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Pen Your Pride

Delilah and I haven't spoken a word to each other, not even through letters, ever since that night we kissed. An overwhelming amount of guilt washed through my at the thought of her avoiding me. Had I come on to strong? Was she not ready for something like that? Did she regret it?

So many questions ran through my head, and not one of them were being answered. It wasn't like I was going to push her to speak either, because that would only make things worse. But I still knew she was avoiding me, because she still attended school and went out with her friends. I knew this due to my constant watch over her, and I had a feeling she knew I was watching too, but she didn't dare look over at me. I felt as if I was back to square one, where I'd originally left off.

The boys didn't seem to happy either when I told them they couldn't come over. They'd interrogated me for answers, assuming I'd found myself a girl who I was currently hiding from them. If only, I thought.

It was only when Saturday rolled over, exactly a week after our night together, that she actually cared to acknowledge me or give me some sort of reconciliation. A letter, of course, was pushed through my mailbox. I assumed it was early in the morning when it was sent, and at a time when I hadn't yet gotten out of bed. While before I would've been anxious to read what she had to write me, now I was a little nauseous. What if it was some letter claiming me to be a pervert and to stay away from her? But you see, I didn't have a think for young high school girls. I didn't fantasize about them or get turned on by it. It was simply that I had a thing for Delilah. How could I explain that to her?

Taking a deep breath, I bent down to retrieve the envelope with my name planted on the front in thick cursive writing. My fingers ripped open the paper in attempt to see what's inside. What I found was a single sheet of paper folded neatly, in the same pink paper Delilah always used.

I hesitantly opened the letter, sucking in a breath of air as I read.


My parents won't be back until Monday, and I really need to talk to you. Can I come over?

From, Delilah.

I sighed, looking down at the letter with a scowl on my face. Why was she so determined to come over here? Her constant asking made me want to give in more and more. It was like she was encouraging me to do things to her that she probably never even heard of, and the worst part was that she had no idea the situation she was putting herself into. Can someone really be this naive?

I shuffled to the kitchen, grabbing a piece of paper and writing on it messily.


You can't come over here.

I didn't bother putting my name, because I knew she'd know it was from me. I walked to the door, before slipping the envelope through my own mail slot. Not even five minutes later I heard the sound of running feet outside my door and shoes scraping against concrete. I bit back my laughter at how anxious Delilah was. The was something extremely funny about the way she communicated. I lit a cigerette and put it in my mouth as I waited for her to reply. It was taking a little more time then usual, which worried me. There was no sound outside my door and I wondered if she had walked home or not.

Then the door ball sounded, making me jump.

"Fuck," I said under my breath, my attention turning towards the front door where the ringing continued. She was angry, I just knew it. It would've worried me if she wasn't so damn sexy when she was pissed.

I used my cigeratte as a way to hide my smile when I opened the door to find a short angry young teenage girl on my doorstep. My eyebrows rose and I'm sure she could see the amusement on my face from the way she squinted her eyes and furrowed her brows.

Delilah ➭ Louis TomlinsonRead this story for FREE!