This isn’t written to upset anyone and I wouldn’t want Delilah to read it. Just to make clear what happened for those still thinking that she was at fault.
At the end of October, early November, Delilah was a mess. She’d been let down pretty badly by some jackass looking for an easy lay. Even though we hadn’t spoken properly for weeks, thanks to that same jackass, she started coming back to Lancaster to hang around with mutual friends and basically get wasted.
After the event we’re about to discuss, I did make up a bit of shit. I told people we’d been making out in secret, I told people we’d made up, I told them we were looking at getting back together. All fucking bollocks. I think she probably said four fucking words directly to me that entire week and not many more in the weeks before.
Anyway, a few nights after Bonfire Night, she came to a party a couple of buildings away from mine (i.e. the one we lived in together previously). As usual, she was flirting with every guy in the vicinity and not exactly getting plastered but drinking enough to make her a bit less hostile in my direction.
I saw her say bye to someone and leave. God’s honest truth, I followed her to make sure she was ok. We lived in an expensive bit of town, so it wasn’t exactly dangerous but it was dark and she’s a dope.
As soon as she realised I was following her out, she started quickening her pace. Straight away she was scared and I stupidly thought that chasing after her at this point was the right way to go. She dog-legged down an alley that would have taken her straight into the centre of campus, but I caught up with her.
We started arguing. Mainly ‘why are you following me?’ shit. She told me she couldn’t trust me anymore after I’d hit her the last time and that regardless of whether or not she saw Shaun again, she didn’t want anything to do with me.
The fucking mention of this dickhead’s name riled me right up. I had never, from the point of them meeting, thought he was worth the shit on her shoe. He wasn’t anything close to what she deserved. And yet the little idiot had been abso-fucking-lutely in love with him for months. Even when she was playing the Scottish guy. It was always fucking him. Like I said; little idiot.
I screamed at her basically for a while about how she could do better, about how good we’d been, about how hot we were. She screamed back that we’d only been together for a week and that we’d only fucked twice.
I pushed her up against the wall, lifting her slightly off the ground, and kissed her. Or more accurately, slammed her head against the wall trying to kiss her. When she wouldn’t stay still I pushed her face sideways so that half of it scraped against the wall, and started pulling her dress down.
She’d already been shouting for me to stop for a while, so it getting louder didn’t really make a difference.
When I’d pulled her dress down to her waist, started pulling the skirt of it up.
It’s probably going to sound fucking unbelievable to say that it didn’t feel as horrific as it’s reading. You have to understand that I had got it into my head that we were made for each other and that we were going to end up together. To me, she was playing hard to get. Or at least that’s what I told myself.
At some point I’d pulled my cock out and was inside her, but fucking a screaming girl against a wall when she’s trying to escape wasn’t working, so I turned her round and shoved her face against the wall again. All the blood and the scrapes on the photo she took were from this bit.
Here, she went quiet and cried. That was harder than the screaming. I pulled out and left.
I don’t know what happened after that because I didn’t check on her for three days; just waited for the police to turn up. They didn’t.
I wish they had because things have unraveled since then. I’ve been driven insane by loving/missing/losing this girl. And now I’m probably going to be dragged through court for something else entirely. Fucking karma.
- Adam Hughes