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13. ( bloodstream )
ミ☆
DELILAH DIDN'T THINK she was going to wake up.
She didn't think she wanted to.
The last thing she expected was her eyes to flutter open, exposing her to the cream walls and soft duvet. She raised her aching limbs out of bed, walking unsteadily across the carpet to reach for the door. She was home.
Home. Suddenly it all came flooding back. She swayed on her feet, grabbing onto the desk for support as the night came rushing to the forefront of her mind like a tsunami; washing away all rational thinking.
Before she could open the door, something stopped her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a flash of blue, drawing her to the wardrobe. She was hit with a sickening realisation once she saw the first muddy stain, gaping in horror at the remains of a once beautiful dress. Delilah looked down and saw her own body clothed in simple pyjamas - someone had changed her outfit. Someone had brought her home. Which meant that, inevitably, someone had seen her in the state she left herself in.
The thought made her sick.
Going over to the desk she fought the urge to throw up, pulling a pair of scissors out of the drawer then moving to the wardrobe again with new determination. Delilah pulled open the doors and grabbed the first thing that she could find; a red and blue striped top. The colours hit her fast and hard, making her head swarm. She quickly sliced through the top with ease, throwing the strips of fabric onto the floor once she was done. Next she took out an old jumper, its once fluffy texture emanating a warm lavender smell. She tore it in two. She went through the whole contents of the cupboard until all that was left was scraps of material across the floor, Delilah standing in the middle of it - looking upon the ruination with a smile.
But she wasn't finished yet.
She made her way back to the desk, discarding the scissors on the floor, pulling out the chair and grabbing her notebook. She tore through the pages, ripping up streams of random doodles and late night thoughts, then swept a hand across the desk's surface, sending all her ornaments crashing to the floor. She ploughed through the room, wreaking havoc like a hurricane, until all that once made Delilah herself was lost amidst the carnage.
At last, her room was beginning to look like her heart.
Then, she paused. A slither of light from beyond the window had refracted off the surface of some shattered glass, turning her attention to a broken frame in the corner of the room under the desk. She was drawn to it instinctively, and bent down to see the remnants of a photograph. What was left of her heart hammered wildly beneath her chest as she grasped the photo. The smiling faces were still prominent, except there was now three instead of four. The bottom left-hand corner had torn off, where Delilah's face had been. She scrambled frantically around where she crouched for any sign of the torn off corner, but to no avail.
