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All I’m thinking about is getting away from her and back to Delilah's presence.
Only to be met with a tight-lipped smile at the doorway.
"Food's ready. I'll dish it out," she says in a quiet tone before she turns and heads to the kitchen.
Something is wrong.
She is not looking at me and her whole demeanor seems to be off. Is this about the job search? Was it that frustrating?
“What’s wrong?” I growl.
She turns to me with her eyes wide open. “Excuse me?"
“You’re not acting like you were this morning, so what happened?” I ask.
She lowers her eyes and places the pot she is currently holding down with a bit more force than needed.
“If you ding it, I know you can’t afford it,” I add for it to sting. I have a feeling the only way to get her to admit what’s honestly wrong is by making her so mad her filter entirely disappears. “So, why don't you tell me what's up your damn ass?"
And she's getting there. Her jaw clenches tightly before she speaks. “Maybe it's because you keep picking on me.”
“Oh, believe me I haven’t even started picking on you yet.”
“Oh really?" She crosses her hands over her chest glaring at me now, as if she wants to set me ablaze with her gaze. “Then why do you keep insulting me and mentioning the fact that I don’t have money and throwing it in my face?”
"Calling you broke isn't an insult." I smirk and raise my eyebrows. “It's a fact.”
"A hurtful fact," she clarifies.
"Maybe, but a hurtful fact is still a fact. And facts only have the emotion you ascribe to them."
I admire the fact that she stews on this statement even more. Her cheeks puff out slightly as she does, and with her big eyes, she looks a little like an adorable squirrel.
“Have you ever considered that you’re the one picking on yourself?” I ask finally. “Being poor isn’t an insult. It’s a state of being, the same as being ill. It doesn’t say anything more than you don’t have disposable funds and those words only have the emotional power you give them.”
“How would you know?”
Because I was poor once.I don’t say it out loud. I shrug instead. “Probably read that from some motivational book somewhere.”
That seems to be her last straw. She throws up her hands in the air and goes, “You know what? I’m tired of this. I’m going to sleep. You can stay or go or do whatever you want. It’s your house after all.” She bites the last part out with enough venom to kill an elephant.
And then she storms out.
I shake my head. Seriously, what’s wrong with her? While it’s amusing to see her bristled up like an angry bunny, it’s frustrating that I’m being treated coldly in my own house without provocation. Okay, I definitely provoked her eventually. But I had good reason.
Because, even more frustrating is the fact that I don’t know why it bothers me that she's upset. I’ve long passed the point where I cared what anyone’s opinions are. I now have the kind of fuck you money that means I can do anything I want and don't need anyone's approval.
Still, Delilah's attitude, first all quiet and dismissive, then angry is an odd nagging irritation in the back of my head.
Well, whatever. I get to my feet.I don’t care.I grab a Tupperware from the cabinet, packing up the pasta and meatballs. It looks fucking good and it smells even better, and I remind myself that this is what I really came for.Just because she’s amusing doesn’t mean anything. I’ve got shit to do, I don’t need to waste my time with a child.
And I have to keep reminding myself that she’s a child because, somehow, when I see her delectable body, I forget.
I step out of the house toward the car, and a part of me is expecting Jane to jump out of the bushes or something. While we ended on good terms, she’s gotten annoying to be around. Sometimes, she misunderstands my friendship for romantic love, and it gets fucking irritating after a while.
I enjoy the drive back to my home, but once I get there I realize how fucking alone I am. That’s the thing about being successful. It’s a lonely path to the top. And there’s a mundanity to my days. While I thought I enjoyed it, I'm now craving a change.
Normally, I enjoy peace and quiet.
