15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Delilah
“ I love you, Blainey days,” I tell my dog with a loud kiss on top of his fluffy forehead; I took him on an extra long walk this morning, and he’s already halfway asleep as I let myself out. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, the clouds are wide and cotton candy-looking, and I’m going to spend the entire day with Cedric.
I can hardly contain the skip in my step, and have no intention of keeping the smile off my face.
It might be silly, but I feel like Cedric sees me. And I know it’s selfish of me, wanting something he can’t give me, even more so because it’s me who can’t allow it. I don’t want to turn his life upside down. Sorry, no date night, you’ll have to chain me up so I don’t kill you!
I grimace at the mental image and shake it off, even as a shiver runs down my spine.
While the noble choice would be to not let anyone get close, I can’t bear the thought of regretting wasting the time I do have with this man.
I’m not going to throw it away.
As I make my way to Myrta’s, I glance nervously at my phone. I’m not exactly early, but there are no texts from Cedric canceling the ap–date. It’s a date, and I’m allowed to call it that. My hopeful smile falls as soon as I turn the corner and see that Cedric isn’t there. I approach the shop just as Myrta’s brown-gray curls, followed by the rest of her, come into view.
“What are you doing here? It’s Sunday,” she says, the usual, worn to the bone bucket hat propped on her head.
“I could ask you the same,” I reply flippantly, because today out of all days I’m not going to let Myrta’s grouchiness dampen my mood. When one of her wispy eyebrows rises, unimpressed, I tell her I’m waiting for someone. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before, that Myrta might not be ecstatic at the prospect of me and Cedric having any kind of relationship, given his business with her, and wonder if I should have told him to meet somewhere less conspicuous. I consider texting him that, but I need to stop making decisions based on what other people might think. Five minutes pass, and I catch myself biting my lip. Ten minutes, thirteen… I might not have known Cedric for long, but I severely doubt tardiness belongs to him. That watch on his wrist is not for vanity. When he’s twenty minutes late, I text him, and get no reply. I figure there are a few options: either he forgot (unlikely), he overslept (doubtful), or something might have happened that’s holding him back. I don’t want to be overbearing, but I suppose there’s no harm in making sure he’s alright. I make my way toward the hotel on a sure step. It’s a five-minute walk, after all. My heartbeat is flickering, and I decide not to assume the worst.
As soon as I push the door open, my eyes meet Cedric’s as he’s almost stumbled down the last flight of stairs, and my shoulders fall in relief.
“Are you alright?” I ask as he walks in my direction, and the closer he gets, the more I realize how unfocused his gaze is.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” When he bends toward me I freeze, thinking he might kiss my cheek in greeting, though he pulls back at the last second, eyes glassy and lips parted.
“Well, you were late, and I thought–Cedric!” I yelp, holding him upright against the jacquard sofa in the hotel hall. A thin sheet of sweat glistens on his forehead, and his fingers grip my forearm tight for balance. “I’m fine,” he says blearily.
“And I didn’t accidentally eat a caterpillar once,” I mumble as his eyes drift close.
“What?” he asks after a few seconds of me struggling to turn him back toward the stairs.
“Nothing! I need you to help me here, bud.”
“Our date is the other way.”
“We’re not going on a date,” I tell him patiently. “We’re going back to your room. Well, I’m taking you there, I won’t–”
His head swings back to me, eyes impossibly dark even as he squints. “That doesn’t sound right.”
I shake my head and push lightly on his back, the soft fabric of his shirt creasing against my palm. He can recycle this outfit anytime , I think, and yes, I have terrible timing, but it’s not my fault he’d look handsome in a trash bag. It’s unfair to us common people .
Begrudgingly and with a lot of effort on both our parts, we manage to get him back up the two flights of stairs. I ask for his room key, and he waves in the general direction of his back pocket.
I open my mouth to protest, because surely I’m not shoving my hand down his pocket when he’s semi-asleep on his feet? But his forehead is pressed against the wall now, and he looks like any more movement will cost him, so I take a breath and quickly grab the key. Stop thinking about his butt, Lila. What is wrong with you?
I let us in as Cedric all but collapses on the bed, face first.
“Ouch,” he mumbles against the comforter.
I tentatively place a hand on his shoulder. “Cedric?”
“Yes,” he says, rolling to his side to meet my eyes.
“I hate to be that person, but see? You can get sick.”
His brows lower, an actual pout forming on his full lips. He’s never looked younger, or less guarded. I can’t believe how thoroughly it warms my heart, though I wish it was a different situation that brought it out of him.
“I ruined it.”
“Ruined what?”
“Our date. Our bloody date, Delilah.”
He sounds so upset I’m at a loss for words. Which doesn’t happen often.
“Sit. Please.”
I lick my lips and do as requested. “I have some aspirin in my bag,” I say, cowardly ignoring what he said about our date. I gently place my palm on his forehead to check his temperature, and luckily, he’s not burning up. “Is there anything else you usually need when you’re sick?”
His eyes are closed now, but a barely-there smile touches his mouth .
“Not usually, no,” he says quietly.
I rummage through my bag until I get hold of the small box of pills. Cedric groans when I rise from the bed, but I open the only cabinet in the room and find a plastic cup that no bug seems to have taken residence in. I grab the water on Cedric’s nightstand and pop the aspirin in the cup, focusing on the fizzy sound it produces as it swirls to the bottom.
“D’lilah?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you so far away?”
I can’t help it. My stupid heart flips in my chest. “I’m right here.” I walk back to him and help him get up, enough not to spill the water. He drinks it greedily, grimacing at the sour taste of the medicine. When he’s done, he sighs, slowly settling back down.
“Call me if you need anything, alright?” I say as I do everything in my power not to caress his cheek.
“Where are you going?”
“Well–home.”
He looks at me like I’m not making sense. “No.”
“What?” I snort.
“Stay.”
“You need to rest–”
“Just for a bit.” He says it against the pillow, fighting for his eyes to stay open when they clearly want to do the opposite. “Stay,” he repeats. I linger beside the door for a scarce minute, but it’s enough that Cedric’s breathing has evened out, his expression peaceful, and is already snoring softly.
I could leave, and he’d be none the wiser. He might not even remember asking me to stay at all once he wakes up.
Yet I walk around the bed, closing the curtains as slowly and quietly as possible. I take my bag and shoes off, place them against the wall, and gently sit beside him on the mattress. I’m not tired, though this morning’s energy is quickly fizzing out of me. Despite how badly I wanted to spend the whole day showing Cedric how beautiful Fern Port can be… being close to him, like this?
It’s just as good.
I close my eyes and hum in content, and if at some point I doze off and my hand finds Cedric’s, I tell myself it’s alright.
Cedric
“Have I ever told you how happy I am that you’ve come here?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I say, though my mouth feels like cotton, the light around me, us, too bright.
“Well, I am,” Delilah says softly. The light is bloody blazing now, and I can’t really see her, but I know it’s her. I’d recognize her voice anywhere.
“I am too,” I reply, following her blindly through the misty atmosphere.
“It’s too bad we’re kidding ourselves,” she adds after a beat, and that makes me pause.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re leaving soon, silly.”
“Well, yes, but–”
“I’m tired of this conversation,” she cuts me off, her voice turning to steel, and panic seizes my throat. I know she’s right, in a sense, but perhaps–
“I’ll break his neck, you hear me? I’ll break his neck and throw him in a ditch, like I should have done the second he was born.”
“Joe? ”
“No, I’m the fucking tooth fairy.”
“W-where’s Marcus? What have you done?” I shout, but I can see my father’s face now, mocking me, a cigarette bobbing in his cruel mouth, and a pair of translucent wings batting on his back. It’s grotesque, and I keep shouting for him to leave, for Marcus, for mum, but there’s a sound like wind whipping against trees in my ears, the roaring insufferable–
I wake up with a jolt, though I can’t move my hand and the rest of my arm doesn’t budge either, trapped beneath–
Delilah’s.
Real life Delilah, smelling like fresh strawberries and something sweeter. She’s sleeping beside me, somehow not woken up by my fitful dreaming. I peer down at her and swallow hard, my throat feeling much better than it did this morning. I marvel at the pink of her lips, the rise and fall of her chest, her silky hair ruffled against the pillow. I focus on her, slowing my racing heart.
She’s holding onto my arm like a lifeline, and I can’t fathom how weak the sight makes me. Even more than shaken by that god-awful nightmare, I am impossibly awestruck by the mere feeling of our skin touching. I should wake her, shouldn’t I? We can’t in good conscience spend the whole day locked up in this musty hotel room when we were supposed to be on our date.
It’s entirely too bad, how I want to unplug my conscience when it comes to this girl.
With a deep sigh, I let whatever working shred of my brain is left take the reins, and pull much harder to extricate myself from Delilah’s grasp. How someone who seems so delicate can be so strong is baffling–I’ll need to ask her about it, when we find ourselves in a lesser predicament .
Delilah groans disapprovingly, muttering something unintelligible. I say her name once as I shake her gently, though her eyes don’t open.
“Delilah, we’re in bed together,” I say again, hoping the words will have some effect.
“I swear it wasn’t me!” Delilah shouts as she swiftly rises, a lock of hair lingering on her lips. I hadn’t anticipated that she’d smack me with an elbow in the process of waking up.
“Oh gosh, please tell me I didn’t break your nose.”
“You did not,” I confirm, gingerly touching the sides of my nose. “Though you have a wicked strike, that’s for sure.”
Delilah laughs nervously as she rolls further from me on the bed, nearly toppling off the other side. She passes a hand through her hair, blond-red locks a little wild. She doesn’t look any less beautiful, and I think there’s no harm in telling her, not at this point, but she interrupts me.
“I’m sorry,” she says with a grimace. “You asked me to stay, and I didn’t think there would be anything wrong with that, and, ah , I don’t know how I fell asleep. I mean, I didn’t get a ton of sleep last night, but–I’m rambling again, aren’t I?”
I nod at her, my lips pressed together. “Stop apologizing,” I say.
“But–”
I shake my head, my eyes wide in warning. “No buts.” I glance at my watch, my skin reddened by the imprint of the duvet. That was one hell of a nap, and sickness aside, it’s not hard to figure out why.
“Are you ready then?” I ask, getting off the bed to ascertain my headache is truly gone, and pleased to find out my junctures no longer feel like they’ve been lined with gasoline and set on fire.
“Ready for…? ”
I walk toward the perpetually ajar door to my measly wardrobe. I can’t very well leave this room with a creased shirt I slept in.
“Our date, of course,” I say absent-mindedly, my fingers deftly scrolling through the selection of shirts I brought along.
“ Cedric ,” Delilah starts, sounding a great deal exasperated. “I thought we were past this. Doesn’t the fact that you collapsed in bed tell you that you need to rest?”
“That aspirin you gave me did wonders, and I feel perfectly fine,” I say as I select the shirt and start unbuttoning the one I slept in.
“Do you not want to, uh, relocate? For that?” Delilah asks, and when I turn to give her a questioning look, the heat rising on her cheeks is answer enough. She looks down quickly, fingers tracing the embroidered pattern on the duvet with far too much interest.
“Delilah,” I say, pausing my unbuttoning.
“Yep?” she asks, eyes still cast downwards.
“Look at me.”
“I don’t think it’s–”
“Come on.”
I can see her fighting herself, but with a sigh, she concedes. “I’m looking at you,” she says, an odd look in her eyes, bright despite having just woken up.
“I thought you said I didn’t make you nervous,” I say casually.
She smiles feebly, exhaling from her nose. “You don’t.”
“Then what’s the matter? Would you prefer I changed in the bathroom? Because I can do that. If it would make you feel better.”
She squints at me, and I wonder if it’s because she’s unsure what the correct answer is–and I would love nothing more than to tell her there is none. I want her to tell me the truth, though I’m admittedly being a tease.
“No, I wouldn’t prefer that,” she says. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but there is something sultry and low in her voice that threatens to bring me to my knees.
She stands then, my heart waging war in my ribcage as she picks her dainty shoes and bag up and walks up to me. I don’t move a muscle. I don’t trust myself not to pick her up and kiss her senseless.
Her gaze rises slowly to meet mine, the color on her cheeks faint now, something both steady and tentative swirling in her eyes. I don’t miss the way they rave across my face, my chest. But she smiles, small and honest, and says, “I’ll see you downstairs.”