13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Delilah
“ W ell, that was interesting, huh, boy?” I ask Blaine, whose head cocks to the side like an owl’s.
I crouch beside him to pet him some more, because he obviously deserves it, but my thoughts inevitably drift to Cedric again. To Cedric wearing Grayson’s clothes, to his fingers threading my hair, to the way he all but ran away. It shouldn’t sting, and I shouldn’t take it personally, but it does and I do and since nobody’s here to tell me I don’t get to be emotional about it, I most definitely will be. I sniff as Blaine nudges my hand to encourage more pets, his wet nose pressing into my palm. I grab him and set him on my lap to get better access to his adorable neck, but then my eye falls to the calendar on the fridge. There is no reason to worry Cedric will deduce anything from a silly doodle–it’s not like most people outside of Fern Port have acknowledged werewolves exist.
An unbidden memory of sharp teeth sinking into my wrist explodes into my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my brain to banish it.
Blaine whimpers as I support my right arm with my hand. As I take in the reason I will never be the same as I was. The reason nobody will ever be able to love me–not the way I’ve always wanted. I trace the barely-faded scar with my thumb and close my eyes.
I’m still human. I’m still me.
Some days it’s harder to believe.
I spend the majority of the day cleaning the house, collecting dust in every crevice and beneath every piece of furniture, while string quartets play in my headphones. I walk Blaine, I bake an apple pie, and I ask Faye over. I usually love dressing up and soaking in the sunshine, but after the rain stopped and the sky cleared, I realized I didn’t feel like it. Seven minutes after I send the text, Faye’s heavy knock is at the door, and I welcome her with a bowl of caramel popcorn and a half-hearted smile–which naturally, she immediately intercepts.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Hello to you too,” I laugh, closing the door behind her.
“Oh, please, we’re past hellos, I know where you keep the slutty underwear,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“It’s literally one pair, and you promised you wouldn’t bring it up again!”
“Trusting me was your mistake,” she smirks. “So what is it? ”
“Nothing!” I nearly yell, betraying my emotional state. Not that I was doing a good job hiding it in the first place.
“Does nothing stand for a certain British guy who dresses like a grandpa?”
“That’s mean,” I mumble. “Maybe.”
“So yes, good, we’re making progress,” she adds, heading to the couch and unceremoniously plopping down. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything,” I groan, joining Faye on the couch, head in my hands.
“Right, let me rephrase–what did you want him to do?” I can’t see her, but I know she’s pointedly staring at me.
“Nothing! I don’t know! Last night was fine, and then he came over this morning and one second he’s brushing my hair and the next he’s literally running as far away from me as–”
“WAIT.”
“What? What happened?”
“He brushed your hair?” Faye says, mouth agape, dark eyes narrowed.
“Uh, yes?”
“Isn’t that kind of…intimate?”
“I guess! But then he ran away, so–it doesn’t matter. Let’s watch the movie.”
“Nope–we’re talking this thing through,” Faye says, taking the remote from my hands. “It’s clearly bothering you.”
“Well, yes. Yes it is.”
“Because…?”
“Because I’m an idiot!” I cry, rising from the couch and starting to pace the living room. “You told me not to get attached–”
“I did not. ”
“But you thought it! And my brain told me not to get attached–and what happened?”
“You got attached?”
“Bingo!” I throw myself on the rug, laying down, and if Blaine’s hair is getting stuck in mine, that’s a later-me problem. Right now, commiseration sounds just about wonderful.
“You’re being dramatic,” Faye drawls from the couch. “I’m sure he didn’t run .”
“Oh no,” I sigh. “He literally ran out the door. Forrest Gump has nothing on him.”
“Let’s say I don’t think you’re exaggerating,” Faye says, and I open my mouth to protest, but decide to let her finish. “He probably had a good reason that had nothing to do with you. What’s the last thing you told each other before he left?”
“Well, we were drinking tea, which he hated, by the way, and how was I supposed to know a British person could hate tea at all? But anyways, I asked him about his boss and he said–oh.”
Faye snorts, and her face comes into my line of vision, eclipsing the yellow light on the ceiling.
“See? He had business stuff to take care of. Will you get up now?” she asks, offering her hand. I take it and rise from the rug, passing my free hand through my knot-free hair.
“Faye,” I say.
“Yes?”
“Why aren’t you telling me not to get ahead of myself?”
“Because I’ll be damned if I allow you to push away something that could make you happy.”
My heart clenches, and I bite my lip in a useless effort not to get emotional.
“Are you going to cry? ”
“ Nope ,” I sniff. “And when I inevitably fail not to want more? When I start feeling things? What if I’m wrong about him, and I’m the one who puts Fern Port in danger?”
Faye sighs, shakes her head lightly. “We’ll cross the bridge when we get there. Sharks are still an option,” she considers. “And at the end of the day, any loyalty you owe is to yourself.”
At that, a stray tear makes its way out of my eye, and I don’t bother to wipe it away. Faye is the only person I’ve ever met who’s told me to put myself first. “And to you?”
“Duh. Let’s watch a horde of zombies eat some brains now.”
Cedric
Back at the hotel, I am, simply put, quietly losing it.
It seems like I was entirely wrong, and though it should mean I haven’t squandered my chances, I can’t sit in that relief. Not only because it shouldn’t be a good thing for her to like me. The face Delilah made when I left in such a bloody rush keeps replaying in my mind, and I know I will not manage stillness until I’ve put a smile on her face.
Which comes with its own set of problems, given the very reason I fled her house like a burglar was that I am not supposed to care–to want , to make her smile. To make her do anything, really, except not make my time here a living hell for myself.
I can’t avoid her forever. I can’t avoid her at all, given we’ll be crammed back up together in that tiny excuse for a shop soon enough. I wish I could stop feeling the way I do when I’m with her, for both our sakes. I pick up my phone and consider asking Marcus for advice, then quickly throw it back on the bed. I take a deep breath before biting into the sweet bread I picked up on my way back, and it doesn’t taste sweet at all. I accidentally glance at my reflection in the hazy mirror next to the bathroom door, and remember what I’m wearing. Whose clothes I’m wearing, rather. I have no right to summon anything remotely resembling jealousy–yet here I am. Torn between keeping this tracksuit forever as the only memory I’ll get to keep of Delilah’s, and wanting to set it on fire for belonging to another man in her life. It’s confusing, and I’m not used to it, and I bloody hate it.
I’d do better and stay away as much as possible.
But I don’t want to. Not even a little bit. If it hadn’t been obvious before this morning, Delilah Anders is the single kindest, most enchanting woman I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. And I’ve barely scratched the surface.
How am I going to get out of this mess? How am I going to spend weeks in her orbit and keep myself in check? I normally wouldn’t have any problem putting my wishes aside, but every minute I spend in her presence makes me want to forget I have a duty here, and once that is fulfilled, I shouldn’t so much as think about this place again. Let alone fantasize about its loveliest inhabitant. I chew some more on my measly breakfast, but the thought of doing my father’s bidding and getting on a plane only to never see her again destroys any crumb of appetite I may have had.
Perhaps the best way to go about this is to try forgetting about the sound of her laughter, and avoid looking at her as much as possible. I’m not going to lie to myself. I have been flirting with her. I’ve been helpful and she’s been grateful, and if I were smart, I would stop before it puts everything in jeopardy. Except I don’t know if I’m that strong. I don’t know that I’m selfless enough to do the right thing and squash these feelings before they make themselves heard. I gulp down some water, attempting to quiet down my buzzing thoughts, but it’s no use. My phone pings, and I’m prepared to lie to my brother or get a fill of Joe’s not-so-veiled threats, but my lips part when I read Delilah’s name on the screen.
Are you free tomorrow? :)