I'm Delilah, I'm 17, and I have no purpose in this life
I'm in this weird spot where I don't really know who I am. At home, I play the good girl role, sipping milk in front of my mom (that's what I call my aunt). But as soon as she's out of sight, I light up a cigarette, feeling like I'm keeping a secret from everyone. I'm a virgin whore, I pretend to be something I'm not, at least not in this life. I always knew I was different from the others, but not in a good way.
I'm not pretty nor ugly. I'm just average. I don't have that pretty curvy body, I had problems with food when I was young, which led me to have a Chronic Eating Disorder. At first, I used to throw up, but now I just stopped eating, and I found no purpose in eating. Sometimes, I do it just because my mom insists. I had scars on my thighs due to self-harm. I'm not an ideal main character if you think about it, but I was i deal to him.
"Are you okay? I heard a scream 3 blocks from here. Was that you?"
"I... I don't know. I think I... I hurt him," I whispered, my hands trembling with guilt and fear.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK." He exclaimed upon seeing David's mangled head, resembling the aftermath of what I did earlier.
"P...please, I...I didn't mean to hu..rt him. He was trying to hurt me first. Please, help me."
Tears streamed down my face as I crawled towards him, clutching his left leg and gazing up at him through his dark sunglasses. I wasn't entirely certain how he could help me, but I took the risk anyway; it couldn't possibly be worse.
His eyes flickered with a sinister gleam as he assessed the situation.
"Get up, it's okay,"
he said calmly, his voice chillingly composed. It was then that I realized he wasn't just an ordinary bystander. And somehow, in my moment of desperation, I stumbled upon the one person who could help me cover up the crime. I really didn't know if I should be worried that a total stranger was willing to help me to get rid of David's body or the fact that he had a SMIRK on his face... IN THIS SITUATION?
I watched as he approached David's body, his movements precise and calculating. With a cursory glance, he checked for signs of life, his fingers finding a faint pulse. David was still alive, or at least that was what I assumed as I watched his smirk widening as he took off his sunglasses
"He's fine, that motherfucker is hanging on dear life as if he was some prophet or saint. You need to leave," he stated bluntly, his voice devoid of emotion.
I hesitated, my feet rooted to the ground.
"I can't just leave him here," I protested, my voice wavering with uncertainty.
He turned to me, his expression hardening with frustration.
"I don't have time for this! LEAVE, " he barked, his voice rising above the din of approaching sirens.
As panic gripped me, I felt a surge of defiance.
"I won't leave him," I declared, my voice trembling with determination.
For a moment, he stared at me incredulously, his jaw clenched in frustration. Then, with a final, desperate plea, he screamed at me to leave, his words echoing in the night air as the police sirens drew nearer.
With a heavy heart, I turned and fled, leaving David behind as the police closed in. It was a decision I would come to regret, but at that moment, there was no other choice.
Survival demanded sacrifice, and I had chosen to save myself.
I ran until I was out of breath, and as I entered the house, my mother's concerned gaze locked onto the blood stains, her voice rising with worry.
