Delilah | H.S

021

d e l i l a h

"Yes, I understand why things had to happen this way. I understand his reason for causing me pain. But mere understanding does not chase away the hurt. It does not call upon the sun when dark clouds have loomed over me. Let the rain come then if it must come! And let it wash away the dust that hurt my eyes!" ― Jocelyn Soriano

They say that tears are words that the mouth cannot say nor the heart can bare. That is not even the half of it. Tears are our insides pouring out and a piece- the smallest of smallest- breaking away, finding it's place wherever it now feels necessary. Tears are not a part of the healing process, tears are what the mind can no longer hide or the fact that you cannot pretend to be "okay" any longer than you have already had to. Tears are pain.

Then, you have your happy tears. The ones that spill down your cheeks when he proposes to you, when you pass the test with flying colours or when you hate how much you love him. The love you have for him, the way you can no longer function without him because he has become a part of you. A place in which you would rather die than live without. That's how much you love him. How much you need him. The tears are not only happy because you finally found the one, but because you feel complete in some sort of sense.

I fluttered my eyes open to find that he was already watching me. The paleness of his features still remained. Along with the heavy, dark bags that situated themselves underneath his eyes. His collarbone, much more prominent. He seemed as though he was a body of skin that sat there staring right back at me. No bones. No strength. Nothing of which he needed to survive. To be strong enough to stand up and walk over to me. Hold me, kiss me- just to be how he used to be. His eyes pierced through me and my heart ached more and more as the minutes rolled on. As the time ticked by without my wanting of it to.

For a moment, we sat there watching each other. He waited. I waited. But, what he was waiting was something different than what it was that I found at the front of my mind. I waited for his suffering to be bestowed upon me. I waited for it to be me that was slowly but surely dying. I waited and waited but came up empty handed every single time. He waited for me to snap. He waited for any sudden movement that I could make. He expected me to be mad about him not telling me or that fact that he made Harry lie to me about his well being but I was not mad. I do not think I have in me anymore to be mad. No more strength to pull my face into a frown and allow the worry lines to take over my features. I have nothing left but that thin string left of my father's life.

"I'm sorry, Del." He said, the pain in voice evident. Looking away, I took my bottom in between my teeth as I tried my hardest to think about the positive. That he was apologizing for nothing because we will be walking out of here with a smiles on our faces and heading to our comfort serum, the race tracks. The fact that the string left of his life will mold itself into a sweater. One that will hold a little less sadness than my mother's ratty, old cardigan. Different because, his could be framed. One that people would pay millions just to catch a glimpse of.

"P-please say something." He stuttered, his voice sounding gentle.

"Don't go. Do not leave me here. Take me with you, dad, please." My voice cried but the tear were dry. Gone. Empty from the amount of times of I had spent crying these past couple of days.

"This is why I did not want you to find out-" He started by my need to get my words out, over powered his voice.

"You were just going to die and not bother to say goodbye? You were just going to let me find you unconscious and leave me to figure out where I went wrong. Think about what I could have done to save you and eventually myself."

"You should go home and get some rest."

"Don't." I said trying to be strong but my voice wavered as I glared in his direction.