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5

DELILAH

A sher has stopped watching me as much in the last month since leaving the hospital. I’m slowly blocking out the doubts over my life and accepting what’s in front of me. There haven’t been any messages like there were in the hospital, which makes it easier to navigate.

His timer goes off in the living room as I stand in the kitchen watching the trees. It’s so peaceful and I reluctantly turn as he pads into the room. I already know what he’s going to do and hold my hand out as he takes out the pills from his pocket.

He fills a glass of water and then hands me them both. I can only be thankful when they stop me falling into a pit of my mind. He doesn’t make me lift my tongue or check that I’ve taken them. He does something better, kissing my cheek as though I’m doing something for him rather than stopping whatever has taken over my mind.

He cups my nape and holds my wrist as though I need help supporting the weight of the glass of water in my hand. I keep catching glimpses of his examining stare. It’s the same now as he searches my eyes for something. He could just ask me, but he chooses to be silent.

“Is it an anniversary or something?” I whisper with hope that it isn’t.

I have the perfect excuse for forgetting if it is, considering my fucked up head. It doesn’t change the fact that I’d feel like shit when Asher is nothing short of perfect. He holds me all night despite the fact he hates it. He doesn’t argue when the nightmares have taken over and I lash out at him. One of the side effects of the pills is insomnia, and even through those periods he’s there.

The last memory I had of him isn’t real either. It can’t be because he gives me everything, all those thoughts from before are fake and unable to be trusted. But Asher can be.

His voice is soothing, and I lean into it as he smiles. “It’s not an anniversary. I was just thinking about the first time I saw you and I thought you were beautiful then. If someone would have told me that your beauty would only ever increase and I’d have the privilege of witnessing it, I would have thought they were talking shit.”

All of the confusion disappears. This is my life. And I’m so immensely grateful to have Asher as a tether to reality. Leaning up on my toes, I press my lips to his. He freezes. I drop down and look away as I mumble, “Sorry.”

Shit. He always kisses my cheek or temple, and he’ll hold me without any second guessing, but that doesn’t mean he wants me to kiss him.

I step back, ready to run and hide from the humiliation. Before I can turn, he tightens his hold on my hip, keeping me in place, and loosely holds my jaw with his knuckles.

“Hey, don’t run from me.” He dips his head. “You’re my wife, remember? That means you stay here, with me, and we talk shit through.”

The maturity floors me and increases the gratitude I have for him. Each day it’s getting easier to understand how I’ve managed to stay in love with Asher. It’s more potent than what we had as children, and it’s so much sweeter than our teenage years.

He pulls me closer into his chest and leans into me. There’s an inch between our lips and his pupils eat up all the green of his irises as they flit between my eyes. The space isn’t erased by either of us and his voice is deeper, vibrating through his chest into mine.

“Go, get ready. I need to be in public with you, so I don’t fuck this up.”

The rush of excitement I experienced as a teenager is tripled as I remain in the car and Asher opens my door for me. Taking my hand, he helps me out and butterflies take flight at the innocent contact.

He keeps me tucked to his side as we enter the restaurant. It’s midday and the place is quiet. There are a few people sitting at tables spaced enough apart that they won’t disturb each other. But there’s familiarity on the server’s features as she greets us at the door. I have no recollection of this place, despite her offer.

“Your usual table is busy, but if you’re happy to wait it will be free soon.”

I stand numb like I’ve just been dropped into civilization. It’s not far off from the truth when I have no idea how we have a usual table. But Asher says, “It’s fine, we’ll take any table.”

She leads us through, and I lean further into him as I ask, “Do we come here a lot?”

“Don’t think about it,” he answers flippantly, kissing my temple.

I can’t not think about it when there’s someone who clearly knows me, even if it’s only in passing, and I don’t have a reference to any of the shit in my own life. Being inside was easier. I’d got used to the house, but this is only creating a bigger divide.

Asher’s phone rings as we take our seats and I busy myself with the menu as he hesitates taking the call. He doesn’t step away from the table and I can see him watching me as he talks to whoever is on the other end.

“It’s not a good time right now. I’ll be remote until we’re settled after the move.”

I’ve searched through all the documents I could find when the memories are too vivid, and I know that’s a lie. He’s had the house for a year. We’ve clearly lived here for a while if we have a usual table at a restaurant.

The only thing keeping him from his life is me. So, I wait for him to end his excuses and build up a conviction I don’t feel. Once he’s done, I set the menu down and lie. “I’m fine to be on my own. Do you have to go to work?”

He leans back in his seat and watches me. “I don’t have to.”

But he wants to .

I can gather that much from the careful way he answers. It’s ridiculous that I don’t even know what he does. I don’t know anything more than I did when we were teenagers.

The waitress comes back and fills our glasses of water before taking our order. I haven’t even picked anything, but Asher seems to know it by heart as he orders for us both. He hands her the menus and takes my hand across the table as we’re left alone again.

His thoughts mirror mine as he asks, “Do you remember our first date?”

I nod and a slow smile creeps on both of our faces at the nostalgia. Looking around the restaurant, I play “spot the difference between then and now.” This is essentially the same considering I don’t know who he is anymore.

“Yeah, are your parents going to make a surprise visit again?”

It was cute seeing them have their own date night, huddled together in a corner of the restaurant. But his features darken at the reminder of them. They haven’t visited or called. Neither have my parents. But I thought they were just giving us time to be alone after I upended both of our lives.

He takes a controlled breath as his fingers tighten around mine. It doesn’t help his mood and the hold pushes my fingers together so the tips of them are tingling from restricted blood flow. The medication has altered any pain I feel, and I don’t feel it despite them turning numb.

I gently lay my free hand over his and speak softly. “Are your parents okay?”

His fingers loosen, and he looks over my shoulder as his jaw hardens. I’ve fucked up. So far he hasn’t shown any signs of his teenage outbursts, but it’s coming. My spine straightens and every sense goes on alert waiting for what he’s going to do.

Another controlled breath.

It flares his nostrils.

And he mechanically turns his head to look at me head-on.

But he doesn’t lash out and sadness clings to him as he rests his arm on the table. “They had a difficult time after the fire.” His voice lowers with a sigh. “It probably doesn’t help when I look exactly like him.”

I can’t imagine what I’ve put his family through. The fire was an accident by Asher’s admission, and I can’t trust the memories of what led to that moment. His mom was always a cold-hearted bitch when it came to Kane, and she would ignore him at every opportunity. But that guilt manifests in grief and I try to stop mine doing the same as I focus on Asher.

“Parents are shitty people. I hope mine are out of our life.”

“You’ve got your wish. They thought you were talking to Ruby, and you had a huge argument about it. Changing our names so that we could be our own people probably didn’t help matters.”

The mention of my older sister plays with my emotions. I haven’t seen her since I was seven years old, and she was running out of our house to prevent our parents forcing her to get married to someone she’d never even met. Instead, I focus on the new name—our new name—and laugh at how much it must enrage our families that we didn’t keep either of their toxic names.

“Newman?” I ask and he nods. But the thoughts of my sisters are still there and I lightly trace a shape through the condensation on my glass. “Did I? Talk to her, I mean. Or see her?”

He gives me a tight-lipped smile and threads his fingers through mine. I already know the answer is no, but he fills more gaps I didn’t know I had.

“No. You wanted me to look for her and she’s living with Scarlet. But you didn’t want to speak to them.”

Both of my sisters are together. The last thing I remember about Scar is her visiting our grandparents while she was home from college. I was never close to either of them as per our controlling parents’ design, but it hurts that they’ve found each other to leave me out.

Asher’s phone rings again. The screen flashes “Niko” as it vibrates on the table face up. He sighs before answering and there’s a softness to his features. I don’t take in a word of his conversation because the softness messes with my already broken mind. It’s familiar but I can’t place it.

He ends the call and I decide to restart my interrogation. “What do you do for work?”

A smirk lifts one side of his lips and he tries not to laugh at the absurdity of our current situation as he answers. “I own a security firm. Is this going to be like a first date?” When I don’t answer he adds, lower, “You’ve asked about my relationship with my parents, my job. What’s next, my star sign?”

Filling with confidence, I sit back and love that I know something. “I already know that. You’re a Libra.”

He hums and just smiles at me. So, I continue listing the things I know about him to get everything to feel normal.