Brenda wanted a normal school year. Instead her mom died.
Salma needed space from her sister and terrible ex. Or else she'd lose her mind.
Delilah didn't think she'd have any more problems after moving far from her hometown. That was until she becam...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
❝To paraphrase several sages: Nobody can think and hit someone at the same time.❞
― Susan Sontag
🗝DELILAH🗝
As though it was an unwritten rule, Wyatt came to pick me up every Wednesday and dropped me off home after our class. We got in to the rhythm of seeing each other often, leading him to suggest to spend an evening together - but this time, without the interruption of Clive.
One evening somehow turned into long nights, talking on the phone till the sun began to make the black skies blush. Daylight being the prime indicator that we'd been on the phone for too long, I'd continue to struggle to hang up. He did, too, making claims that he didn't have it in him to press end.
"I'm not hanging up." I declared. "You have to."
"I can't either."
"Wyatt, hang up."
"No. If you want to, then hang up. But I can't."
I went to sleep, for the first time, with him on the other end until my phone died.
I grew used to hearing his voice on the other end before going to sleep, anticipating a call. I did all I could to make him laugh, rewarding me with the lovely sound of his chuckle taking over my eardrum. There was no sweeter sound; I was sure of it.
I was scaring myself, to be fair, when I noticed that I was reading his texts over more than my course notes.
Most of the time, I brushed it off as a small crush. But I couldn't hide the truth the more we talked, taken over by the storm of emotions he caused. I jumped in excitement, expecting him to knock on my door on Wednesday afternoons and confused any loud car for his, rumbling down the avenue.
I had been stung by his affection, craving for him do the things my imagination couldn't stop think of whenever I thought of his lips for too long. After the amount of time we'd spent, he still hadn't kissed me. He didn't make the move but he had said, simply, once that he was "deeply infatuated" with me.
"Deeply infatuated?" Clive repeated what I told him, half of his bite spilling from his mouth while he gaped at me. He finished chewing and then spoke up. "He sounds so lame. How do you like him? I would've changed my number by now and packed up my things to go to the city of Toledo in Ohio for some more excitement. Toledo," he reiterated. "Fucking Toledo. That's how dry he sounds."
I clenched my fingers, resting my head on my closed fist. "I'm happy that he's taking it slow. You don't understand."
"Obviously I don't. I can't see what you see in him. He's boring."
What was the point in inviting Clive out for lunch? A portion of me, the part that longed for our high school days, wanted to get a form of clarity from my best friend of many years. But the bitterness he was giving me now made that hard to accomplish.
