The Truth About Love

CHAPTER 33: SAMANTHA

A/N: WARNING: Not only is this a long one, but it has some adult content as well. If at any point you need to stop reading PM me for a synopsis.

Jan 4,1989

Nothing good lasts forever.
I am contemplating this very thought day by day lately.
The good is gone now and I am hopeful that this period of absolute horror won't last forever.
Life was good. It truly was. Then it wasn't.

I try daily to put on a brave face and rough through, but it was never me to pretend everything is okay when it clearly isn't.
Alexander, Delilah, Dan and I had a life here. Maybe not a life many would write home about, but a nice, small life. We didn't have a nice car, we didn't have nice furniture or a nice place to live. Hell, Delilah is two and she didn't even have a bedroom of her own. She still slept in a crib, she was quickly outgrowing in my and Alexander's room. Dan still slept in the spare room, the one where you had to squeeze to get into the door because the nightstand blocked the door a bit.
We still had our shit brown sofa, with the red throw pillows and camaflague rug. It was filled with stains now from Delilah and her creative toddler antics.
Dan couldn't even ever bring a girl home, because c'mon, how do you explain this lifestyle to any decent girl?
We didn't mind it though. We all came home everyday to this tiny apartment that was filled to the brim with love.

We even opted out of a big birthday celebration for Delilah this year, because celebrating in our home was more comforting. We settled for a tiny cake I brought home from the bakery by my job and apple juice boxes.
We sat on the couch together, watching Sesame Street eating cake with Delilah in Dan's lap. Poor guy had the soiled dress shirt to prove it. One more work shirt to add to the collection of dress clothes Delilah successfully destroyed.

But we were happy.
Until that day.

One fine night a few weeks back we were living out our normal routine. I came home from the cafe to Dan cooking dinner with Delilah following close behind. She was his little helper in the kitchen. That was one thing Alexander and me couldn't show her.
Besides chocolate chip pancakes, Alexander's experience in the kitchen was limited.Mine was even worse. I can make coffee, that's it. I could burn water I'm sure.
So as Dan and Delilah prepared dinner, I plopped on the couch and rested until Alexander came home from the repair shop. When he did we cuddled on the couch, sneaking kisses until dinner was ready.

Then the phone rang.
The phone that never rings, the one that is barely acknowledged, rang. Alexander and me know what this could mean, shit Dan even knows.
Delilah doesn't. Her experience with telephones is limited to her play phone in her box of toys in my bedroom closet. So she insisted on answering.
We all looked at one another and shrugged, "why not."

After over a minute of her saying "hello," "how are you," and "nice talking to you," the formal phone etiquette she is used to thanks to her best play buddies, Alexander and I, he stood up and lifted her while taking the phone.

While rocking her up and down on his side, and trying to avoid getting his hair pulled too hard, Dan and I watched his face morph into pure shock and terror. A look I knew too well.
He hung up calmly and played face in front of Delilah. He crouched down to her level and spoke excitedly,
"Baby girl, how would you feel about having a sleepover party at Aunt Mar's for a couple of days!"
Jumping up and down excitedly she began telling us about everything she wanted to do with Mar. I got the idea Alexander wanted me to call my sister to take her off of our hands.