A/n: First story in a long time. This will be a few chapters long, but that's all. So yeah, I guess you read and review now.

Delilah: One

He looked at her face. So much pain. Fuck, how did he get himself in this situation? Delilah. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to blame her. His feelings for her were just too strong. No, it wasn't her fault. It was his fault. They sat in chairs facing each other. Her face was red. Angry. Her eyes puffy. She had been crying. She wouldn't let herself cry in front of him. Not after this. She was always trying to be the strong one in situations like this. He always found it so cute how she would be so assertive even when she was the victim. However, "cute" probably wasn't appropriate this time. He didn't deserve to think she was cute, and she would be sickened to hear those words from him. She wouldn't look at him and why should she? Not after everything. His eyes wandered to the book she held in her hand. She stared down at it, searching for something to say. She didn't have to read it again. Once was enough to scar the words in her mind. Damn it, why didn't he hide it like he usually did? How could he be so forgetful, so careless. To just leave it in a plain sight. Maybe he wanted her to know, to find her out, so he could stop feeling so goddamn guilty. Like he was ever going to tell her. No, he wasn't that strong. Finally, it was all out in the open.

"'I love Delilah.' You wrote this, didn't you?"

Her voice was cold and he felt chills down his spine. He had never heard her speak like that. So cold, so calm. She gestured to the book as she waited for a response.

"It's my handwriting, isn't it?" He responded quietly, but equally as calm. "Yes, I wrote it."

She already knew that he wrote it, of course. She just wanted to hear him say it. He could imagine her finding it. She lost something. Always misplacing things. Perhaps looking for a pen. She wandered over to his desk to borrow one. Oh, what is this peculiar item? A small bound leather book. No title so it wasn't a novel of any sort. She had never seen it before, and curiosity got the the best of her. She opened it up and recognized his handwriting. Maybe she should stop. Well, it couldn't be anything harmful. It seemed so innocent at first. Oh look, he's gushing about someone he loves. Well naturally she thought, Oh it's about me. But then, he was describing things that didn't happen. Words they never exchanged. Sex they never had. Was it some kind of fantasy? Some kind of story? No, he didn't create stories. Descriptions that didn't describe her. Slowly, she was realizing the worst. Then came those three words on that page. I love Delilah. He doubted that she read anymore after that. She didn't need to. She probably threw it on the floor or it fell out of her hands. She sat on the bed or sunk to her knees and she stared at it. Stared at the open page and read the words over and over again. Then the tears came as her disbelief faded to realization. Then the anger. The fury. She wiped the tears from her eyes and she cursed. She cursed his existence over and over again. She probably thought about leaving, right at that second. No. No, she had to wait until he came back, probably from being with her and confront him.

And here they were. How long she had been thinking about it, he did not know. But he knew that the hurt grew more and more. Every second that passed, she wasn't healing, she was dying. Dying on the inside from betrayal. From a harmless lust. How could he do this to her, she was probably thinking. Good question, he thought. How the fuck could I do this to her? he questioned. He loved her. Yes, he loved her. He knew that for sure. He loved her for a long time. He asked her to move with him. He had never loved someone like he loved her. Until Delilah. But even still, he loved her. Even if he loved Delilah, he had never stopped loving her. How could he do this? He couldn't resist Delilah. No. No matter how much he tried, he always found himself thinking about her. He could have ended it after that night. Never see her again. He could have blamed the indiscretion on the obscene amount of liquor, lessened the guilt, taken this to his grave. But no. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Spending hours, no, it seemed more than hours. It seemed like an infinite amount of time, just thinking about Delilah. There was something about her and he just couldn't stop. He had to go back. He just had to go back. Again and again. It was never enough. He always needed more.

He wouldn't bother trying to explain that. He didn't deserve an explanation. He didn't deserve a chance. She would never ever understand his love, his passion for Delilah. No one ever would, not even Delilah herself.

She chuckled a little.

"Even after hours of thinking, I'm still speechless. I don't know what to say to you now that you're here."

He didn't speak. He would wait for her questions and accusations. He would offer her no excuses, only the truth. Because she deserved it. Because he would feel better. The guilt would disappear as the truth came out.

"It's funny. I thought you were the one. I didn't think you had the ability to do something like this—never once did it cross my mind. This thought. You would never—"

She became choked up as she tried to speak. The tears started coming again and she couldn't stop them. There was nothing she could do to hold back her feelings. He didn't realize it would hurt this much, watching her cry. But he had no right to comfort her. No right to try to hold her because she would only feel disgust at his touch and push him away. What could he offer but his words? No, she wouldn't want to listen to anything he had to say. What would he say, anyway? Sorry? Sorry wasn't good enough, and he knew it. Yet, he wanted to say it anyway. He wanted her to know that he felt sorry even if she didn't believe him.

"Allison, I—"

"What? Brendon, you're sorry?" She snapped, before he could finish it. Her eyes were so cold and so angry, even through the tears. There was nothing he could say to that. Nothing.

Just silence and sobs for the next few minutes. Those few minutes felt more like hours, though. Time seemed to be passing so slowly.

"How long?" Allison asked, quietly, staring down at the floor. "Since I introduced her to you?"

That's right. She didn't need to ask "Who is Delilah?" She already knew her. Three months. It was three months into the beautiful affair. He was unaware that Delilah knew his girlfriend, and so was she. How could she make the connection? He rarely talked about Allison, but she was aware that Allison existed. She found that out the first night they met as Brendon's friend told her, Don't bother. He's taken. But why would he talk about Allison when he was so obsessed with Delilah? Why ruin the moment when he held her in his arms by talking about Allison? No, it's not that he didn't love her, but she could never make him feel the things he felt when he held Delilah. There was no time to bother with such things between fucks. He just wanted to hold her in between fucks. As it turns out, he didn't need to talk about Allison. They were classmates in the same photography class. Who knew that Delilah took classes for anything? She seemed to be perfect, she seemed to know everything on her own. It made sense. The artsy and professional photographs everywhere. Hanging on her wall. Stepping over them as they made their way to the bed.

Delilah broke her camera. Dropped it in the street and it smashed into a billion pieces. It seemed as if she wouldn't be completing the important assignment after all. That was until Allison offered to lend her a spare camera. And Delilah happily accepted her offer, calling her a lifesaver. Brendon was at home. Writing about Delilah in the little time he could. Writing about her curves. Writing about the way he made her feel. Trying to describe the seemingly indescribable feelings. He heard Allison's voice. He heard the fumbling of the keys. Shit, he cursed as he closed the small book and put it away in the drawer. Pushing papers and such to conceal it. The door opened and he heard voices. No. Not just Allison's voice. Who was she talking to? His eyes widened as he recognized that sweet voice. Impossible. It couldn't be. Not Delilah. Not here making conversation with Allison. Yet, there was no mistaking the voice he cherished so much. He walked into the next room and he saw her. There she was standing in his home. What was she doing there? Revealing the affair? There was no way she would do that. She didn't even know Allison personally. Yet, apparently she did. Allison was in the next room over; he could hear her voice, yet he had no idea what she was saying. His eyes were fixed on Delilah. Her beautiful black hair, pulled back today. It looked nice. He could see more of her flawless face. Those haunting brown eyes. Those lips which he often dreamed about. How he just wanted to kiss those lips right now. How he just wanted to grab her and carry her to bed and fuck her. How he wanted to be inside her right now.

She glanced over, finally seeing him. Her eyes widened a tad as she realized who he was. He watched as her lips mouthed his name. "Brendon," she said without speaking. He could hear her voice in his mind. He loved the way she said his name and it was a sound that would never leave him. He gave a slight nod. Her handsome eyes lingered on him for a moment as she started to piece the situation together. Yet, she looked away as Allison entered the room. Brendon should have looked away, but he couldn't. It was so obvious, his stares. He was safe. She didn't even notice the stares.

"Oh, Brendon, hi," Allison said, a smile forming on her face. He broke his gaze, finally, and started to walk towards the two women. With careful control, he walked towards Allison instead of going to where his legs really wanted to take him. He forced his arms to take Allison and embrace her, lovingly. He forced his mouth to form a smile and forced passion as he kissed her lips.

"Hello, honey," He said with that forced smile and such a fake tone. He couldn't feel happiness to see her while Delilah was there. It was hard to have her there yet not being able to touch her. Not being able to kiss those lips. Not being able to embrace her and feel her curves. Not being able to do anything. He didn't feel anger towards Allison, though. This wasn't her fault.

"Oh, right," Allison said as she stepped back. "This is Delilah. Delilah, this is Brendon. I'm lending her my spare camera. We're in the same photography class."

Delilah smiled at him and put her hand out. Brendon's smile turned real as he shook her hand. Even if he only felt her touch for those few moments, it was better than not being able to touch her at all.

"Nice to meet you," Delilah said with such fake tone. He could see a hint of a smirk on her face.

"Likewise," He said trying not to laugh out loud. This whole thing was hilarious, indeed. Something they only knew. Something that Allison would never know. They didn't need any introductions. They already knew each other. While Allison thought that this would be the only time they would ever meet, she was wrong. He would be with Delilah that night and they would laugh about this and Allison would never know. And they did.

"So, she's your girlfriend," Delilah said as she took off her dress.

"Yeah, that would be she," Brendon replied as he watched Delilah's every move, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"She's a nice girl. Pretty. Talented at taking pictures."

"Yeah."

"Who would have ever thought we'd be in the same class?" Delilah chuckled, now totally undressed. She found her way into Brendon's eager arms as he started to lie back onto the bed.

"Amusing coincidence," Brendon said as he held her naked body close to his. He kissed her once, savoring the taste, and then again.

"You have a nice place. We should go there sometime. It's better than this shithole," Delilah suggested. God, he was aroused at the thought of fucking her in his bed, the bed he shared with another woman.

"I wish," He said and kissed her again.

"Maybe we can sneak there for a quick fuck when Allison isn't home."

"Maybe."

And they did.

"No. Before then." More sobs. "Three months, at least. I met her at a club Alex dragged me to."

Deceived even more. Allison must have felt horrible. There they were, secret lovers, and she had no idea. She had no idea that they were fucking, that they already knew each other. Betrayal hurt more and more. She needed to know, though.

"So six months? You've been with her for six months?"

"Yeah."

"Have you been fucking her for six months too? Ever since the night you met her?"

Allison would never understand that there was no way he could not. He couldn't stop after that first time. He needed more.

"Yeah."

Her eyes widened and darted to the side. The bedroom.

"Here? In there? Did you fuck her in our bed?!" She asked, raising her voice. She was quickly losing her temper, but he knew that she had enough self-control to not yell. Although, she should have yelled at him. He deserved it.

"Yes. Sometimes. Sometimes she would skip photography class and come here for a quick fuck because we both knew that you would be there and not here," Brendon answered truthfully. Her face was hot from the tears and the anger. The hate was apparent, almost tangible. He could see her turning physically sick. He knew her stomach was turning, he knew that she wanted to vomit. From the betrayal. From the idea of someone else sharing their bed.

"How could you? How could you fuck me after being with her? Who knows what she might have, what you might have!" The tears returned, yet she could still form clear harsh words through them. "You didn't even enjoy it. You were always thinking about her. Imagining her instead of me. Pretending I was as good as her. Thinking about your last fuck with her, or maybe when your next one would be. Never were you thinking about me. Never. Always Delilah. It was always Delilah!"

He stayed silent as she said those words. She was right. He couldn't deny it. He longed for Delilah's touch when he had sex with Allison. He rarely thought about her when he was fucking her. He was thinking about Delilah. He knew the conversation was coming to an end. He knew Allison couldn't stand it anymore, couldn't stand to be hurt anymore. She was dying from it. He just had to let her know before she left. He wouldn't stop her, but he had to try and say something.

"I still loved you. I still love you now," Brendon said, calmly and slowly. "I did think of you. True, my thoughts were consumed by Delilah, and yes they always were. But I thought of you. I imagined you sitting home alone, waiting for me. Sitting in bed, reading a book, checking the clock. Waiting up for me. Feeling lonely. Every time you told me you loved me, every time you looked at me in a way I could never look at you, I felt guilt. When I wasn't thinking of her, I was thinking of you. The guilt has been eating away at me these last six months. I thought it would get easier to deal with, and sometimes it seemed like that, but you know that I've been tossing and turning. The guilt is eating me up, killing me, and now I glad you finally know. You deserve to know. I know this means nothing to you, none of this, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. But I don't regret loving her."

"Goodbye, Brendon."

And she was gone. Allison was gone forever. He knew that it was unlikely that he would ever see her again. She would ask one of her friends to get her things. He would watch and wait awkwardly in the living room as her friend, who clearly hated him, would pack up Allison's stuff. Sitting there, staring at the empty chair across from him, he didn't feel better. Well, of course not, he would always feel guilty. He would always feel a void where Allison should be. But he was free, right? Free to be with Delilah. Delilah.

Still, he felt like there was no way he could win.