My Delusional Husband

My lover is delusional.

In his twisted reality, I am the villain. The nemesis. The person he loathes most in this world.

Day after day, I play along with the charade.

Until I couldn't anymore.

The diagnosis came back. Cancer.

Chapter 1

The house is a tomb when I step inside. Pitch black.

I drop my bag, kick off my heels. My hand traces the cold plaster of the wall, fumbling for the switch.

Click.

Whoosh.

A ceramic plate hurtles out of the gloom. Straight at my head.

I tilt my head. Just enough.

Shatter.

The porcelain explodes against the wall behind me.

The lights flicker on.

A man stands at the top of the stairs, looking down at me with eyes devoid of life.

"You actually came back."

Silence.

I force a smile onto my face and walk toward him. I wrap my arms around his waist, hugging a block of ice. "Quit looking at me like a sulking housewife, Miles."

He smells of sandalwood and faint citrus. A cologne I picked out. I thought it might thaw the permafrost radiating off him.

It doesn't. His gaze is still filled with pure, unadulterated disgust.

The crystal chandelier scatters fractured light across the room. But the living room is freezing. The man sitting next to me offers no warmth.

I balance the tablet on my knees. Swipe. Swipe. "Look. For the wedding. Do you like this one? It features a stunning mermaid silhouette. It's gorgeous. Like liquid light pouring down. I really love this one, too. The veil has these little star patterns. Just like that night you took me to see the"

A scoff cuts the air. Sharp. Cruel.

He looks up. His eyes are abyssal voids staring straight through me. "Do we have a past?"

My chest tightens. I want to scream that we do. That we have a lifetime of memories.

But to him, I am a monster. Irredeemable.

His fingers lock around my jaw. A vice grip. He forces my face up. His kiss lands on the corner of my mouth.

His voice is low. Smooth. Laced with a dark, terrifying seduction. "Be a good girl. Give me the fix."

Miles listens to me for one reason only.

I have the one thing his body screams for.

If he ever hacked the personnel files, he'd see his name listed under Commendations for Valor and Wounded in Action.

Miles got hooked while deep undercover.

When he came back, he didn't come back whole. Paranoid schizophrenia. Delusions.

He categorized everyone as an enemy. Including me.

Especially me. The woman he once swore he would die to protect.

The gentle man I knew is dead. Dragged into a living hell. Now, he looks at me like I'm a damp, dark cave he's forced to rot in.

Bedroom. Dim light.

I tug at his collar.

In a blur of motion, the world flips. My back hits the mattress. Hard. He is straddling me.

Even as an addict, he looks like a fallen god. Pure. Untouchable.

A twitch of his lips is a work of art.

I lean up, trying to kiss him. He dodges.

His hand dives into my breast pocket. Rummaging.

He finds it. The syringe.

He doesn't hesitate. The needle slides into his right arm with practiced, desperate precision.

To him, that syringe is heroin.

It's not. It's a sedative cocktail. Specially compounded for his condition.

You can't quit cold turkey. You have to taper the dose. Slowly.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. I finally understand the depth of his hatred.

In his eyes, I'm not his lover.

I'm the one who got him hooked.

I'm just the villain holding the leash, dangling his next hit, watching him suffer.

Chapter 2

The dream pulls me under.

I am back in the city, years ago. Back when Miles was deep cover.

Christmas Eve. We weave through the crushing crowds, faces hidden behind raised collars and a folded newspaper.

He leans against the metal railing. Slouching. Loose. Like he doesn't have a bone in his body.

Miles was always lethal. Even then. A twitch of his lips, a smirk that screamed trouble. Two girls walk by, and their heads snap back to look at him.

He lets out a sharp wolf whistle. Loud. Cocky.

My boot connects with his shin. Hard.

He hisses, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Baby, I have to sell the role. Come on."

He smells like cheap cigarettes and danger. The grime of the streets clings to him, but when he looks at me, his eyes are clear. Crystalline.

Jingle Bells blasts from a store speaker. He tilts his head back, his tone teasing but laced with exhaustion. "Three years turned into three more. And then three more."

He's quoting Infernal Affairs. Our favorite foreign cop movie.

He turns his head. Our eyes meet in the reflection of a shop window. "When do I get to marry you, Audra?"

I lower the newspaper. We pass each other without stopping. Strangers in the night. "Finish the mission. Then you get me."

The mission ended. But I never got him back.

I wake up with a gasp.

The other side of the bed is cold. Empty.

I know he hates me. I know he refuses to sleep next to me.

But when I get downstairs and the living room is empty, the panic sets in.

I tear through the house. Kitchen. Garage. Guest room. Nothing.

My hands shake so bad I almost drop my phone. I dial a friend, my breath hitching in my throat.

He's nowhere.

I crouch on the floor, clutching my head.

The pain hits. A sharp, rhythmic thumping behind my eyes. It's been happening more lately. Whenever I stress, the tumor presses against my skull.

My vision swims. The room tilts. But the physical pain is nothing compared to the hollow terror of him being gone.

I fumble with a text message. I'm about to call my old contacts at the precinct.

My heart is hammering against my ribs, burning hot.

Then, a pair of white sneakers steps into my blurry field of vision. "What are you doing?"

The voice is flat. Cold. Indifferent.

It is Miles. But it isn't Miles.

The man standing over me has the same face, but the warmth of the boy in my memory is incinerated.

I scramble up. I throw my arms around him.

I don't know why I do it. I just like holding him.

Maybe if I hold him tight enough, I can bleed some of my warmth into his freezing veins. Even if he never hugs me back.

"I thought you left, Miles."

He takes a step back. A subtle rejection. He pushes me away. "I was just watering the plants."

Silence.

I force a smile. I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, hiding the tremor in my fingers. "What do you want for dinner? I can make"

"Stop the act. You won't even let me out the door." He cuts me off. His voice is a blade.

He grabs a book off the dining table and heads upstairs without looking back.

I don't let him out because Rex's crew is still out there. The remnants of the cartel he dismantled are hunting him.

But he doesn't know that.

To him, I'm just the jailer.

He is a white dove trapped in a cage.

And the longer I keep him safe, the more he hates me.

Chapter 3

I went to the hospital. A full systematic checkup.

The headaches are escalating. They aren't just pain anymore; they are blinding white spikes driven into my temples.

I used to be reckless with my life. But since Miles fell apart, I've become terrified of dying.

If I go, who takes care of him?

He would be left alone to rot in his own personal purgatory. At least if I'm here, I can sit in the fire with him.

Miles lives in hell.

His psychologist told me this during the diagnosis.

He pushes me away because, deep in his subconscious, he believes he is contaminated. An addict doesn't deserve a cop.

Rex forced him to test the product. Rex made him shoot up. He didn't have a choice.

A decorated officer, turned into a junkie.

That is his shame. That is his cage.

I can't pull him out of the pit. But I can climb down there and hold his hand in the dark.

The biopsy results will take time. On the way home, I bought groceries and a massive bouquet of Baby's breath.

When Miles was deep cover, he used to send me flowers.

He couldn't mail them to my house. He sent them to a dead drop location.

His handwriting was chicken scratch, jagged and rushed, but he never missed a card.

Short, desperate love letters from the underground.

"I'm no poet, but if I could, I'd write you the moon."

"Saw the sunset today. It looked like trash without you."

"The wind on the lake told me I miss you."

"Audra, seriously. I miss you so much it hurts."

I can picture him. Sitting in some damp, moldy basement owned by the cartel.

Leaning against a grimy windowsill, tilting his head, scribbling these cheesy lines.

Laughing at himself, then tucking the card into the flowers.

But today, the peace shatters the moment I turn onto our street.

Black SUVs. A line of them blocking the curb.

I clutch the bouquet. My blood turns to slush. The front door is wide open.

Breathe. Just breathe.

A sudden, blunt force slams into the inside of my skull. The tumor.

The pain is so violent I have to grab the doorframe to keep from face-planting. My vision greys out for a second.

Three men in black suits and sunglasses block the entryway.

And there she is. Sitting on my sofa.

"Celine. Being a billionaire heiress doesn't make breaking and entering legal."

I set the Baby's breath down on the console table. My movements are slow, deliberate. I turn to face the woman lounging on my couch.

She tilts her head. A slow, predatory smile spreads across her face.

I'm accusing her of home invasion. She's accusing me of imprisonment.

Celine. The daughter of the city's wealthiest tycoon. Miles's childhood friend.

And my rival.

She has always wanted him.

"I'm taking Miles." She lifts her chin, blowing gently on her freshly manicured nails. Indifferent.

"Over my dead body." I grip the edge of the coffee table. My knuckles turn white. I stare her down.

"Don't be dramatic. It's practical. You can't afford his treatment anymore. Look at him, Audra. Hes spiraling under your care. I have the best resources. The best psychologists. The best facilities. He can only get better with me."

"I am his lover." I cut her off. My voice shakes, but I hold my ground.

The woman finally looks at me. Really looks at me. Her exquisite makeup can't hide the sneer. "Who knows that? Did he marry you? Miles never put a ring on your finger."

"He said he would."

"But he hates you now. Watch."

She reaches into her pocket.

A silver glint.

She pulls out a switchblade and presses the cold steel against my throat.

Chapter 4

She spins me around, forces me to face the staircase.

Miles is descending. One slow step at a time.

He looks at the blade pressed against my jugular. His face is a blank sheet of paper. Nothing.

"See?" Celine whispers against my ear. "I could bleed you out right here on this rug. He wouldn't even blink."

The truth chokes me. I scraped myself hollow to keep this man whole.

And now, with steel biting into my neck, he won't even look me in the eye.

All that effort. All that pain. Wasted.

Fine.

Ill just have to try harder.

That was the pact. We promised. No matter how dark it gets, we don't let go.

My hand moves. I wrap my fingers around the blade.

I squeeze.

Celine isn't a killer. Shes a rich girl playing gangster. She freezes. Her grip falters. "You aren't taking him anywhere."

The silence stretches. Taut. Heavy.

Then, she laughs. "Fine. Fair competition." She retracts the knife, wipes the blade. "Let Miles choose. Whoever he picks, keeps him. Deal?"

Miles isn't a trophy. He isn't a prize at a carnival.

They leave. The front door clicks shut.

I sit alone on the sofa. The living room light is dying, casting long, weak shadows. I need to change that bulb.

I keep my head down. Staring at my hands.

A shadow falls over me.

He is standing right in front of me.

"They didn't break in," he says. His voice is flat. Monotone. "I unlocked the door for them."

My breath hitches.

"And when she put that knife to your throat? I didn't feel a thing."

He knows exactly where to slide the dagger. Between the ribs. Twist.

I look up.

His eyes are black mirrors. I see my own reflection in them. I look pathetic. Frantic. "So you want to go with her? Is that it?"

Silence.

He doesn't answer.

It makes sense. To Miles, Celine is just a transfer. From one cage to another.

He doesn't realize the truth.

He is the cage.

He carries the darkness inside his own chest.

I stand up. My legs feel like lead.

I just want to see a spark. Anything other than this dead-eyed stare.

I walk to the closet and pull out the old mascot head. A goofy, oversized bear.

I pull it on.

"What is that?" He frowns. Genuine confusion.

"We bought this together. Years ago."

You forgot, Miles.

The light shifts. The steam from the pot on the stove curls into the air.

For a second, Im back there. Seven years ago.

Before the undercover op. Before the needles.

We were at the State Fair. He laughed at me when I won that giant bear head. Called me a dork.

I kicked his shin.

He stopped laughing. He leaned in. He kissed me until my knees gave out.

You forgot it all.

I take the head off. The soup is boiling over on the stove. The sound of bubbles bursting fills the silence.

I force the corners of my mouth up. "Just smile for me, Miles. Please?"

He looks at me. His gaze is steady. Calm. "Die in front of me," he says. "Then I'll smile