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DELILAH
Two weeks have passed in slow motion, and each day seems to take longer to get through than the last. Lucas has fallen off the face of the earth, and I’m struggling to understand what I should do. I hate it here, and there isn’t a single soul that makes me believe this place is safe, except Lucas. I can still feel his kiss on my lips if I shut my eyes. It’s the last thing he did. I knew what he was trying to do, but I needed more.
I close the book I’m reading, realizing it’s impossible to focus on the words when my mind is elsewhere.
It only frustrates me the more I try to concentrate. How am I supposed to concentrate on reading anything when I always feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop? I can’t settle down. I can’t clear my mind.
It’s been way too quiet these past couple of weeks. Things have calmed down since the fight with Anja, and it’s damn near creepy.
Maybe it’s paranoia, but I can’t shake the idea they’re planning something. I don’t know whotheyare exactly. Whoever they are, they’re not giving up out of nowhere. Not when they’re so committed to hating me. That kind of thing doesn’t fade away overnight.
Maybe this is part of the plan now that I think about it. Making me wonder. Making me wait, dread, and look over my shoulder everywhere I go. Even here, in my room. I never settle in before checking under the bed and in the bathroom in case someone is hiding. I’m that afraid.
I’m also lonely. Extremely. As much as I would like to go back to the library and hang out with Brittney and Aspen, I can’t risk pissing Q off worse than I already have. It’s not so much that I’m afraid of him but of what he’ll set in motion. I don’t need to tempt him to hurt me or to have somebody else do it for him. I don’t need to give him any excuses.
But I’m starting to lose it a little. Always staring at these walls when I’m not in class. Having nobody to talk to, not a single soul. Not even Lucas, which hurts worse than anything.
He looked concerned, genuinely upset after the whole thing with Anja.
But I was right, wasn’t I? He didn’t actually care. How could he? He never checked in on me after that. I haven’t set eyes on him since.
I guess I was right when I accused him of not giving a shit about me. It doesn’t mean I want it to be right. I was hoping he would argue or try to prove me wrong. His kiss was a small reprieve, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to hear him say it. As always, the memory of that night here in my room makes me feel a little sick. Not because of what he said or did, but how he was. Practically unhinged, wasted out of his mind. And that day, after the fight. I smelled the whiskey on his breath and saw how glassy his eyes were starting to get. He was drinking in the middle of the day, probably sitting alone in his office.
He’s not doing well. I can only imagine it’s gotten worse since then.
I can’t believe I care, but I’m not going to waste time telling myself I shouldn’t. I have a fucked-up relationship with him. Arguing with myself about it isn’t going to change anything. I have to accept that, for some reason, he’s taken hold of me. No matter how much I wish it were possible, I can't free myself.
I have to see him. Not because I think he’ll help me, but because he needs help. The thought of him being in pain causes me pain—my chest hurts just imagining it.
It’s late enough that the halls should be pretty much empty. What’s the worst that could happen? He’ll tell me to mind my own business. But at least I’ll be able to see him and maybe get through to him that there’s someone who cares whether he drinks himself to death or not.
It’s as good an excuse as any to get up and sneak into the hall. It’s not like I haven’t wanted to do this for weeks, but at least now there’s a plausible excuse for it. All I have to do is dart over to the elevator and take it to Lucas’s floor. I don’t hear anything out here—no voices, footsteps, or even any loud TV or music coming from the other rooms.
I jog over to the elevator and press the button, bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet, waiting for it to arrive. The last thing I need is for somebody to see me out here and wonder why I’m—
It happens so fast. There are no footsteps, no noise at all. One minute I am standing, and then suddenly, I’m on my knees. Pain radiates through my head from the back, and black dots appear over my vision. My entire body sways like a branch in the wind, and I fall against the wall, hitting the floor before even realizing what’s happened. Nausea grips me tight, but the pain is worse.
My vision blurs, and I’m afraid to put a hand to my head since I don’t know what I’m going to find.
I don’t even think to look up and see who did it. I’m too busy trying to catch up with what’s happening. My thoughts are all jumbled. I can’t think straight. I can’t even see straight. Everything is all swimmy and blurred.
I’ve barely caught my breath before I hear, “Delilah! Oh, my god. Are you okay?”
I blink and find Aspen hovering over me, holding my face between her hands. “What happened?”
I can’t believe how long it takes me to make my tongue work. It’s so heavy. “I… don’t know. Somebody hit me.”
“I thought I heard somebody running, but they were going in the other direction.” She tips my head down to take a look at the back. “Shit. You’re bleeding. We have to get you down to medical right away. Do you think you can walk?”
“I’ll try.”
She helps me stand, and I have to take a second to lean against the wall when the hallway doesn’t stop tilting back and forth. It does eventually, and I lean on Aspen as we get in the elevator and take it down to the medical wing.
“Did you see anyone?” she asks along the way.
“No. They came at me from behind and ran off. I was too dazed to get a look at anyone.”
“What a coward,” she mutters. I can only grunt in agreement. Even nodding my head hurts too much.
