Chapter Twenty-one
917 Words
The glass felt heavy in my hand, or maybe it was just me. Everything seemed heavy now. The noise of the bar barely registered anymore, fading into the background as I took another sip, letting the burn of alcohol distract me from the ache in my chest. How many had I had? I didn’t even care.
"Another one," I mumbled, waving my hand lazily at the bartender.
He gave me a look—one of those looks that said I’d had enough—but before he could refuse, someone slid into the stool next to me.
"You’ve had enough, Delilah."
I blinked, my vision swimming a bit before I focused on the voice. Marlon. Of course, it’s Marlon. His face was concerned, like he’d seen enough of me in this state to know this wasn’t going to end well.
"I said I want another," I snapped, my voice harsher than I intended. "You don’t get to decide."
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m not here to decide for you, but this? This isn’t going to help."
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Help? What does help look like? Because home doesn’t even feel like home anymore." I slammed my glass on the counter, the liquid spilling out onto my hand. "Instead of stopping me, why don’t you just join me?"
Marlon hesitated. I could see him debating with himself, and for a moment, I thought he might actually leave. But he sighed again and sat down, motioning for the bartender to leave us alone. "Fine," he muttered. "But only because I think you need someone to talk to."
I downed the rest of my drink and leaned toward him, narrowing my eyes. "Talk? About what? How my husband is probably in love with someone else? How he’s got Liana living in my house, touching him, cuddling with him, while I sit in the corner like a ghost?"
Marlon didn’t say anything. He just listened, which was somehow worse. I didn’t want him to listen. I wanted him to say something—anything—to make me feel like I wasn’t going insane.
"You give good advice, you know," I said, my voice softening as the alcohol took more hold of me.
"That’s because I care about you, Delilah," he replied, his tone gentle. "But this... this isn’t you. You’re better than this."
I tilted my head, my eyes narrowing as I studied him. "You’re really handsome, Marlon. Did I ever tell you that?"
He chuckled, a little uncomfortable, but trying to brush it off. "I don’t think that’s something you should be saying to another man when you’re married."
I leaned closer, feeling bold and reckless. "I’ll divorce Theo, just so I can compliment you."
His face froze for a moment, and I could see the discomfort deepen. "You shouldn’t joke about that, Delilah."
"Who says I’m joking?" The words spilled out before I could stop them, and my chest tightened painfully. "I don’t even know if he loves me anymore... or if he ever did."
Marlon reached out, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. "He loves you. You know that, right? But you have to fight for that love. Don't just let it slip away because of your insecurities."
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. His words hit too close to the doubts that had been gnawing at me for weeks. Instead, I stared at him, my vision blurring as the alcohol took full control. For a moment, his face shifted, and I didn’t see Marlon anymore. I saw Theo. Theo’s face, Theo’s eyes—so cold and distant now.
"I love you," I whispered, leaning forward and pressing my lips to his.
Marlon stiffened immediately, his hands pushing me away as gently as he could. "Delilah, stop. You’re drunk. This isn’t—"
But I didn’t hear him. I didn’t care. I kissed him again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of connection. I was drowning, and I needed something—someone—to pull me out of this mess.
"Delilah, stop!" Marlon’s voice was firmer now, but before I could react, a third voice cut through the haze, loud and furious.
"Delilah."
I froze, the weight of that one word crashing down on me like a tidal wave. Slowly, I turned my head, and there he was—Theo. Standing at the entrance of the bar, eyes blazing with fury, fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"What the hell is going on here?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Marlon stood up immediately, putting distance between us. "Theo, it’s not what it looks like. She’s drunk, I—"
"Drunk?" Theo’s eyes flicked from Marlon to me, his face twisting with disgust. "So this is how you deal with things now? Throwing yourself at other men?"
My heart sank, and my vision blurred with tears. "Theo, I—"
"Don’t." His voice cut through me like a knife. "I can’t even look at you right now."
I felt my knees buckle, and I collapsed onto the barstool, staring at the floor as the weight of his words crushed me. The room felt like it was closing in on me, the noise of the bar turning into a deafening roar.
"Come on, Delilah," Marlon said softly, trying to help me up. "Let’s get you home."
Home. The word felt hollow, meaningless. Home didn’t exist anymore. Theo didn’t love me anymore. I was just a ghost—lost, forgotten, unwanted.
- Writer
