This Love Hurts

9. Delilah

To love is never wrong.

That's a phrase my mother told my grandmother years ago after an angry conversation that was taken to the kitchen.

I was only a little girl, but I remember it well. It's one of my first memories in fact.

Her voice shook when I peeked in the doorway to find her face-to-face with my grandmother whom I loved so much. I could tell she'd been crying and she told my grandmother, "To love is never wrong."

After recent events, I have some thoughts on that memory. But still, the words ring clear in my head. To love is never wrong.

Yet here I am, with feelings stirring for one man, one I should certainly not be attracted to, let alone love... while sitting in the living room of another man.

It's not love. Not for either of them. I know it's not, but the longer I stay here, the more I can feel myself slipping.

Every sip of wine, in this empty place, only leads me to think of Marcus. And oh my Lord, my mother would eat her words if she knew what I was thinking. It would be sickening if I really did feel anything toward him. But I can't stop thinking about that searing kiss. I can't stop questioning, why me? And remembering all the notes from years ago. The closed cases that all led to one elusive man.

I don't know if it's shock or if it's PTSD but I've been in a daze since Marcus showed up and approached me.

Maybe even before then. When his fingers brushed against mine in the parking garage, when he left me flowers and then the kiss.

With a whirl of my wrist, the pale yellow wine swirls in the glass. It's my third and the bottle will be empty by the fourth.

I'd be ashamed if I gave a fuck. I can't go to work, so I've chosen not to go home and to stay at Cody's place instead. I'm out of my element, losing all control and therefore my mind.

There's a constant security detail present and every time I go outside they stand at attention, not speaking, just waiting. I feel like a prisoner more than anything.

Evan is nice enough, but he's gone, and I can't even remember the names of the two men out front. I decided tomorrow would be a better time to get acquainted more thoroughly. Tonight, the only interest I have is finding sleep at the bottom of this bottle.

So, sitting on my ass in the middle of the rug in Cody's living room and staring at the large modern art piece on the stark white wall is what I settled on when 10:00 p.m. rolled around and Cody said he had a lead and would be out later than he said he would. The black splotches that fade to gray don't say a damn thing. It's pretty. That's all it is. Monochrome and pretty to look at.

I down another sip, letting the sweet liquid pool on my tongue before slowly sucking it down. Another large gulp empties the glass and I stand up, stretching out my back and listening to the background noise of some cooking competition show that's on the large flat-screen TV behind me.

My head feels lighter, the tension in my shoulders nearly gone.

Nothing matters as I stare at the corner of the room where I first saw Marcus. Willing him back so I can question him the way they all question me.

So I can ask him why... why kiss me? Why help me?

More than that, what does he know about Cody Walsh? There's something there. I know there is. I can feel it. Like a gut instinct.

Of course, he would deny it. But didn't I deny it too? The dim light from the fridge gives a bit of warmth to the spartan kitchen as I grab the now nearly empty bottle and set it down on the marble counter with a loud clink. A softer clink follows with my wineglass.