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Dammit! I can’t help but feel sorry for him. What is it about this man that makes me like this? If anybody else in the world had hurt me the way he has, over and over, I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire.
But him? I let him get too close to my heart. He’s under my skin, the blood in my veins, and the air in my lungs. He’s inside me, and I can’t escape him.
That’s why, instead of telling him to get the fuck over it, I murmur, “You couldn’t have known. You thought she was somebody else’s kid. And like you said, her “father” was a rat. There are rules in this world—even I know that, and I wasn’t raised in my father’s household. I know there isn’t any mercy shown to traitors, and that’s what you thought she was.”
“When I think of her suffering. She needed me. She needed a protector, and I was right there, but I didn’t do a damn thing to help. How am I supposed to build anything with her now? How am I ever supposed to get her to trust me?”
And there I was, thinking I was never supposed to talk about her. I guess the rules change after you drink a bottle of whiskey.
“She’s a forgiving person,” I offer, and he snorts. “You know she is. She has a good heart. She was probably the only person who wanted to give me a chance. She even helped me get away, and she was the last person who should have wanted it that way. In time, things will be good between you two. But I think you have to let that happen. You have to stop telling yourself you did everything wrong. Forgive yourself a little and move on. I think that’s when you’ll be able to build a real relationship. You can’t move forward if all you’re doing is looking back.”
I didn’t mean to say all that, and now I’m a little embarrassed.
His head swings to the side, his unfocused eyes landing on me. “And how are we supposed to move forward? What am I supposed to do with you?”
And that is the million-dollar question. “I thought you didn’t want there to be anything else between us?”
“I’m not supposed to. How am I to mend the relationship with my daughter when I also want to fuck the woman who tried to kill her.”
“I didn’t—”
“What you did was enough,” he growls, growing more agitated by the second. “I want to torture you for that. I want to make you suffer. I want to see the pain in your eyes when I’m the one inflicting it.”
I swallow, trying to get the words to pass the huge lump in my throat. “But you also want to protect me from others?”
“Unfortunately… yes. I want to punish you for what you did. I want you to hurt in every way possible, but I want to be the only one doing it.”
“I should probably try to get away from you.” His confession should have me running away as far and as fast as I can. “Yet I want to be with you. It doesn’t make sense after everything you said and did to me. But I still want you to touch me.”
Now both confessions are hanging in the air, one worse than the other but equally insane.
“How do you do that?” he mumbles.
“How do I do what?”
“How do you see any kind of light in me? All I see is darkness, but you keep finding the good; even if it’s as small as a grain of sand, you still find it and hold it up like a diamond. How do you do that?”
I shrug, at a loss. “How do you see me as a real person when everybody else sees me as an enemy? You’ve seen right through it. People use me and then blame me for their choices, like what they did to Aspen. And the situation with Nathaniel. You understood right away I was only trying to defend myself. Nobody else ever wants to hear that, but you get it.”
For a moment, all we do is stare at each other. I don’t quite understand what’s happening. He’s not mad anymore, at least not at me, but then I don’t think he ever was. He was mad at himself and looking for somebody to take it out on, as always.
“Everything is all fucked up.”
“I know what you mean.”
He nods slowly, then starts sliding down the bed until his head hits the pillow. “I’m so fucking tired, Delilah. I’m so tired.”
“Then rest. Let it all go for now.” I lie down beside him, cautious. I don’t want him getting pissed because I got too close.
His eyes slide shut almost instantly, and it’s not long before he starts to snore. I turn out the light and settle in, pulling the blankets over him before taking a chance and resting my head on his shoulder. His snoring doesn’t skip a beat, and I smile to myself.
He’ll hurt like hell in the morning, but for now, his presence has a soothing effect. I don’t have to imagine having him here with me. He’s here right now, and I can touch him, and even though I know the whole thing is completely fucked, it feels good. The first thing that’s felt good in days.
I don’t just drift off to sleep. I drop into it all at once.
And by the time I wake up to the high-pitched beeping of my alarm clock, he’s gone. His side of the bed is cold.
