sunshine | l.r.h

fifteen

chapter fifteen:

typical frat douche

The following Monday, Delilah finds herself next to Calum again in their Career Pathway class.

"So, did you two sort it out?" Calum asks, not bothering to beat around the bush. Delilah grins at his quickness.

"I think so," she nods, lightly tapping her pen against the desk. "I hope we did."

"Awe, shit, you like him don't you?" He inquires. Delilah rolls her eyes playfully. She doesn't want to admit it. Part of her is still caught up on him leaving. 

"I'm not telling you anything, Hood," Delilah teases, poking his arm lightly. Calum feigns hurt as he clutches his arm.

"That wasn't very nice, Lockwood," he fires back with a grin. The two quiet their teasing as their professor enters the room. The class goes by smoothly with Calum and Delilah whispering between each other.

Liam walks up to their table as Delilah puts her notebook away. He places his hand on the small of Delilah's back, making her jump from the sudden contact. She steps away as she turns to face him. "Hi, Liam," she sends him a forced grin.

"What are you doing after this?" He questions, leaning his hip against her table.

"Uh, working," Delilah responds, slipping her bag onto her shoulder. The cocky spark in Liam's eyes makes Delilah want to roll hers. Calum lingers by the door, waiting on the girl. He keeps his eyes locked on Liam, knowing his kind too well. Calum only associates with him because they're on the same team. Delilah glances behind her, clutching her bag a little closer. "I should get going."

"I'll see you later, Delilah," he winks. Delilah sends him another forced grin before joining Calum at the door.

"Thank you for waiting," she mumbles as they walk down the hall. 

"Not a problem," he shrugs, "If I'm honest, he might have a thing for you."

Delilah's nose scrunches at the thought. She's been with guys like Liam and doesn't plan on doing it again. Delilah's sacrificed herself for the sake of a man's ego enough. "I think it's only because I won't sleep with him. Plus, I've been through that already."

"Oh?" Calum inquires, lifting a brow. 

"Yep," Delilah nods, "Freshman year Delilah didn't make the best choices."

"I think we all used freshman year as a way to try new things."

"Alright, what was freshman year Calum like?" She questions, grinning up at him.

"A dick honestly," he laughs lightly. Delilah stays quiet, letting him continue. "I didn't really give a shit about school. I fucked around and went to parties. Just a typical frat douche."

"What changed it?" Calum takes a short breath, debating on if he should tell her.

"Luke," he answers finally. Delilah's brows furrow. 

"How so?" She continues. Calum purses his lips. 

"Something happened and it made me realize how easily everything can be lost," Calum dances around the subject, knowing part of it isn't his story to tell. Delilah's questions about the blonde have only grown in the past weeks. What does he do for a living? Why is he so closed off? What happened that made Calum change his mindset?

The two exit the building before going their separate ways. Delilah's walk to the studio is filled with more than just ideas for her paintings. 

When she gets inside, she takes off her jacket and tosses it over the desk chair. She ties her hair up and starts setting up her paints. 

Those moments that are full of quiet for her are loud for Luke as he tosses his options around in his head. Jackson's words have been echoing ever since he said them. Luke knows Jackson's been mostly talk in the past but something about this feels different. Delilah being so within reach of him makes Luke's stomach churn. 

Luke uses his frustration on the punching bag in front of him. Delilah's brushes meet the canvas with a delicacy Luke's long abandoned. Luke's movements are sharp and intentional. Delilah's are slow and blend together. 

The two lives couldn't be more separate but those little strings keep tying them together. They keep them within reach of the other, never truly drifting away. 

"Fuck," Luke curses, ripping the gauze wrap off of his knuckles. The clock on the wall reads 9 pm. A hand runs through his curls as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. The silence from the room rings around him. As much as he hated being alone, sometimes he didn't mind it. Sometimes he lets those past scars reverberate and become ammunition. 

The blonde stands before throwing an old Bon Jovi t-shirt over his head. He takes in the silence of the room for just a moment longer before turning off the light and locking the door.