23. Delilah

Chapter 23

Delilah

S tepping out of the elevator, I allow my feet to take the lead, until it feels like I'm floating across the spotlessly clean marble floor of Grey's building's foyer. The receptionist behind the desk waves goodbye to me, but I can't raise my hand. The doorman holding the door open for me, lifts his hat, wishing me a good evening, but I can't force my lips to move to bid him the same thing.

It's still bright outside; people treading the busy streets of London, engrossed in their own lives without knowing mine feels like it's crumbling.

I think I hop on the underground, but I can't be sure.

Everything feels like a dream; coated in an opaque film I can't seem to blink away.

A few funny looks are directed my way, but I can't find it within me to be bothered, or embarrassed, or to feel any type of emotion other than anger and sadness.

The two simple emotions I can feel, fight between themselves to come out on top, but no sooner has the former overpowered the latter – the latter strikes back with poison in its grip.

My body feels like a husk, unbelonging to me. I peer down at my high heel clad feet, watching the concrete steps beneath them, with no clue where I'm going.

A familiar door appears in front of me, and subconsciously I must know where I am, as my fingers are forming a fist, hammering to be let in.

But I don't fully recognize where I am until my sister opens the door to her apartment, standing there already wearing her pyjamas, a glass of something resembling wine in her hand.

"Delilah…" I hear her choke out, eyes bouncing across my face, the frame of my body. "Oh my god, what's happened?"

I think I push past her, walking the few steps to her worn sofa and then collapsing face down.

The door clicks shut behind me with an extra twist of the lock, and then Aurelia is kneeling beside my head, frantically brushing the hair back from my forehead.

"What's happened? Are you hurt? Has someone done something? Have you been mugged, assaulted?" Her breath hitches, coming thick and fast and wet with emotion. "Seriously, Delilah… you're scaring me."

I unpeel my face from the cushion, vaguely noticing the mascara and foundation smear I'm leaving on the fabric – I don't fucking care – and stare at my baby sister through stinging eyes.

"Grey."

It's all I manage to get out.

If anything, his name makes Aurelia's face pale even further.

"What about him? Did he hurt you? Did he… touch you? I'm going to fucking kill him, I swear—"

I shake my head, hair growing static with all the friction. "He… he didn't touch me. But he… he…" My breath comes in an uneven, choppy lungful, more tears bursting from my tear ducts. I think I'm going to be sick. "He's broken my heart."

"Oh, Delilah." Aurelia gathers me in her arms, tucking me into the safe space between her neck and shoulder. She rocks the two of us gently, an oddly comforting hum escaping from her. "Let it out, come on, let it all out."

She's crying with me I think, stroking back my hair and holding me tight to keep me from breaking.

"I think…" Bile fills my mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Aurelia's small hand fits in mine perfectly, just like it did when we we're younger, helping me to her small bathroom, placing a towel under my knees to avoid the cold floor and gathering my hair at the nape of my neck when the dinner Grey cooked for me only an hour or so ago, expels itself from my stomach.

Fresh tears overspill as I remember Grey holding my hair back so gently when I'd been vomiting from my migraine.

He'd held me too, looked after me… took my heart for his own and promised he'd look after that too.

Only now he's broken it; ripped it apart with his bare hands and stamped all over it.

I promised myself I'd never let a man do that again, take a hold of my heart, only to shred it.

The man who called himself my dad had done that to me at the age of thirteen, giving me enough hurt to last me a lifetime. So had Daniel.

Stupidly, I'd allowed Grey to sweet talk me into hurting my heart all the same.

This is exactly what I'd been terrified of.

My stomach painfully empty, I crawl into Aurelia's bed, needing to wrap the familiar scent of my sister around me and block out the world.

"Will you tell me what happened?"

"Pull up the internet," I say, my voice thick. "Search for Grey Millen."

Fingers flying over the keyboard, I know the second my sister has found what I'm looking for because of the pained noise she makes.

It's been under my nose this entire time; Grey's entire career and his feature in the British tabloids splayed across the internet.

How ridiculously easy to find.

"I feel so stupid, Aura."

"Why?" She grips my arm tight, eyes flicking from left to right, taking in the words in the article.

"Because I-I've let him break my heart."

Aurelia looks up from her brightly lit phone, giving me a glimpse of a stock photo of younger Grey in action. He's standing on a podium, holding aloft a trophy of some kind, grinning madly, highlighting the dimpled smile I've grown so fond of. "I don't understand—"

"He didn't tell me, Aura. He didn't tell me he used to a famous swimmer, that he was involved in the British press, that—"

"Did he know about Daniel?"

I nod. "I told him everything… about Dad… about Daniel and he still chose not to tell me until tonight."

"What changed? What made him tell you?"

I shrug my shoulders, swallowing down the awful taste in my mouth. "I don't know… I just feel so fucking stupid."

Throwing her phone on the sheets, Aurelia tucks herself in my side, swiping her thumb over the tear tracks on my cheeks. "You don't need too. He's the one who should feel fucking stupid, lying and making you cry."

I don't know how long we sit there together in silence, huddled on her bed, the sun slowly beginning to dip behind the clouds.

When I do eventually speak, my throat clicks, feeling like I've swallowed a razor blade. "I'm sorry for ruining your night."

Aura squeezes me. "You didn't."

"I shouldn't have come," I sniff, wiping my nose with the heel of my hand. I'm a mess. "I'm your big sister, you're supposed to depend on me not the other way around."

My little sister shakes her head, staring at me with a sour twist to her lips. "That's one of the stupidest things to ever come out of your mouth. I can't believe you even just let those words pass your lips… Do you really believe that?"

"I–Yes, it's—"

"Unbelievable."

"Aura." A fresh wave of tears erupt. "I—"

"No," she cuts in, voice firm. "Seriously Delilah, listen to me. You don't have to be strong all the time. You don't have to be in control all the time. It's not realistic and you're exhausting yourself trying to keep up. I know I was too young to understand much when Dad left, and I wasn't there to help pick up the broken pieces he left behind but I'm here now. You can lean on me."

"I'm your older sister," I sob, wanting to believe Aurelia, but the mean thoughts in my head have me in a chokehold. "I shouldn't need to lean on you."

"I don't care, Delilah. We're sisters, you can always lean on me. You don't have to pick up the pieces alone anymore."

I've got nothing else to say, nothing left to give, except my mind is full of things to think about.

Which is why I'm so surprised at how tired I feel, my eyes slipping closed, the tide of sleep pulling me under, deeper and deeper with each breath.

"Close your eyes," Aurelia directs, placing a kiss to my cheek, situating my head on the pillow like a child. "Get some rest. I'll be right here when you wake up."

T he brightly shining sun outside mocks me when I wake, eyes so swollen from crying they're hard to crack open. My mouth is dry, tongue like sandpaper, but I don't have the energy to force my legs out of bed to search for a glass of water.

For the first time in a long time, I don't want to face the day. I can't.

Instead, I lie staring up at the textured ceiling, the familiar scent of my sister all around, while my treacherous brain runs away with itself as it usually does at any given chance.

I wonder what he's doing at this exact moment.

How he feels.

I wonder why he chose to keep it a secret – because he just wanted to sleep with me? Because he didn't trust me? Because he was scared?

In my mind's eye, I can picture him – Grey – sitting on the edge of his sofa, a worn swimmer's medal pooling in his lap, leg shaking nervously. His mouth is open, lips moving, but I can't hear him; not the way I could last night when the truth slithered from his soul.

Yesterday, his words had been crystal clear.

Now, they're mixed up, muddled but his actions are no less sharp, no less jagged as they cut into me.

Because it's not Grey's words that hurt, it's his secrecy. It's his choice to keep a secret like that knowing I'd be upset, knowing there could be potential repercussions. Those are no less hurtful.

He's a coward for not telling me sooner, for wanting to keep me that little while longer, rather than tell me the truth and allow me to make the decision as to whether I wanted to stay or leave the relationship we'd created for ourselves.

For his own selfish reasons, Grey kept me in the dark.

So, I would stay.

So, he wouldn't have to worry about me leaving the romantic relationship growing between the two of us.

"Oh, you're awake." Aurelia swims into my line of vision, leaning over me, a strand of her unbound hair tickling my forehead. "I've made some breakfast; will you come and have a bite?"

The first response on my tongue is no.

But I've been here before, I know not eating doesn't do me any good and if I want to work past the mental blocks in my brain, if I want to truly believe Aura's words from yesterday evening, then I need to get up and push past the negative thoughts.

It doesn't mean I'm not going to be upset, or hurt, or even that I'm not going to wallow.

It means I'm going to be strong enough to keep going, to keep pushing, even when it feels impossible, even when I don't want to.

Linking my arm through my sister's, I follow her into her kitchen, my stomach grumbling at the scent of coffee and pastries.

I tuck into the chocolate and hazelnut filled croissant hidden within the confines of a crinkly takeout bag stained with grease, licking the flaky crumbs from my fingertips.

Across the table, Aura digs into her own strawberry glazed tart. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great," I admit, and then hold up my half-eaten brunch. "But this is helping some."

Aurelia smiles brightly, but it falls quickly when my phone chimes loudly. I make the mistake of glancing at the blue lit screen, feeling the mouthful of pastry I'm chewing form a hard lump in my throat at the name splayed across my notifications.

"He's been messaging all morning."

Without reading a single message Grey has sent; I power down my mobile and turn it facedown so I can't be tempted to even pick the thing up.

I take a tentative sip of my coffee, allowing it to help the food lodge in my oesophagus, only raising my eyes to meet Aurelia's inquisitive stare when I feel ready.

"I don't want to read them."

"Ever?"

My dry lips flatten into a straight line. "I don't know yet."

Aurelia doesn't press any further, instead guiding me to lie down on her sofa after I've eaten my fill of food, tucking a blanket around me, and making a space for herself in the chair.

"We're having a duvet day," she announces, clicking on the TV with the touch of a button. "No phones, no heavy thoughts, no talking of upsetting topics – just us and the telly."

We order another takeaway for dinner; sharing sauce smothered chicken, chips and rice out of their tin foil containers, washed down with a glass of white wine, while an Australian reality show plays in the background.

I'm so hooked on the drama enfolding in front of me, reminding me that nobody's life is ever perfect, that I don't dwell on the unread messages on my phone, or the unopened emails sitting in my inbox. It's Sunday, I'm heartbroken and I'm allowed to enjoy myself without worrying about all the other tasks that need to be taken care of. They can wait.

I slightly regret my decision when I fold myself into my office chair at work on Monday morning, entering my password into the computer system to be greeted with an overflow of correspondence. Tugging at my too tight skirt, the one I'd stolen from Aurelia's wardrobe this morning after having slept over another night simply because I couldn't face going home to a space permeated in Grey's existence, I allow my brain to slip into my familiar work overdrive, fingers flying over the keyboard in response.

As the clock ticks by, I'm hardly bothered by my co-workers, the door to my private office remaining closed unless I'm needed urgently. I reward myself with a snack after getting through my stack of emails, licking the crumbs from my fingers before I lose myself in the world of a brand-new manuscript.

I'm almost a third of the way through the book, when I realise, I've got a bit of an issue.

I read all sorts of novels in my line of work, although usually I stick to the romance and romance fantasy genre. It's never bothered me before; I'm not easily triggered. In fact, like pretty much all romance readers, I'm prone to a happy squeal of delight when the main characters kiss for the first time or admit their feelings for one another, and I don't shy away from reading explicit sex scenes which leave me feeling rather hot under my collar.

Those specific scenes – the ones that stick in your mind, the ones you want to scream about from the rooftop or convince a friend to devour the novel simply so you can talk about your favourite parts – those are all things that attracted me to the job in the first place. The knowledge of finding a secret gem, a book I know is going to explode onto the market, sends tingles along my skin. It's special to read something nobody else has read before and be able to see its potential a mile away, to practically smell its success and be able to tell the author of that novel that they're life is about to completely change for the better.

I've never ever had a problem before.

Except for now.

Reading about the two main characters having just declared their love for each other, their lips hovering inches away, just about to kiss… it reminds me of—

Swallowing harshly, my eyes stinging, I push the manuscript away and rise to my full height.

Maybe I just need a breather, a glass of water, and then with a fresh set of eyes I'll be able to carry on.

My heels click against the floor as I stride to the staff room, quickly pouring myself a glass of lemon infused water and ducking back out before anybody can spot my red rimmed eyes.

I get through another fifteen pages of the manuscript before a teardrop splats on the bottom of the page, distorting the paper, leaving it thin and easy to tear.

It's not too dissimilar to the way I feel inside.

In the privacy of my office, nobody can see the tears cascading down my face, ruining my carefully applied makeup. I sniffle into a tissue, trying desperately to keep my sobs as quiet as possible.

My phone chooses that exact moment to chime again with another incoming text, but I don't dare look. It could be Aurelia checking in on me, she said she would, but I can't risk it. Nor can I bear to see the blaring red dot above my text message icon showcasing how many unanswered messages I have. I know exactly who the sender will be.

I'm torn up inside, and it's only making me angrier that it's affecting my work life too – the one place I've usually always been able to find a reprieve from any other matter.

I blame that on the reason Aurelia finds me curled up in her bed, still in my office attire at six in the evening, unable to face going home, feed my hungry stomach, or get changed. Each of those tasks seem impossible.

For the second evening, I cry in my little sister's arms, squeezing my eyes tight to shut out the world. My heart fucking hurts, the broken shards of what was once whole, cutting me, digging into the layers of my soul painfully with each breath.

But worse than that, is two particular thoughts, spinning, intertwined, like a cycle through my brain.

I miss him. I miss him. I miss him.

I love him. I love him. I love—