Foreign Objects

08 • Lete

"You're angry 'cause you know it's true," I keep on talking, even though everything in me is telling me to stop. "What, you're afraid I'll drive him away as well so you've decided to just keep on hanging out at his house instead of bringing him here?"

She purses her lips and places her palms on the counter. "As a matter of fact, yes. I am not up for you stopping every chance I get at moving on."

I huff at the confirmation, not as if I even had a doubt before. "Oh so, I'm always the problem huh?"

I stand up, feeling my body starting to vibrate with something. Anger. I try to place my mind on what Master bobou (a YouTube Buddhist) always advises, which is shutting up when you feel yourself getting angry but, there's just something about my body disconnecting with my mind and doing its own wishes.

"Yes!" She's not holding back. "You're always the problem!"

"Yes blame your 17 year old daughter for the fact that you can never bring any good man home-"

And then something happens before I can finish my statement and before my mom can cut in -- I break out into a sob.

Before I can commute what's happening exactly, my eyes are clouding with tears and I'm sobbing more consistently. I'm basically crying now. Full on crying. Again.

But, it doesn't make sense. I'm angry right now. I can still feel the anger bubbling up inside me. But, my tears feels like it's for something else. My heart is aching. Not in anger. It's something else. Something heavy. Something sad. Something Jeremiah has been feeling.

No. Not now. Definitely not now. I still have a lot to say to my mom. This was the perfect moment for me to tell her everything I've been bottling up. But, I can't now. Not when I'm sobbing non stop and not when my heart is too heavy with so much sadness that my anger is subsiding.

I look at my mom through the blurriness of my tears. She's standing there like she's frozen, giving me a puzzled stare. Like she just doesn't know what to do with me and in this moment, I think I understand why. She's never had to comfort me the few times I've cried before. That was dad's job. I never really felt comfortable enough to cry in front of her because growing up, she was this distant figure, despite the fact that we lived under the same roof.

"Why are you crying?" She slowly gets out from behind the counter, eyebrows furrowed. "Listen, we don't need to keep talking about this. We don't have to talk about this."

But we have to, don't we?

"I c-can't-" Sob "S-stop. I can't st-" But I can't even say full sentences.

It gets even more awkward when she comes to try to take a hold of me. I shift away because that's not what I need right now. I need this to stop. I need to stop feeling him.

"I just-" And then it stops. Just like it came, the heaviness leaves in a heartbeat and my heart is left to feel empty, until I start to take notice of my own heartbeat again.

I sniff, using the sleeve of my shirt to wipe at the tears on my cheeks, swallowing and blowing a breath.

"I just need to go," I say, walking away from my mom and going to pick up my bag from the couch.

"Delilah, are you sure you're okay?"

I pause before walking through the door, giving a forced smile, although I'm not sure how it looks given that my mascara has probably done it's own unique art on my face. "I'm fine."

Peyton catches up to me halfway down my street. I quickly get in her car, the fact that my face isn't the nicest sight right now getting to me.

Peyton's eyes are wide with curiosity and I think worry as soon as I lock the door.