Not Just Another String On His Guitar

Chapter 6- Cutting Down His Conceit

Chapter six:

Delilah’s POV

                Breathing. People say it’s simple. A natural bodily function. Just inhale air, and then exhale. But people also tell lies. It’s not simple. It’s all in the mind, really. Whether or not you want to breathe. It’s mental.

                A scent of burned rubber floated to my nose as I skidded to a stop on Tony’s motorcycle in front of my house. I forced myself to draw in air, keep breathing, but I didn’t feel like it. Something strange was happening to me. Yanking off the helmet, I let the motorcycle topple into the grass beside the sidewalk and I stormed into my house, flinging open my room door and collapsing onto my bed. I didn’t even bother to take off my shoes, or check if my parents were home. I just wanted to be alone. I never cried in front of people.

                Eerie, oddly shaped shadows danced along the wooden floor of my room, the moon outside the window just rising as the sun completely disappeared. I glanced at the clock on the bedside table, Monday night at 9 o’clock. Everything felt strange to me, the turquoise sheets beneath my cheek, the posters of Led Zeppelin and U2 on my wall, the white ceiling glowing in the moonlight.

                But I think it was me that really felt strange. I felt angry but relieved at the same time. Annoyed but happy. I tried as hard as I could to not think of that boy; that boy that was probably walking home right now in the dead of night without a care in the world. That boy that I knew for three years but just recently met. That boy that played poison on his guitar.

                That boy that I wanted to kill but felt slightly drawn to at the same time.  

*~*

                “Lilah, get up! School starts in twenty minutes!” My mom’s voice rattled through the hallway and into my room, waking me with a start. I groaned as I stumbled into the shower. I quickly went to my closet, threw on cut-off denim shorts and a black T-shirt that had the collar cut out so my shoulders peeked through the neckline. It was so much more comfortable that way. I brushed my hair, put on a little makeup, and ran down to the kitchen to eat.

                “Why did you get back so late last night? Where were you?” my mom pressed as I poured cereal.

                After taking a bite I glanced up into her tan face that was tight from many injections of Botox. She and my dad were hardly ever home because they were always so busy with work. I guess my house was big, and people said I was rich, but I didn’t care about money. I’d rather live on the street if I could have a family that was with me more often. I loved them, but they were never around.

                “I stayed at Allie’s to finish a homework project with her,” I easily lied. I almost choked on my cereal; did I just say I easily lied? I’ve never lied to anyone before, especially not my parents.

                She curiously raised a thin eyebrow at me, but waved her hand in dismissal and walked back to her bedroom. I sighed in relief, but my stomach churned. I wanted to shake myself out of this phase, whatever it was. I’ve never acted this way before.

                Breathing in the humid air, I ambled out toward my car. But after looking around stupidly for a minute, I remembered that it was still at the school. Which meant that I would have to drive Tony’s motorcycle. A curse drifted through my teeth as I pulled it out of the grass and reluctantly sat on the seat, starting the engine.

                The engine rumbled a little, but it wasn’t really a full-on motorcycle, more like a scooter. Before taking off down the street, I noticed something sticking out of a compartment right beside the handlebars. After glancing around to make sure nobody was nearby, I tugged out a small piece of paper that read: