Afraid » l.t

Chapter 32 (m)

Song: Just In Love - Joe Jonas

"I love a girl in a whole nother language, people look at us strange. Don't understand us, they try to change it"

Louis

"No, it's C-O-M-P-A-T-I-B-L-E," I spell out for Delilah. She grips her pencil so her knuckles turn white, my bottom lip coming between my teeth.

"But I see an N," Delilah sasses back. I am taken back by her tone, but just mentally shrug it off.

"How come you keep mixing up the M's? You've never had a problem with them before..." I trail off. Delilah looks at me, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

Shit, what did I say?

"I know that, Louis! But I have dyslexia which is a disease that mixes up words!" She informs me, frustration evident in her voice. I place my hand on her knee, ignoring the irritated mood that's coursing through my body.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Let's just keep practicing, yeah?" I question quietly. I see her shoulders relax, mine relaxing as well when she nods.

"You're right," she agrees. I smile slightly, removing my hand to grab the notecards.

The main key in helping someone cure them from dyslexia is with patience. I've been patient the whole journey. Never had a problem with going at an extra slow pace, never got frustrated when she told me "s" was really "z". Although, it does get a bit irritating when they get mad at you for trying to help. Or in my case, blowing up at me when I ask a simple question. But it's fine. I'm doing this for Delilah.

We continue studying, Delilah eventually telling me she needed a break. I nodded in agreement, my brain also needing a break. We sat in the living room to watch a movie, both of us sat on different sides of the couch.

"I'm going to go bring Joseph to his little bud's house and then to the grocery store. You two need anything?" Amy asks Delilah and I. I look back at her, shaking my head. I look over at Delilah, her face still facing forward with an angry look painted over her normal facial features.

"I think we're fine..." I trail off, still looking at Delilah. Amy pats my shoulder, my head snapping to look at her as she points to her obviously pissed off daughter.

"Watch her," she tells me. I nod, smiling at her as she walks off. Once the door shuts, right as the door shuts, Delilah stands up and walks upstairs. I roll my eyes, mentally asking myself if it's her time of the month. However, I stand up and drag myself up the (what seems like) five million flights of stairs. Of course it's not, I'm just dreading the next few minutes of this conversation.

Once I reach Delilah's shut door, I knock quietly. There's no response, my hip popping out as I cross my arms.

"Delilah," I say while leaning my ear against the door. I still don't get a response, but can hear shuffling around. I hear a sniffle followed by a loud crashing noise. I forget being polite and waiting for me to be invited in, instead I open the door to see a broken vase on the ground followed by a broken Delilah crumpled on the floor. I rush to her curled in body at the foot of her bed, sitting on the floor next to her. I pull her close, hushing her as I hear a couple sobs leave her mouth.

Some people would ask why I'm even with Delilah. Literally. I've been asked that in the hallway at least three times. But every time I'm asked, I respond with "she has showed me a part of the world I haven't ever seen."

And perhaps that's what the most important people in our lives do. They expand your horizon of knowledge. Your comfort zone grows and so does your affection for the person. Yes, Delilah is very hard to understand, but I wouldn't ever have asked for a different girlfriend. I can't always read what she's thinking, but it's what makes her intriguing. It keeps you wondering and curious as to what she's thinking about.