Ladybug [h.s.]

9

Delilah

~~~~~~~~

I haven't moved from my bed for at least 30 minutes, despite having been awake. A typical occurrence in the life of Nor, but far from normal for me. There was a swirling pit in my stomach when I first opened my eyes, thinking about last night. About running off with Harry after the sock hop. About dancing with him to "Cheek to Cheek." About the spike of tension rising up from the ground when I had him drop me off. Unspoken feelings. Thoughts that wouldn't dare travel the journey to our lips.

He feels easy; like maybe nothing's changed since we were young. Like riding a bike, or tying your shoes. A habitual routine that, eventually, becomes so embedded in your motions that you don't have to think twice. And, with Harry, everything becomes simplified. Talking is easy, acting becomes unnecessary, the electric wire connecting our brains still sending currents through glances.

But, nothing is simple; nothing is easy. Because everything's changed. He's not the Harry I used to know. He's arrogant, and rude, and dirty. The softness I once knew formed into an intricate ice sculpture. Igloo covering. Snow globe figurine. Harry's rough, and seeks out fights. He's a greaser. And while I wish every day that there weren't so many divides, that I could hang out with whoever I wanted to without fear of repercussion, I can't. And there are. Slipknots roped tight around my arms.

He's untouchable. Unavailable. And maybe that's why he keeps circling my mind, spinning around and around like some forbidden toxin. Spiraling the clogged drain pipe. Apple hanging from the tree. He's self-righteous and he needs to feel like the good guy. As if he's making up for his missteps by performing some grand gesture. Applause for the villain turned superhero. Comeback story for the ages.

And then I remember that I, more or less, invited him to The Station tonight. And the anger bleeds into frustration bleeds into confusion bleeds into a burning in my chest bleeds back into anger.

A knock on my door makes me jump, rolling onto my side to face it as the hinges creak quietly, "Baby girl?"

"Morning, Daddy." I greet, pushing all of the sticky emotions to the side.

"Are you feeling okay, pumpkin?" He peeks his head inside, fingers wrapped around the door. Concern blankets his voice. Atypical morning in the normal Delilah routine.

I shuffle to sit up a little bit, "Yeah, Daddy, I'm okay. I didn't get to bed until late."

He smiles in relief, "Did you girls have fun last night?" He raises his hand to interrupt himself at the same time that my stomach seizes up, "No, I'll let you get out of bed first. I'll put some bread in the toaster?"

"Yes, please." I smile back, fiddling with the corner of my bedsheet.

He gives me a thumbs-up before he disappears back down the hall which makes me gasp suddenly, heart stalling briefly in my chest. My hands find my hair, running through with a ragged sigh. I try to settle my heartbeat, focused on the erratic pounding against my chest wall, but give up before long, tossing my sheets to the side and sliding out of bed.

The sound of the toaster popping greets me as I make my way downstairs, the cinnamon shaker rustling shortly after. "Morning, Mom." I press my cheek against the top of her head as I walk through the dining room to fetch my toast from my father. He passes it off with a happy smile, as bright and peppy as ever.

"So, now, tell me how last night was, baby girl. I tried to stay up, but you girls were just out having the time of your life all night long, huh?" He trails me back into the dining room, sitting in the chair across from me.