sick the dream was. The last conversation I had with my dad, he called me a whore and I’m just projecting that anger. That’s what it is, it’s not real and there’s nothing wrong with me . It’s just my fucked-up head and the pills will fix it. They’ll make me normal, someone who can differentiate reality from my imagination.

Lie . My mind screams back at me.

Something warm wraps around me and my movements are delayed as a scream gets trapped in my throat. It stays there when Asher softly says, “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.”

He wraps around me, his knees copying mine with his chest against my back and his arms crossed over my calves. My hold is nothing in comparison to how tightly he holds me as he rests his chin on the top of my head. It doesn’t stop my thought, but he provides company and attempts to distract me.

“I won’t be going away for work anymore, so we can do whatever you want.”

Translation: he doesn’t trust me to be alone and he’s going to change everything about his life to make sure I’m not left with my crazy anymore.