Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Seventeen

  Late the next evening when everyone else was down in a sitting room or outside, Delilah went to fetch Pyrrhus, seeing as he hadn't left his room all day.

  She knocked twice but there was no answer.

  "Pyrrhus, love. Are you alright?" No response. Delilah went to turn to leave but heard glass shattering from the other side of the door, followed by muffled cursing. With a furrow of her brow, she unlocked the door and rushed inside. "Pyrrhus?" He wasn't anywhere in the room, when she turned, Delilah spotted a beam of light coming from the bathroom door.

  Biting at her lip worriedly, she walked over and lightly wrapped on the door. "You okay?" There was a sigh from the other side, and a beat of silence passed before Pyrrhus muttered for her to come in.

  When she opened the door, her eyes widened as she took in the sight in front of her. "Merlin, what happened?" There was a bottle of fire whiskey shattered on the floor and she could smell the alcohol off him. Pyrrhus sat slumped in the tub, fully dressed, and he looked dreadful.

  His eyes were swollen and red rimmed, his hair was a mess, and his clothing was askew. With a wave of her hand, Delilah cleared the glass and knelt by the tub. He wasn't looking at her, instead his eyes were trained on his hands.

  Looking over, Delilah realized he was clutching a letter. Tears were threatening to spill over and he sniffed before aggressively wiping at his eyes. She took it he wasn't one to typically cry, at least not in front of someone. Delilah looked at him in worry and brushed his hair back before standing up to go the sink.

  She wet a cloth with warm water and went back to the tub. She was giving him time to talk if he wanted, not wanting to force him into saying anything. They weren't relatively close. The most time they spent together was when he took her dress shopping.

  Pyrrhus was different from the rest of the group, he always had a smile on his face and a joke to tell. There was a lightness in him.

  He closed his eyes as Delilah patted his forehead with the cloth, she slowly made her way to his cheeks and pressed the fabric under his sore eyes. Nearly ten minutes passed before he finally spoke.

  "He broke up with me." His voice was strained and he turned his face away from her, too scared to gauge her reaction. Delilah let out a small breath through her nose and placed a hand to his cheek, turning him to face her.

  Pyrrhus looked at her slowly and felt his shoulders relax at the reassuring smile on her lips. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He rested his own hand above hers and gave it a squeeze, it was cold but it helped wake him up a bit.

  He looked at her a long moment, searching her eyes for any hint of judgement. He found none, and there was an overwhelming urge to hug her, but he refrained and stuck to holding her hand.

  "His name's Ovela, I met him last summer in Greece." Pyrrhus began, a hint of a reminiscent smile on his lips.

  He remembered how they stumbled upon each other, in an odd circumstance to say the least. His family was on holiday, but Pyrrhus snuck out one night to tour Santorini on his own. At a small cafe on a street corner, he met Ovela. He was a waiter, but was nearing the end of his shift so he sat to talk with Pyrrhus. Ovela was already done with school, being eighteen. Pyrrhus was a sixteen year old suddenly infatuated with the olive skinned boy in front of him, hanging off every word. For the rest of the holiday, Ovela showed him around, took him to smaller islands, and eventually they fell enraptured with one another. But the trip came to and end, and they departed.

  "We've been sort of going about long distance, through letters." He said with a sniff, staring at Ovela's scrawl on the parchment. "It obviously wasn't working for him."