ATONEMENT || 𝟏𝟖+ [hiatus]

𝑣. 𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ

──・・𖦁・・──

"Thank you," Delilah pauses abruptly before she speaks again. "For agreeing to come with me. You didn't have to do that."

The train of her dress drags behind us as she walks, looking like a velvet bloodstain against the pale marble floor. The dress itself clings to her frame, and while it looks good on her, it worries me that I can count nearly every rib in her torso. I want to bring it up, but that would be inappropriate. She's paired her dress with matching scarlet gloves, crafted to appear as if she'd just dipped her hands into a bucket of blood, coating them all the way up to her elbows.

I shrug. "I was coming anyway. Being here with you is just an added bonus."

I throw in a smile at the end of my statement, and much to my surprise, she returns it with one of her own. "Are you scared?"

She chuckles. "I think I'd be an idiot if I wasn't at least a little sad.

"I won't let anything happen. Say the word, and we're out of here."

She stops walking and looks up at me, nameless dread pooling in her brown eyes. Delilah looks away from me, staring at nothing. "I wish I could believe that, Tris. Really, I do. But I just can't, not now."

"That's alright. I'll just have to prove it to you."

Regardless of what she'd said, Delilah intertwines her fingers with mine. She clutches my hand tightly, as though her life depends on it. To her, it probably does. I gently draw circles on the back of her hand with my thumb, hoping the subtle gesture will bring her some sort of reassurance, no matter how shallow it may be. It doesn't, though. As we weave through party guests, ignoring greetings and protests alike, she remains stiff as a board.

Sam has spared no expense when it comes to this party. Every little detail is meant to exemplify how much wealth he's got stored away in his bank account. For example, hidden in the fabric of tablecloths are his family's crest, along with it being printed onto the napkins. The platters holding food on these tables are made of solid gold, and they've even gotten a small drink fountain, flowing with alcohol, guests approaching it to get their own cup. The cups, plates, and utensils seem to be made of gold, just like the platters.

I return my gaze to Delilah, and the uncertainty she verbalized earlier seems to have manifested physically. She's gone pale, her unfocused eyes darting from side to side. Sweat drips from her brow, beading up and rolling down her cheek. It kills me to see her like this, especially because I have no idea how to help her. At most, I choose to remain grounded and do my best to be here for her, instead of retreating into the comforting and familiar embrace of my mind.

Everyone is gathered in the Wayne's massive foyer. Light bounces off of crystal chandeliers, casting rainbow colored reflections in every single direction. Sam never had an ounce of humility in his body. If the opportunity to flaunt his wealth manifested, he would chase after it without hesitation. This house is a prime example. The more his wealth grows, the worse he becomes. As we draw closer to the front of the crowd, I can make out Cassidy standing in the middle of it all, hands pressed to her heart, looking around the room in awe as if she hadn't planned for everything to turn out this way.