Behind His Side Of The Glass

Chapter 5 - Until you meet Dawson.

Delilah's POV:

I had spent the entirety of the morning getting ready for the barbecue. From lathering myself in my vanilla body wash and watching the suds slip away into the drain along with the hot water, to swiping concealer under my eyes in order to mask the domino effect of shitty, sleepless nights. I had made sure to double coat my lashes in mascara, and lightly powdered my hollow cheeks with blush.

I looked less gaunt. Better kept, as well as more put-together. The once dark circles under my eyes no longer casted a shadow over the rest of my face, no longer pooling shade into the depths of my cheekbones. Rich brown waves wildly framed my features and settled in perfectly moussed pools around my shoulders, the different layers in my hair distinguishable by fragile curls at the ends. Streaks of buttery gold running through the loose-falling hazel waves.

Sliding gold rings down the length of my fingers, I gave one final twirl in front of the oval mirror nestled safely into the corner of my bedroom. The dress swept around just above the middle of my thighs, the white material stroking against my skin. Small crinkles ran through the fabric of my skirt - a giveaway at the fact that I had yet to iron my clothes - all the way up to the cinched in waistline.

A puff of hot air slipped from my mouth, 'Good enough' . I turned away and left the room, leaving behind nothing but the reflection of my bed in the mirror.

The afternoon was spent tidying the bottom floor of my new house, better furbished after the unpacking of what seemed like an endless pile of cardboard boxes. The counters in the kitchen had been spritzed in Dettol and wiped down with a damp sponge, the surfaces gleamed underneath the warm lights. Subsequently, the floor was mopped, couch cushions rearranged and dust upturned and swept away from its resting.

And by the time I was pummelling my knuckle against the door to the Moretti residence, a hazy periwinkle had began to intertwine itself amongst the clouds.

I gripped tightly onto the glassy neck of the Chardonnay bottle, using my other hand to tug at the hem of my summer dress, in hopes of keeping it from riding too far up my leg and exposing dangerous territory. The tops of my breasts peeked out over the sharp cut neckline, putting emphasis on the deep crease that ran in between my large mounds. White, ruffled sleeve stretched down to my elbows, leaving my forearms exposed to the cool breeze of the August evening.

I sucked in a breathe as I scrutinised my outfit choice and whether or not it was too much for a barbecue, but it wasn't long before a low groan of hinges and a small gust of escaping wind signalled at the mahogany panel being opened and ultimately the flurry of doubts in my head came to a halt.

A welcoming warmth licked tenderly at my skin and erupting peals of laughter fought against my eardrums.

"Delilah, hi!" Vicky all but practically shouted as she extended the gap between the door and its frame even further. "Welcome, welcome".

I internally groaned as I stepped inside, the realisation that I now had to socialise with people hitting me like a ton of bricks.

"Thank you," I meekly gave back, my eyes darting across the interior "You have a lovely home".

This hadn't been a lie. The inside was very spacious indeed, the open floor plan allowed me a clear view of the conjoined living and dining room. Their meticulously white walls were spotted with glossy frames, each one encasing canvases covered in spots and smears of black paint. The simplicity of the 'paintings' - and yes I would use that term very loosely - reincarnated itself into the furniture.  A black, leather couch sat facing the TV; a knitted throw draped across the armrest. The couch seemed relatively new, untouched, as if the years hadn't caught up to the leather just yet, it remained uncracked but strained under the pressure of the excessive padding within. The fireplace underneath the flat screen had been ignited. Crackling, ember flames emanated fumes of ash and roasting wood - the potent smell of the leather joining it in the air. Matching arm chairs squashed in beside the couch around the translucent coffee table, wine glasses perched on marble coasters, an assortments of chips shuffled together in a wooden bowl on there too.