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6

ASHER

“ Y ou were born at exactly 11:47 pm, making you the older twin because Kane was fifteen minutes later, and you never let him forget it. Even though they put the same dates on your birth certificate you’d always say it was only your day,” she says smugly.

It’s always him. Kane. Kane. Fucking Kane.

The smile on her face isn’t helping my mood. It’s always dreamy when she talks about him, when she forgets that it’s her fault he lost his life and she’s sitting laughing over memories.

“Do you remember how he’d always say he’s going to get tattoos all over his neck and arms so no one would ever be able to mistake you for each other?”

I nod. It’s stiff and uncomfortable because there are no happy memories anymore. They all went up in smoke the moment she set fire to our house, to our lives.

But she’s still just as beautiful as the first day I saw her and, as always, Delilah’s beauty distracts me. The first thing that drew me to her was her confidence. It’s the same now. She lights up and I’m a moth seeking out that spark despite the way it burns upon impact.

She smiles politely as the waitress sets our food and drinks down, thanking her, without that light dimming even slightly. There’s no guilt over her actions or any feelings other than when she mentions his name. It’s always there wrapped up in her memories and safely protected.

How can she bear to keep someone alive after everything she’s done? Doesn’t it haunt her?

It haunts me and I’m not the cause, just collateral damage that was in Delilah’s path.

I push those thoughts aside as my phone rings for the third time. Niko’s name is on the screen, no doubt another bullshit job so he can check in and make sure I’m not going off the deep end like the other times. It’s his way of looking out for me since my family abandoned me, and he worries since he’s learnt of Delilah’s condition.

Delilah pauses with her fork mid-twirl in her pasta as her eyes dip down to the screen. The blasé tone is bullshit, and the joke doesn’t detract from her jealousy. “Do you have a mistress I’ve forgotten about?”

“No mistress,” I say, watching her eyes narrow as I take a sip of my drink. “Would you care if I had?”

Her eyes widen and she slightly pulls her head back as though what I’ve asked is crazy. Primly setting her cutlery down, she works around her plate, making sure that the glass is in the correct place. It always has to be in reach. Not so far that there’s a gap between the rim of her plate and not too close that she’d knock it when she gets animated and starts talking with her hands flying in every direction.

Once she’s happy with the placement of the dishware, she locks those eyes that captivated me at six years old on me and says evenly, “I know I don’t have a right to demand anything from you, given my issues”—her eyes dim and her throat works around her gulp—“but I would have an issue if you cheated on me.”

I nod and start eating as she assesses me. There’s no outburst as her eyes track my movements until her hard stare is solely fixed on my lips. Delilah and I have always been toxic. She infected me and she loved the fireworks of pressing my buttons. In turn, I began loving everything that reflected that spark back at me.

But I try to change that habit and force the answer out. “It’s not something you ever have to worry about. You’ve been everything for me since we were kids, and it hasn’t changed now.”

Her smile lights up her face and she begins eating again. The small smirk takes me back twenty years as she copies me. “You don’t have to worry about it either.”

Because the person you were fucking is dead .

I don’t say it. As far as this Delilah is concerned, I should be unaware of her fucking both brothers and hopping between our beds. It doesn’t matter how many years it’s been, it will always feel like it has just happened. The image of her wrapped around my brother is engrained in my memory. Jealousy and a hurt ego don’t die with the person, they just get buried under the grief and resentment.

I swallow down the bitterness as my phone rings again. Her eyes dart to the screen but there’s no jealousy behind them. “You can answer. I’ve probably kept you away from work for too long.”

I answer the call at the table to stop her becoming suspicious and Niko’s voice is full of laughter. “Did I disturb you, Romeo?”

“No, what do you want?”

Delilah attempts to hide the way she’s focusing on the call when she can’t hear shit and shifts in her seat.

“I’ve got a job for you. Toronto is still MIA, so you can use his alias as long as you don’t fuck it up.” The line mutes entirely and I know better than to think he’s left the call. He’s most likely moving so the sounds of his family aren’t picked up. Or his latest victim has woken up. It comes back again as he asks, “Are you thinking about quitting?”

Like fuck I’ll quit the only thing that has allowed me a release in life. Two people have dragged me out of the mental pit during the Delilah episodes. Uncle Lennox has fucked off to parts unknown and I know better than to expect him to ever materialize again. But Niko has taken over the role of a brother, a confidante, and even if I didn’t owe him, I’d still do the messy jobs he has no time for.

“Not yet. Send me the details and I’ll fix it,” I say and end the call.

Hopefully it’s a job close by so I don’t have to leave Delilah alone. But she speaks before I can. “Will you be traveling for work, or do you do all your security stuff remotely?”

The details come through and I answer as my body goes on alert. “I’ll be away for two days. I can cancel it.”

She’s going to end up doing something stupid or attempting to run again if she’s left on her own. I’ll come back to an empty house with the door wide open and she’ll wrap herself in danger without anyone there to oversee her.

There’s no chink in her confidence though. “I’ll be fine. I saw the art room you set up for me, so I’ll be able to get lost in that for a while.” She smiles at me, full of light, before she adds, “You never know, I might be the next Michelangelo by the time you come back.”

The soft notes of a haunting melody flow through the house. It doesn’t take me long to find Delilah when all I have to do is follow it. I used to love watching her play the piano when her parents would roll her out at their parties to gloat amongst their friends. Each time it was accompanied by my own parents complimenting her and they were unable to contain their excitement at the thought of her joining our family one day.

This is the first time she’s playing solely for me, without me having to ask, and I stop at the threshold of the studio I built to her exact specifications. The grand piano sits in the middle, rows of books insulate her forming an open circle, and the open space allows the maximum amount of light through. It makes her hair even more golden as the protégé sits in one of my t-shirts and a pair of fluffy socks, playing for her own contentment.

She’s lost to the keys and doesn’t hear me approach. It causes her to startle as I dip down and press my lips to her neck. A slow smile takes over her face as she looks over her shoulder at me and whispers, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Who else would it be?”

The music stops and she leans back to look up at me as she teases, “I could have a secret admirer.”

Taking the seat beside her on the bench with my thighs either side of it, I face her and hold her hips. She can’t escape me, and she doesn’t want to as she leans into me. There’s nothing but joy on her face and I suffer the same affliction I’ve always had of losing myself in Delilah.

My thoughts, my motivations, my responsibilities—they all disappear as soon as she gives me her full attention. But she makes it better and worse as she combs her fingers through my hair and turns to straddle the bench. Her thighs are directly on top of mine. The weight brings with it a memory of a time we were in this exact same position while she screamed my name and tried to play one-handed.

She reads my mind and shuffles closer to wrap her arms around me. The need for touch isn’t new, but I’ve gone so long without it that I instantly freeze. Delilah doesn’t give a fuck about my reaction and squeezes as she kisses below my jaw. The same place she always used to when she’d sneak into my bed.

“I’ll be okay. I promise to take my meds and I won’t leave the house in case I act crazy,” she whispers against my skin.

“You can go wherever you want. I don’t want you to be a prisoner here.” Cupping her nape, I kiss her crown and ask for further reassurance. “Will you call me if you need me to come home?”

She nods and presses further into me. The arms banded around my middle are a contradiction to the words leaving her. “I promise. I’ll be fine and it will be good to get into a normal routine. You can’t babysit me all the time. If I feel up to it, I might get some new clothes.”

It doesn’t sound like a bad idea for her to venture out and get to know the surroundings. It will help her feel at home and ease her into her life. All the work I’ve put in has to come to an end soon. It has to be worth it and it’s a little easier as Delilah, my wife, stares up at me with a genuine smile on her face.

Brushing her hair out of the way, I cup her face with both hands and the urge to press my lips to hers increases. It will be good to leave the house, have some time away, and hopefully reduce how stunning she is.

Or I’ll be slammed on my ass when I come back because the memory of her pales in comparison to the reality.

It’s too soon for anything intimate, or sexual. The change will end up fucking with her head, so I kiss her cheek then sit her further away on the bench before leaving the room to pack for work.

I managed to last two hours before giving in and checking the cameras. All Delilah has done is play the piano and eat when she’s bored. She’s taken her medication on time without a reminder. But she was cute as fuck taking photos of herself. They were innocent. She was pulling stupid faces, but my mind distorted them into different poses I’d have her in and just how far back in her head I could get her eyeballs to roll.

My thoughts should probably be elsewhere as I wash blood off my hands. But it doesn’t matter what I do, they never stray far from the woman who has owned me in mind, body, and soul since I was a child.

A wet cloth hits my nape and I tense as I curse. “Don’t throw your cum rag at me.”

Niko’s childish ass laugh vibrates around the warehouse, and I turn to see him bag the fucker that pissed him off. He could have done this shit himself, but he always has to act like a mentor and check up on me. It’s no different now that the physical release is over. The dead guy isn’t enough to convince him that I’m fine.

“How’s your girl?” he asks, like rolling tarp around severed limbs is normal.

But I correct him. “Wife.” Continuing to remove any traces of blood from my skin, I ignore the way he pauses and smirks.

“Okay, your wife, whatever, how is she?” He straightens up and rolls his shoulders before taking out a cigarette. The stench of blood and piss is only ever made worse by the smoke. “Scar mentioned some shit about a hospital.”

The easy way he asks questions always makes it easier to answer. It has since he found me as a scared mess with no family and the one person I’d had since birth no longer in my life.

“Yeah, she had another episode”—I scrub my hands harder—“and she keeps thinking I’m him.”

The skin around my knuckles is raw and I can’t work out what parts are stained red from blood or because of my scrubbing. Throwing the shitty rag in the stainless-steel sink, I hit the switch, cutting off the water, as he takes two steps closer. The smoke is intense, and I turn, resting against the edge of the sink. He taps a cigarette out and hands it to me with a lighter while assessing me.

“So, your dry streak is getting extended. Is that why you’re so pissy?” he asks as I take in a lungful of toxic air that helps me regulate my breathing.

The smoke is thinner as I answer pathetically. “I’m not exactly going to…” I trail off, not wanting to voice the thought.

Which he has no issues doing. “Going to fuck her when she might call you?—”

“His name?” My tone hardens and I push away from the counter. “Yeah. She already says it in her fucking sleep.”

The blood, piss, and smoke turn my stomach and I walk out of the warehouse to pitch black. Whoever owns this space is secretive enough to take up every adjacent plot and it’s all bland, gray buildings under a dark sky. Tipping my head back, I look up at the stars, remembering the nights Delilah would sneak into my room because she couldn’t sleep at home. She’d always watch the sky and lay on my bed with her head hanging out of the window.

She’d watch the stars with awe, and I’d watch her with that reverence multiplied.

“You still have your head in the clouds, buddy?” Ruby’s question startles me, and I suck the smoke down. It burns my throat and turns my voice to a croak as I watch my sister-in-law stand like a creep at the edge of the building. I haven’t spoken to her since I was eight years old and she left her family, yet she still has to call me buddy like she’s babysitting us again.

I half expect her to ruffle my hair, but she smiles as though no time has passed and steps out of the shadows dressed like she’s going to take on the world. The power heels are sharp enough to cut someone. Her dark hair is the direct opposite of Delilah’s, and she crosses her arms over her chest. The nights she would be stuck babysitting all the kids while our parents went to one of their fancy ass parties forced us all to see her as an older sister. It was partly due to the fact that all three families who left their kids with her told her she had full control too.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you alone. Unless little Dilly is hiding somewhere?”

There’s hope in her playfulness and I shake my head as I take a drag. Making sure to blow the smoke away from her so she doesn’t attempt to put me in timeout only gives her an opening to softly ask, “Is she up for visitors yet?”

“Not yet. She’s still confused with things and—” I cut myself off, unsure of what Delilah wants her family to know. She hasn’t had any contact with either of her sisters since they left home and she was forced to be alone with her parents. I’ll give them information since they’re friends with my bloodthirsty mentor, but other than that, I can’t force them to have a relationship.

“And?” She edges closer with her eyes hardening.

Fuck it, I can tell her shit that involves me to get her to understand that it’s a precarious time for her baby sister.

“She thinks I died”—I let out a deep breath, replacing it with smoke—“and he’s locked up. She calls me his name and it’s difficult for her to adjust after, well, just everything.”

She waits for more, so I relay the details from Delilah’s latest hospital visit, leaving out the delusions she’s been having. If I tell anyone that she thinks she’s being followed they’ll want to lock her away again. They’ll take her away from me and our life. Keeping the balance means I get to keep her, and I can work through her emotions or whatever episodes she has without anyone else’s involvement.

Ruby gives me a tight-lipped smile and says, “That must be hard on you, after everything. He was your brother and like you said, just everything.”

I shrug and ignore her assessment. “It’s fine,” I lie. “I just don’t want to make it harder on her. Not after what your parents did.”

We both fall silent without anything to add. Their parents, my in-laws, are grade-A dicks and that was before they locked their daughter in a mental institution for years.