For Them | 18+

Chapter 11

Delilah O'Connor

The texture of wool overtakes my view as I lay with my face smooshed into my bed, the tiny unfocused parts of my vision consisting of the vinyl flooring in my bedroom.

I just got back from my classes today greeted by a fluffy dog, but it somehow wasn't enough to offset the upset of my mother contacting me.

I can say with certainty that I've mostly overcome my childhood fears, but even then the scariest one still has no trouble knocking me on my ass, sticking to me like gum in hair.

I used to be terrified of dock spiders, but I learned to overcome that fear because swimming was and is a big relief from my life. With that logic, If I can overcome swimming with spiders the size of my hand, I should be able to overcome a human for the sake of relief. But humans can be especially ignorant to their hurtfulness in a way that spiders couldn't dream of, making them that much harder to overcome.

Some especially scheming humans can play the part of someone who wants the best for you but in truth they're only playing a part. Their ultimate goal isn't your happiness, but your silence. Keeping someone quietly miserable is considerably easier for certain people than extending a morsel of compassion, and I'm not sure that I have any right to blame them. Who's to say I'm not just a worse problem than I ever realized?

Is standing up to something or someone who makes your skin itch wrong? Is wanting your space from them a selfish thing to ask?

I've noticed that this kind of soul-staining hatred never fades, because far too often it's never addressed and given time to explain itself. It's only given time to fester and build to a point where this hated person's presence dominos into an almost physical disgust that makes you want to run away and puke.

That's why the call I got from my mother as I got back home from class is one that left me lying face down on my bed, not a singular thought in my mind for who knows how long. Like the gears in my brain went on extended leave, and left no contact information.

It started with the usual greeting, then asking how my grades are, but the conversation veered toward a topic that I usually tried to avoid. When my own mother questions and berates me for leaving a situation, or more accurately, a person, that puts me in danger, it feels like I lose all feeling. Astute observation skills will also signify that a mental spiral is not an uncommon response.

Despite me pleading with her to understand time and again that the boy she wants for me isn't nice, she insists that that could never be. That niceness isn't rewarded with success and so I should stop striving for it in the people I surround myself with. We need strong-willed characters in our lives, not nice pushovers.

What I hear is that my feelings could never be worth anything real.

My feelings tell me that Aiden isn't nice. He's neglectful, an exploiter, and doesn't really care for me.

But I should put everything aside and rekindle our "relationship" for the good of my future, because my own education couldn't possibly lead to me living a comfortable lifestyle on my own.

I flip onto my back, arms splayed out. Kaato, who was sitting at the end of the bed, deemed me safe enough to approach and sat in the space between my arm and my body.

"How do you still live with that woman, Kaato? Your patience is commendable," my cupped hands running over each side of her snout to push back her ears, staring into her eyes to look for signs of distress.

She tries to lick my face in response, her tail loudly thumping against my bedding, not quite understanding my question.

With a big sigh signifying the abrupt end of my pity party I jump up from bed to make dinner for when Lawson gets out of class. Tomorrow will be my first date with Oliver, then each of the guys the following days, so this is the last dinner I'll have with Lawson for the next four days. I want it to be special.