Broken Love

by Ghiselle St. James

  I am stricken with emotion then, knowing that this is my Heaven; this is where I belong. Delilah is my home, my sanctuary. With her, everything is right in the world.

  “Mine,” I whisper in her hair before kissing it.

  “Yours,” she mumbles unconsciously before snuggling further into me.

  All mine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day I had to leave Delilah to come to work. It was the hardest thing to do, leaving her while she slept, but I hadn’t been to work in more than a week and, although Artie has told me it’s fine, that Delilah getting well should be my priority right now, I still felt guilty about missing work for what others would see as pleasure.

  I’m late, though. I walk through the doors of the Fielding House Building and Simone gasps in horror.

  “Mr. Hayes!” She runs to me and I know she’s been worrying. Not about me, but about her friend.

  She hasn’t been able to see Delilah for the three weeks – no one aside from her immediate family and Rachel has – and that is entirely my fault. I didn’t want her to be crowded while she was in the hospital on account of her withdrawal symptoms and panic attacks.

  Thankfully, the worst is over. She could do with a visit from Simone now. I know they’re close.

  “How is she?” Simone asks, tears already filling her eyes.

  “She’s good now, Simone,” I smile. So fucking good. My cock stirs at the thought of just how good she has been in bed.

  Shaking those thoughts off I grasp her hand and say, “You should come by for a visit sometime.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She hangs onto my hand as though she wants to do something more, like hug me.

  My body goes rigid, my professional mask sliding on, telling her to keep a professional distance. She doesn’t listen. She gives me a hug before I can back off and I can hear her soft sobs.

  “Hey,” I whisper to her, gently easing her away. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just…I...I’m stupid. I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me,” she splutters, wiping her face and smoothing her cream pencil dress down her slim figure. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Simone. She’s your friend and you’ve been worried. As I said, come by for a visit. This evening maybe. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She releases a breath and takes another deep one and like that she’s back in professional mode.

  “How have things been since my absence?”

  “Chaotic!” she exclaims. My eyes widen in panic. Shit!

  Then I see the corners of her mouth twitching and turn into a full on snicker. “I’m joking, Sir.”

  I glare at her, my nostrils flaring in anger at her supposed joke.

  She pales. “S-sir, I’m-I’m sorry. I-it was just a j-joke. I’m-I’m…”

  “I’m joking, Miss Jackson.”

  She stares at me stunned and I almost fall over laughing.

  “Have a great day, Miss Jackson,” I bid her, laughing as I pass her desk to the bank of elevators.

  When I step into the waiting car, I wonder to myself: where in the hell did I get a sense of humor from? I smile to myself because I know just where it came from.

  Delilah.

  I try to find a groove at work but can’t. Casey fills me in on all the deals. We’ve successfully acquired Needham; the investor weekend was a success and, as a result, we’ve secured new investors; and we’re working on improving our architectural department. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think they didn’t need me.

  I sit in my office, looking over some appropriations for land we plan on acquiring in Phoenix. I’m still not sure that developing in Phoenix is the right idea, but I can hardly focus to think it through thoroughly. My mind has been with Delilah ever since I showed up here an hour and a half ago.

  Psyching myself up, I step into the elevator to go see Artie as he’d told his secretary that he wanted to see me. I don’t want him to think I’m distracted, even though I’m losing that battle right now. I find it hard to ride in elevators nowadays without remembering the day I fucked Delilah in one.

  Before my dick twitches to life in my fitted pants, I shake the thoughts off and step out of the car when it arrives on Artie’s floor. He meets me before I even get to enter his office.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Hayes?” he attacks.

  “Sir, I’m at work.” My tone is a little sarcastic, but I can’t help it. What else would I be doing here?

  “You should be at home, son, taking care of that beautiful girl of yours,” he tells me.

  I feel terrible because he’s right and I’m upset with myself because he was the one to tell me; I didn’t discern it myself.

  “Go home. Take some time. She needs you,” he advises.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “No problem. We have everything under control here. If we need you, we’ll summon you, but for now, your job is to get her well.” Artie pats my shoulder, leading me to the elevators. “Give her my regards, will you?”

  “I will, sir, and thank you again.” I am grateful to Artie for his level of respect for me and his – bordering on weird – love for Delilah.

  Any other boss and this would not be the case. Time off for taking care of a girlfriend? That’s unheard of, especially in the shrewd business world. There is no space for love and respect. It’s all about power, drive, and doing anything to be and remain at the top. Feelings are never considered in business. Money talks. Bullshit walks. And for Artie to do this, means more to me than anyone can ever understand. Did I ever say how much I love my job?

  In my office, I gather my things, picking up the appropriations document as well. If I’m not going to be at work, I can always take work home with me.

  My cell phone rings and I smile. I’ve been waiting on Delilah to call me. Why she took so long is beyond me.

  “Hey,” I answer without checking the caller I.D.

  “Ben, where are you?” It’s Delilah’s dad.

  “I’m at work. What’s going on?” The panic in his voice sets off my own. “Is it Delilah?”

  “She’s hysterical. She’d woken up and walked Rachel out because Marshall was taking her home to pick up some things. A few cameramen were out there snapping pictures asking her if her kidnap was a publicity stunt; that if her dating you wasn’t enough,” he explains. Shit.

  There weren’t any paparazzi when I left this morning. Oh, those fucking vultures. They made sure to show their snarky little faces once I’d left. Why the hell did I leave?

  “She’s locked herself in your bathroom. We’ve called Dr. Munroe and Rachel has come back, but neither of them has been able to get her out. Rachel told us that you can get her out of her panicked state. So if you…”

  “I’m on my way,” I clip before hanging up.

  I rush to the elevator and bang on the call button, angry that it is taking so long to open. A cab will have to suffice. I didn’t drive this morning and Simon is all the way back home in Belmont. God, why did I even leave in the first place? I’ve felt so out of place since I’ve been here. Hell, since I left! I should’ve just followed my instinct and gone back home. Now my Delilah is having a panic attack.

  Stepping into the finally opened elevator, I slam the lobby button and pray to God that no one stops the elevator on the way down. I am a nervous wreck and thankfully, the way down is uninterrupted.

  I run past Simone, whose face is dubious, and onto the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians as I do. Hailing a cab – that comes to a screeching halt in the middle of the road – I jump in and tell him my destination and the urgency with which I need to get there.

  The cab driver speeds off and I dread each passing moment, that doesn’t really bring me any closer to Delilah in my estimation. I curse every delay – every red light, every car that stops in front of us and every pedestrian that wants to cross. Why does everyone want to cross the damn road today?

  “Where’d you learn to drive,
asshole?” I scream at a driver that stops suddenly in front of us.

  The cab driver looks at me nervously through his rear view mirror and the pedestrians who choose to cross at that very moment look at me like I’m crazy.

  “What the fuck are you looking at?” I glare at them. “Drive!” I urge the cab driver with a thrust of the arm in the forward direction.

  Timidly, he steps on the gas and we finally get on to the Schuylkill Expressway. I use the time to think about how my life is going now. Before Delilah, I was pretty solitary, with the exception of Molly and other subs. I was dominant, controlling, in control, and a tyrant. With her, I am someone completely new. I’m calmer, less curt with others and even out of control at times. I even have a sense of humor, though others may think different. She makes me a better man and I like who I am when I’m with her.

  She’s made me want her, made me care about her, made me want to protect her. She’s made me love her and, now, I can’t imagine my life without her.

  Yes, she has secrets that I may not uncover for days, months, even years to come, but I want to be there when she finally tells them to me. I want to be her safe place. I want her to trust me with her every secret, her every desire, her every dream. I want to be the one she loves forever.

  I think about the day we met and how I propositioned her, silly of me to think of her as a sexual conquest. If I were honest, the first time I saw her I pictured her shackled to my bed, fucking her senseless. After that day at the hotel, I simply wanted to possess her. I couldn’t get her out of my head and when I had seen her that Sunday, I thought it a stroke of fate and knew I had to lay my cards out on the table. Never did I imagine that she would turn me down.

  Women don’t usually tell me no. To hear it, and from someone I desired so badly, was a sucker punch to the gut, but I wouldn’t give up.

  I’d made so many mistakes leading up to when she finally gave in to being my girlfriend. I’d made her cry so many times, soothed her down from panic attacks, had her curse me out about my arrogant attitude, had her break down my control, had her give it back to me by letting me spank her, broke our friends with benefits deal, and almost lost her to a date rape drug.

  In that week, we went through more than a normal couple had ever gone through in a year of being together. If we could get over that week the way we did, then I’m positive that we can get through anything. The thought is resolute in my mind.

  My reminiscence drifts to when she finally gave in to being my girlfriend; how she took me into that billiards room and made me so happy, in more ways than one. Oh, that week was sheer bliss.

  A smile tugs at my lips as I remember that appreciation night and I adjust my slacks. I need to give her an appreciation night as well.

  I just had to screw things up, though. What should I care that my fucking father cheated on my mother? Yes, it hurt to see my family torn apart like that, but it had nothing to do with Delilah. Neither should it have had any bearing on our relationship; and because of my stupidity, my irrational decision, she was kidnapped and hurt. Now, when she’s fully recovered, those media hounds are hurting her further.

  It’s like I can’t do anything right by her; like somehow I have a self-sabotage button that automatically detonates when it comes to making Delilah truly happy.

  I pound the window of the taxi, thankful that it didn’t break from the force with which I’d hit it, when realization dawns on me. The cabbie turns to check what’s going on then turns back to face the road, cursing under his breath. I don’t care about him and his stupid fucking window. All I care about is my revelation.

  Delilah’s life was perfect until I came into the picture. She had been well under the radar for years until I came along and ruined everything for her, drudging up a past that she wanted to remain hidden, and awakening demons she wanted to remain dead.

  I did this.

  The revelation is a blow to my thoughts of forever with Delilah. If we stay together, this will be her existence: constant rollercoaster rides, media vultures, her past – and from what I’ve seen and what’s going on right this minute, I don’t think she can handle it all.

  I am in a somber mood as we approach my house. The solution would sound simple to the lay man, but for a man in love with the most exquisite woman he’s ever come across, ending things is like suicide.

  Isn’t it suicide though? The one thing that has brought more life to my life, I am considering extricating myself from it. It’s like tying a bag over your head and taking away the one thing that makes you live: your air.

  Yes, Delilah is my air, my life source; but if I am to give her any chance at normalcy again, I am going to have to end things with her.

  I nod decidedly, but as we pull up to my house, I see that the entrance is flanked by paparazzi and as we turn into the stone driveway, they start flashing and barking out question after ridiculous question. I don’t hear them.

  My firm decision to leave Delilah dissolves as my thoughts become severely muddled with the need to protect my sweet, beautiful girl.

  We get inside safely and without asking him or looking at the meter, I slip the cab driver two one hundred dollar bills. He gapes at the notes, evidence that I’ve clearly overpaid him, but right now, money is of no significance to me. Delilah needs me and I would give my money all away just so that she can be okay.

  Dashing inside, I hear Mr. Keyes’ voice calling out to Delilah. I drop my briefcase and run through the great room then up the stairs, taking them two at a time. In my room, I find the Keyes’, Rachel, Dr. Munroe, even Simon and Vivian, all with worried looks on their faces. As soon as they all spot me, silence descends in the room.

  Without a word, I stalk toward the bathroom door and they all, without a word, clear my path.

  I jiggle the handle and, as expected, it’s locked. I walk over to the bedside table and yank open the bottom draw, picking out the bathroom key, then head back to the door.

  “Delilah?” I call before attempting to open the door. Pressing my ear up to the door, I can hear the shower. “It’s me, baby. Open up.” No answer.

  My heart is beating ten times over its natural rate and I swear I can feel it in my throat. I’m scared at what I might find, but I can’t think like that. She’s strong. I have to believe that.

  When I found her at that abandoned house, she had gotten away from her captors, to the point where she had shot one of them and was in control of the situation. That took immense amounts of bravery on her part to try to escape and I know she would have, even if I didn’t come to her aid.

  She’s strong and she needs to remember that.

  I open the door and everyone rushes toward me, but I stop them with a raised hand. They fall back and I lock the door behind me.

  Heading toward the running shower, my heart rate thunders in my chest and I have to stop to inhale some steadying breaths. My heart almost stops when I finally see her.

  Delilah is under the hard and unforgiving spray of the shower. She is shivering and I can’t imagine how long she’s been under there. She looks like a wet rat.

  Without thinking, I jump into the shower with her. Grasping her to me, her violent shivers turn into body-wracking sobs. Despite my Versace suit and YSL shoes being soaked under the warm spray of the water, I just hold her.

  As the water beats down on both of us, my earlier thoughts of leaving her dissolve. She needs me…and I need her. I can’t leave her now; it would kill her as much as it would kill me.

  After a few minutes, she stops crying. The only sounds are the shower and her tempered gasps. Reaching behind me, I turn the shower off. We step out of the shower, still in each other’s arms and I wrap her into a large warm towel. Scooping her up, I decide to take her back to the Fulfillment Room instead of the bedroom where everyone else is.

  I strip out of my wet clothes and shoes and after drying us both off, we slip under the warmth of the duvet. Pulling her close to me, we lie facing each other as I stroke her damp hair.

>   For long minutes we simply stare at each other and caress each other’s faces, until Delilah finally breaks the silence with a trembling voice.

  “I’m s-s-sorry. I-I-I kn-ow y-you w-were at w-work…”

  “Shh,” I hush her, placing a finger over her lips and wrapping my arms and legs around her to keep her even warmer. “I should have been here.”

  “N-n-no, you ha-ha-have to w-w-w-work.”

  “You’re my priority, Delilah.”

  “I’m n-n-not worthhh ittt,” she states as fresh tears prick her eyes. “Y-you d-don’t needdd to c-care about meee.”

  “Stop that!” I chastise her and whatever other thought is in that head of hers. “You’re important to me. Protecting you, caring for you is my lifetime ambition. Don’t ask me not to do that.”

  For long moments we just lay there. Her shivers die down and so do her tears. I try to calm my anger, but I hate how she belittles herself. The men she’s been with have been total, complete assholes and I have the broken girl to prove it.

  “Why? Why do you care?” she says so softly that I wonder if I heard her correctly.

  Is she serious? Hasn’t she been listening to me all this time?

  “Because I love you, Delilah,” I answer.

  She closes her eyes as if in pain. “I wish you didn’t.”

  “You’ve made me love you. I can’t help it.”

  “They think my kidnap was a publicity stunt, Ben. Why do they hate me? They don’t even know me,” she cries, burying her face into my chest.

  “Hush,” I lull her, pulling her closer to my chest and rocking her gently in my arms. “They’re vultures. They make up stories because they don’t know the truth. Paparazzi exist to make people’s lives hell, like ex-wives exist to make ex-husbands lives hell.”

  Delilah chuckles and it is such a beautiful sound.

  “I’m glad I can put a smile on your face.”

  We’re silent again and just when I think she has fallen asleep, she says, “Knowing my darkness will only ruin you, Ben. I don’t wanna destroy you. I’ve already broken you enough.”