And I Love You the Most (This Love Hurts 3)

My poor little mouse. I’ve seen this look before. The pain, abandonment, the hate and denial. It fucking kills me to see her like this. Shut off to the world. I know it all too well. It’s a look I’ve worn for years, but it’s not for her.

Not for my Delilah.

“If I were to tell you that the idea of you falling asleep at night, not having the same confidence, the same fight, the same love and devotion you had before I came into your life …”

“Stop it,” she commands me and then both of her hands cover her face. The sob is barely heard but her shoulders quake with it.

Daring to continue, I watch every nuance of her response as I tell her, “If a night passes where you don’t have those pieces of what make you the woman I fell for … I would never forgive myself. If I were to say such a statement to you,” I pause and swallow thickly before continuing, “Would you try to let me in right now?”

“Please, I am not okay right now,” she tells me, lowering her hands and staring straight ahead.

“I know. And I hate myself for it. I won’t forgive myself—”

“Forgiveness.” She bites out the word as if she hates it. “I’m certain you have many other things you don’t forgive yourself for. Why should I be any different?”

Her question is a sharp knife to my heart.

“This is about—”

She doesn’t give me time to finish before the accusation leaves her bruised lips. “You let him go.”

“He was a pawn.”

“He killed those kids.”

“I know.”

“You of all people,” she starts but then stops, her nose scrunching as her body trembles. She reaches out quickly for the faucet and nearly topples over. I have to catch her and as much as she’d like to push me away, she doesn’t have the strength. With the water spraying down my left side, soaking into my shirt and splashing across my face, I steady her and then turn off the water. She’s lost weight, and this close to her, the darkness under her eyes is pitch black. Three days she stayed in a cell alone, beaten and left with nothing but the knowledge that she was there because of me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why?” she questions in a pained whisper as more tears gather in her eyes. “Why did you do it?”

“Because there was someone else who needed to die. Because I thought I could play God.” I answer her honestly as she falls into my arms, her wet hair soaking my shoulder.

It’s been a long time since regret overcame every emotion I held. In this moment, it’s all I can feel other than agonizing pain. “If I tell you I was wrong, if I tell you I would take it back, would you even believe me?”

She doesn’t hesitate to answer yes, which offers me a slight sense of relief. I take it greedily, I take the glimmer of hope that she’ll forgive me and I gently pat her down, dressing her in a white T-shirt of mine when I’m done and bring her back to the bed.

Before she can drift off, I make her a bowl of soup. She’s only able to drink the broth, but it’s something and she doesn’t throw up from it.

With my back against the headboard, I rest next to her as she slips in and out of a light sleep. My head lays against the end of the iron rail and I stare up at the simple ceiling fan as it rotates. Her small hand, with cuts across her knuckles and her nails bitten back, lays across my chest. She placed it there the last time she woke, cuddling closer to me. It’s a small reprieve from my ruminating.

Why did I do it?

Because I wanted to play God and I forgot … gods aren’t allowed to fall in love. I’ve never felt so weak as I do now. There’s not a damn thing I want other than to feel her forgiveness slip into the cracks of my brokenness.

Carefully, I lay my hand on top of hers, just to make sure she’s still here, still holding me, still alive and willing to lie here beside me.

The small movement and gentle touch rouse her and I instantly regret it. Selfish. I’ll never not be selfish for her. “Sorry,” I whisper and bring my arm around her small body as she huddles even closer to me. Every hour that’s passed has allowed a bit of her wall to break. I pray time is on my side.

Her shoulders lift and the bed groans as she adjusts herself. I barely breathe until she settles even closer to me and rests her head on my chest, allowing me to press my arm against her back and lay my hand on the dip of her waist.