The Nerd has a Secret (GxG)

Chapter Twelve

C H A P T E R T W E L V E
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D Y L A N

Dylan tried to ignore the ache in her chest as she sat in bed, the familiar dull throb of a twisted ankle consuming her thoughts. If anything, she was embarrassed about the injury. The entire reason she'd even gotten it...well, regardless of reasoning, she should've been more careful. She wasn't meant to be doing what she was doing in the first place, wasn't meant to be sticking her nose in trouble, but it was all for a reason. She just had to be stealthy about it, and with the sudden attention she was receiving from the kids who claimed to be her friends...she couldn't use the same excuse every time, nor could she continue showing her injuries so blatantly. No one had cared much before, no one had said anything before, but things were different now, and she wouldn't be able to continue her nightly activities if she continued to screw things up.

Hearing the shower in the bathroom stop, Dylan rose to her feet and stumbled, a throaty moan escaping her grimaced lips. She'd sprained her ankle countless times, enough that it was slightly deformed, but it was always a hassle, and always warranted at least a few frustrated cries, even if she prided herself on her resilience. It was sort of like how only the smallest of injuries hurt, like a paper cut as opposed to a broken arm. In the grand scheme of things, amongst her countless injuries, a sprained ankle was as insignificant as that: a minor inconvenience at best. But it still hurt, and it would take at best a few weeks to heal, which meant...

For one thing, it meant no more fighting, something that was unavoidable whether it was day or night, no matter her company.

Limping over towards her dresser, Dylan retrieved her usual clothes: an off-white button down, grey sweater, and jeans. She removed her nightshirt without any trouble and pulled her shirts on, but when it came time to put on her pants she struggled. Attempting to slip her make-shift splint into the tight pair of jeans, she fell backwards and landed on her rear, but not before grasping at her dresser in a futile attempt to balance herself, knocking over the lamp that sat on top.

The moment the lamp hit the ground Delilah opened the door, cheeks rosy from her shower and skin glistening. She snickered at the scene before her, what Dylan imagined to be pretty pathetic, as she had nothing but her underwear on and only one leg in her pants.

"You alright?" Delilah asked through an amused smile. Dylan merely grumbled, sitting up and ignoring her burning cheeks. She wasn't used to heeling help was, but she supposed the environment had...softened her. Before her life turned upside down (or ended, as she often thought) she'd been unshakable. But now...now she couldn't manage the simplest of tasks.

"Fine," she eventually replied, working carefully to guide her leg through the jeans. Delilah noticed the extra effort, brow creasing in concern.

"Hey, are you okay? What happened to your leg?" Dylan shook her head.

"I'm fine," she insisted, this time a little harshly. "Sod off. Just...twisted my ankle a little, I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Delilah asked.

"Yes! For Christ's sake, yes! I'm fine, Delilah!" She hissed. The girl's eyes widened in surprise, brown orbs glistening as they began to well up. Dylan felt a sudden pang of regret, but ignored the feeling. She'd made people cry before more times than she could count or care to admit. Once again she found this new way of living softening the carefully cultivated iron she'd worked to hard to sculpt around herself, the protective shell she'd crafted almost melting when she saw Delilah's face. She didn't like feeling guilty, didn't like feeling like a bad person.