Page 71 of Relapse

DELANE

My feet sort of took me to Noah’s, where I sat waiting for him. I hadn’t called. I hadn’t texted back.

But in my heart, I had to see him.

I wanted to see him, hold him, forget about everything else in this world with him.

The estate was located on the top of a hill, the winding road beneath it leading all the way back to busy streets. Truthfully, the view from this spot was spectacular, but I couldn’t feel enough sense to care about it. Only a few cars would pass by me from below, casting long shadows with their headlights across the Hansen’s neatly maintained yard. Soon, the cars disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone once again.

Night sounds sang around me. Whispers of the wind. Crickets. It was almost soothing to feel this small.

This insignificant.

I remembered being afraid of standing out here, outside of Noah’s house in the dark before. The night I met him, the mansion itself seemed to loom over me, extending upwards into the stars like it would grow hands that would reach down and grab me. Consume me.

Now, the darkness was welcoming. I wasn’t afraid of that kind of stuff anymore. In fact, it seemed trivial.

It hadn’t been very long that I was waiting on Noah’s porch—if you could call it that. I had walked towards the back of the house, the same way we came in the night he rescued me, and made myself comfortably hidden between the flowers and stones his mother always boasted about. The terrace was large, extending far beyond the estate itself, creating a secret, hidden spot that was perfect for concealing me. I wouldn’t have cared either way if I had gotten caught, I just didn’t want to disturb anyone. This spot still gave me a good view of the front of the estate and the streets below, so I was confident that if Noah did show up, he’d see me. I wasn’t going to bother to text him. Maybe I just wanted to be here, in this presence. His home reminded me of what safety used to feel like. It was here where I thought I’d seen myself at my lowest, most fearful state.

I was wrong.

I sat on the edge of one of the plush lounge chairs, hands wound tightly in my lap, just waiting. My gaze was fixated on a single, drooping blossom on a nearby vine, my vision blurred by the dam of tears I held at bay.

The flower was dying. Just like everything else in my life.

Every breath I took was a deliberate and forced effort to ground myself. The weight of these last few days felt like a physical pressure on my chest, a mound of stones being stacked to the highest peak, crushing the air from my lungs.

A different, more dangerous impulse had taken root inside me. And there was plenty of space for it, now that prim and proper Delane had died alongside her family. I was finished letting the world dictate my future, spending countless hours planning for a day that I might not ever see the end of.

Life was too short to care anymore.

NOAH

Fifteen new messages.

Shit.

Five voicemails.

Shit—again.

I skimmed the first few.

Noah, come on. It’s your birthday.

Where are you? Mother is worried.

Come home.

I didn’t bother reading the rest. They were all from Damian.

You are in so much shit when you get home.

Yeah. I knew.

That was why I hadn’t called for the Hansen car. I’d walked instead, dragging it out—stretching the last scraps of freedom before Damian decided whether to cage me or cripple me. Or both.

My feet were killing me.