Delilah

one

authors note: this chapter is after Delilah's passing.
We could lay in bed for days. The two of us. Delilah and I. She was my favorite thing to fall asleep to. And my favorite to wake up with. Her sweet fragrance driving my senses insane. I always wanted her. I will always want her. Her name is a sweet sensation, spoken aloud it immediately draws my attention. She was mine.

"I love you, Harris." it almost comes out as a whisper; we were both out of breath. She runs her fingers through my hair, which is sweaty and tangled. She snuggles closer to me in my twin bed, the sheets a mess, and brings her fingers to my bare abs. Examining them, drawing circles.
"I love you most, Lilah." I smile as we catch our breath. I meant it too. This girl is my whole world. She's my moon and all the stars. The air I breathe, the blood in my veins. Delilah.
But now she's gone. And my whole world is dark, and lonely. But what does it matter? Who am I to talk about my life when hers is over? Who am I to feel angry that she left me? How can I hate her and still love her so much?
When she died deputy Johnson ruled out her passing as a suicide. She had jumped in front of a car and was killed on impact. Just like that. Just like that. How could she be so selfish? Knowing how loved she was? It makes me so beyond angry, so beyond infuriated.. I don't know how to explain how I'm feeling without punching my fist through a wall.
I tighten my tie. Tuck my shirt, button my pants, lace my shoes. But I'm not fooling anyone. I haven't slept for days and the thought of seeing her cold, dead body in a long wooden casket makes me sick. I imagine her body disfigured, her face pale and lips blue. She won't look like Delilah. My Delilah. Oh god.
Her funeral was long. It was heartfelt and sad. The room itself was freezing cold, the literal chill of death. People stopped by her wooden prison to say their goodbyes, I thought I would be able to go see her, but my body was paralyzed.
Like Delilah, I was also chained.
From my seat I watched as person by person visited, shared condolences, and filtered out. But all I could think was why. Why would she ever do this to herself? To me? Her family? She wasn't thinking right. It must have been a mistake. My Delilah would never.. oh. But she did.
I watched as deputy Johnson spoke to Delilah's parents, the Stevens. He took off his hat to talk with them for what seemed like only a moment, when Delilah's mother made a noise that sounded absolutely horrifying, unhuman even. I immediately jumped from my seat. She fell to her knees and began to weep. Mr. Evans wiped his tears and crouched to comfort his sobbing wife.
Driving home the thought consuming me was what the hell did Johnson tell them? What could possibly be more horrifying than attending your 17 year old daughters funeral? But I would never ask. I couldn't ever see them again. I wouldn't allow myself. I became one with Delilah's family, and being near them would only poke at open wounds.
I hadn't decided how to fill the void she left in me. I figure I probably never will.

I love you most Delilah.