24. Grey

Chapter 24

Grey

I t's been two weeks since I told Delilah the truth.

I haven't heard from her since.

I've spend most of my time beneath the safe surface of the water, more than I can ever recall doing before in my life.

Every waking hour I can be found in my apartment building's private pool until my hair is flattened to my scalp, my fingertips are pruned, and my lungs feel fit to bursting, burning with lack of oxygen because I'm forcing myself to stay under the water for long periods of time – all in the hopes of quieting my mind. Except, it's not working.

The tear tracks running down Delilah's cheeks, the downturn corners of her lips, the look of utter betrayal on her face, plagues my memory. It's etched into the backs of my eyelids, flashing every time I blink, every time I try to sleep.

I'm averaging about five hours a night, giving up after tossing and turning and not being able to stand another second of watching Delilah's face crumble because of my own doing.

I peer at myself in the mirror, my face pale from lack of rest and not eating much.

I've missed two family dinners, Hudson too, because he's been steadfast in keeping me company, never once leaving my side.

My phone piles up with supportive text messages and phone calls from both of my parents, and my other two brothers after I let them in with what is happening… what I've done to the woman I care so deeply about. But I'm not ready to face them in person yet.

The first Wednesday after our fight, I'd waited patiently on the side-lines of the pool at the leisure centre, hoping Delilah might still come by. Deep down I knew she wouldn't, but still I allowed myself to hope.

It crushed me when she didn't turn up, nor the next Wednesday, and won't pick up any of my calls – my desperate attempts to reach her.

Every single text message I've sent sits in my outgoing box, sent, delivered, and received, but purposefully unread. I even stopped by her apartment, knocking on her door, and calling her name unbothered by what her neighbours might think. But there was no answer; either she'd heard me and ignored me, or she wasn't in.

I don't want to think about where she might be if she's not at home, but my mind isn't willing to cooperate with me, suddenly bringing up a myriad of scenarios.

She's sitting in a bar somewhere, dressed up to the nines, chestnut curls cascading down her back… being pushed behind her ear, while another man kisses the sweet curve of her neck, fingertips gliding up her leg. He won't yet know the secret spot on her inner thighs, the one that makes her twitch in delight, but he'll find it soon enough if he's paying attention.

They're in the back of a taxi together, he's faceless, but I know his motives, I know the happy twist of his lips at the thought of going home with a woman that looks like my Delilah. Both sets of hands roam, the air thick with want and desire.

They kiss passionately in Delilah's apartment, clothes falling to the floor until he's pushing her onto her bed, making room for himself between her soft thighs, pulling a pleasured gasp from Delilah's lips.

Together, they move, gathering speed to reach their peaks, erasing every inch of the connection Delilah and I had.

Erasing every inch of my body, every memory, of us together. Of me.

Hudson finds me slumped into my sofa cushions, physically sick to my stomach at the thought of Delilah finding someone else, being with someone else, allowing someone else to touch her.

I feel worse knowing it's completely my fault. If she's doing those things, it's because I pushed her to it, because I selfishly wanted to keep her for myself, instead of allowing her to make the decision to stay in our relationship because she wanted to.

I kept the secret knowing it would hurt her. I lay our relationship on unstable foundations and simply kept placing band aids over the crack instead of facing it head on and risking the crumble.

"Grey… Grey?" I come to at the rough shake of my shoulder. "You okay, mate?"

I shake my head, swiping at my jaw with my hand.

"Do you—"

"I'm in love with her." My truth hangs, tangibly, in the surrounding air. I can practically taste it on my tongue.

Hudson stares back at me with dewy green eyes, one side of his lips ticking upwards. "Then, you gotta fight for her, brother," he says it so simply, just like that, as if it's going to be so easy.

I suppose the fighting for Delilah part is, I'm already doing it. It's the winning her back part I'm not so sure of.

But I'm not willing to give up.

"Any idea on your next step?" Blake asks me the next morning, both of us using the complimentary sauna to dry off after our gruelling laps in the pool. He knows how I feel about Delilah, it's written all over my face and I suppose someone like my closest brother, my best friend, might have already suspected my feelings for her long before I even figured them out for myself.

Stretching out my legs, I rub at my tired eyes with the heel of my hand. It's rare of late for me to feel rejuvenated after being in the water. It's probably got something to do with being up since half five in the morning, staring, unseeing, at my ceiling, unable to switch off. I'd listened to the outside noise of a drowsy London, the city already half-awake with early morning runners and men setting up their market stalls.

Once I heard the door close, Hudson on the way to his early morning gym session, I'd swung my legs out of bed and texted Blake to see if he was free.

Swiping a cool cloth along my forehead, I peer at my brother through the oppressive heat. "I'm not sure yet, she won't return my calls I'm just going straight through to voicemail. Same thing with my texts."

"At least they're delivering, so you know you're not blocked."

Blake's words light a sliver of hope in my chest, a light that continues to burn as I sit in the lifeguard's chair at work, winding and unwinding the chain of my silver whistle around my hand.

My apartment is still quiet and dark, the night's drawing in quicker now we're moving further away from summer, when I get back, bone weary. I send a text to Hudson asking where he is, but get no immediate reply, so I set about making myself a quick stir fry for dinner.

I mindlessly switch on the TV while I eat, but nothing catches my attention, so I wash out my bowl and head into my bedroom, hoping maybe a day full of chlorine and fresh air will allow me another hour of sleep.

Crawling under the sheets, my eyes catch on the battered paperback book perched on my nightstand. I'd finished it a week ago, needing to know how it ended, while also using it as a tool to hold onto Delilah any way I could.

But I can't selfishly keep her possession from her, I need to return it and maybe I'll be able to talk to her in the process.

To nobody's surprise, I can't sleep again, up at the crack of dawn to see the sun rising steadily on Sunday morning. Hudson is still missing, his leftovers I cooked for him still tucked away in the fridge, so I brew a cup of coffee for one, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of loneliness. I'm unused to such quiet, having become accustomed to waking up with a text waiting on my phone from Delilah and the sound of my brother clattering about in the kitchen.

While I sip my hot coffee, I dig out an old notepad and pen, ripping out a blank section and pressing the ink to the paper. I've only written four lines when my hand begins to ache, unfamiliar with old fashioned writing, something I hardly ever do unless it's to sign off a complaints or emergency form at the leisure centre. Everything else is easily computerized.

Still, I push through, draining my mug by the time I reach the end of the page.

I scan my own written words quickly and then fold it up, signing Delilah's name on the front and slotting it in the front flap of the paperback book, leaving a visible portion sticking out of the top.

The sliver of hope Blake has awakened in my heart keeps me going, forcing me to take a shower, get dressed and head outside to somewhere other than work for the first time in a fortnight.

Groups of mothers pushing prams and dog walkers keep me company on the busy pavements as I walk to a flower shop, the book and my note tucked safely under my arm.

"How can I help you?" The florist asks me when I step inside, slightly overwhelmed by the strong perfume of flowers and foliage. She looks rushed off her feet, apron smeared with water stains and mud. I glance behind her at the stacks of premade bouquets, tied prettily with coloured ribbon and suddenly feel very out of my depth.

"I need a bouquet of flowers… Lilies, if you have them."

"Sure. What colour are you looking for?"

"Pink," I say, "with a cream ribbon."

The florist bustles around me, selecting a handful of brightly coloured lilies from a bucket, and dripping water all over the floor as she cuts the stems. Artfully, she ties the bouquet together with my ribbon of choice, pushing both the flowers and the card reader towards me, while reading out my total. I pay with a waxy smile and then turn on my heel to leave.

A sudden chill in the air nips at the tips of my ears on my commute to Delilah's apartment. I grip the flowers tighter, wishing I'd done a quick thirty minutes in the pool this morning to stave away the self-doubt.

If she doesn't answer her door, I'll have to leave her flowers and book with a neighbour and pray to God they're a decent fucking human being and don't just keep the gifts for themselves.

My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest with each step I take to Delilah's floor, raising my fist to knock on the door.

When there's no immediate answer, I knock again, feeling my jaw tick nervously, and then I knock again. "Delilah. Delilah, please, if you're in there can you just open up so we can talk. I'm so fucking sorry, my heart feels like it's breaking and I just—"

"Is this the part where you'd like me to feel sorry for you?"

I peer up, my hand sliding away from the open door, to find a younger, but still a carbon copy, of my Delilah staring back at me. I recognise her instantly as Delilah's younger sister, Aurelia.

"Aurelia," I breathe, the lump in my throat only growing by the second. "Is she in there? Please. I just want to talk; I made a huge mistake and—"

Aurelia stares at me with distain, eyes flickering to the book and flowers I hold in my hands as an offering of sorts. "She doesn't want to talk to you."

I suck in a mouthful of air, attempting to hold back the bile rising in my throat.

"Can you at least tell me if she's okay?"

A cock of her head, Aurelia grips the door that much tighter, until her flesh turns mottled white. "What do you think, Grey? She's probably about as okay as you look."

My eyes close at Aurelia's harsh, but truthful, words. She's not doing okay. My girl isn't doing okay, and it's all my fault.

"Can you tell her I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out this way, I never meant to hurt her, I—" A shuffling noise in the background of Delilah's apartment has me opening my eyes, my breath stuttering out of me when I catch a glimpse of her.

Delilah is there for a moment, and then gone again.

"Delilah," I try again. "I really am sorry. I never meant–I never meant to hurt you, or make you cry. It's killing me inside, it's fucking breaking my heart, knowing I did that to you, knowing I kept that stupid secret instead of just telling you the truth. I miss you. Everything about you; your laugh, your smile, your infectious drive for life. I-I don't want to say it to you for the first time through a door… I wanted to make it special… wanted to tell you how I feel about you properly, but now I'm scared I won't get the chance. So… I'm falling for you, Delilah. Well, I'm pretty sure I've already fallen, but I don't want to say those words until I can see your gorgeous face… I'd just like the chance to talk. Whenever you're ready, I'll be here. I've bought you some flowers, lilies, and the book you lent me. I'll-I'll leave them with your sister, and go, I don't want to cause you any more pain."

Handing the flowers and the book to Aurelia, I walk away, hoping for a call of my name that never comes.

Delilah lets me go.

That thought stays with me the entirety of my journey home, imbedding itself in my mind, into my heart, even as I make it to the pool hidden beneath my apartment building, strip down and dive into the cool water.

When my lungs are screaming for fresh oxygen, I bob to the surface, stretching out my arms and legs until I'm floating, held by the surface of the water, and wonder, with stinging eyes, what on earth my life is going to look like now if Delilah decides she doesn't want to be in it.