Chapter 3Tell My Ex To Cut Deeper

My heart skipped a beat.

When I saw Amber sitting in the passenger seat of Willie’s car earlier, a part of me had wanted to burn our entire life to the ground and expose them both.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't bear to shatter Delia’s image of the older brother who had protected her her entire life.

"No, sweetie. Don't think like that," I lied gently, turning away to walk into the kitchen.

I braced myself against the counter, my legs shaking uncontrollably. The hum of the stove fan seemed to amplify in my ears, making my pounding head throb with a vicious intensity.

I could feel my body temperature climbing rapidly, my breath coming out in hot, shallow gasps.

As I carefully carried a bowl of hot soup to the dining table, my vision suddenly went dark. The room began to tilt.

I reached out blindly for the back of a dining chair, but my fingers slipped.

My knees buckled completely, and I collapsed heavily onto the cold hardwood floor.

The impact tore open the barely dried scrapes on my knees, and blood immediately began to bloom through my sweatpants, staining the floor.

Delia let out a sharp gasp of terror, her wheelchair tires screeching against the floor as she tried to reach me.

The study door flew open, and Willie strode out, his face tight with annoyance at the disruption. But when he saw me crumpled on the floor, his expression shifted.

He walked over quickly, kneeling down to press the back of his hand to my forehead. His face went rigid.

"Why are you burning up like this?"

For the first time, there was a faint trace of panic in his voice, as if he was finally registering the fact that I had been out in a freezing rainstorm for hours.

He scooped me up into his arms and reached for his car keys on the console.

"Delia, stay here. I’m taking her to the hospital."

Pressed against the warmth of his chest, my exhausted, wounded heart foolishly let out a tiny flicker of hope. I wanted to believe that somewhere deep down, he still cared. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe we could still fix this.

Then, his phone rang loudly on the coffee table.

Willie’s arms stiffened instantly, and his feet glued to the floor.

After a second of agonizing hesitation, he set me back down on the sofa and turned to answer the call.

Amber’s crying voice leaked through the speaker, high and trembling.

"Willie, I’m so scared. The storm is so loud and my power just went out. I’m completely in the dark, and I can't breathe... I think I'm having a panic attack."

Willie’s breathing turned rapid. He looked back at me, his eyes clouded with conflict.

I was too weak to open my eyes fully, but I used every ounce of strength left in my body to reach out and clutch the hem of his shirt.

"Willie, please... I feel so sick..." My voice was barely a whisper, a pathetic, desperate plea. "Please take me to the clinic."

Willie looked down at my pale face and my blood-stained jeans, his hand holding the phone beginning to lower.