Hierarchy of Need [t.r]

Chapter Twenty

Her mind then trailed to the library, that was always a safe haven. But as Delilah turned the corner, she just caught a mere glimpse of dark curls walk into her hideout. Grinding her teeth, she let out a huff and slumped a shoulder against a wall. Flashes of that night rang in her head again, a bit more prominent since seeing Tom triggered their appearance.

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"Shit, are you okay?" Delilah felt her mouth go dry as she took in the state of him. Tom slowly took off his jacket, barely wincing, but it did sting. Her eyes widened as she saw blood start to spot through his shirt on his arms. "Tom-"

"I'm fine." He settled her with a sharp glance and walked over to the door, which was hanging limply by its hinges. Delilah sucked in a breath at the sight of his back, which was also starting to be stained with blood. "Let me-"

"I'm fine, Pontmercy. We need to get back to the Inn." His tone was cold and a bit distant as he trotted down the steps. Delilah hesitantly walked forward, outside the building there were distant screams, the crack of fire, and orange tinted smoke. Her ears were still ringing, but as she walked out, the sounds became vivid.

A building, only two down from the one they sought asylum in, was blown to bits. The entire front wall was now crumbled bricks and she could see each level and how it was destroyed.

Her eyes wandered to the street and her knees buckled.

"Oh my god." She choked out, ignoring the shards of glass and wood digging into her legs. Tom whirled around at the sound of her voice. It sounded, well, he didn't exactly know. But an ache started in his ribcage at the tone of it.

Delilah was on her knees, palms pressed against the pavement still hot from the bombing, her eyes wide and stuck on something in front of her. Tom followed her gaze and grew tense.

It was a mother covered in ash, almost appearing like a ghost, clutching her dead child to her chest, screaming. The kid couldn't be older than five, and its body was mangled from the explosion.

Tom rushed over to Delilah and tugged her up, turning her face away from the haunting sight of the mourning mother. "Come on," he mumbled, steadying her as she tried to walk.

They made it to the Inn, earning a few strange glances seeing as Tom was bloodied and Delilah looked like she'd been petrified. Stumbling up the stairs, Tom pushed open her door with his shoulder and carefully set her on the bed.

He got light headed for a moment, the room smelled painfully like her. But it was a pain he was absentmindedly welcoming.

Tom meant to leave after he was sure she wouldn't have a panic attack, but as he turned to go she grabbed onto his sleeve. "Wait." The word was quietly spoken but seemed to echo around the room. He raised an eyebrow at her and she slowly looked up at him, wide eyed and doe like.

"Let me help." She gestured to his bloodied clothing, he'd nearly forgotten. "I'm-"

"Fine? No you're not, sit down." The authority in her voice was slightly surprising due to what they just went through, and reluctantly, he sat at the desk. It was the same exact style as the one in his room, but this one was like a blank canvas. Just waiting to be used, to be studied on, to have some insightful revelation.

Delilah got up and walked over to him after she grabbed her wand, she stood in front of him awkwardly for minute and cleared her throat. "Can you?" She gestured to his shirt. His eyes rolled at her flushed cheeks and he started to undo the buttons, he was sure he wasn't the first shirtless boy she's seen.

Her mind was moving a mile a minute, so when he stood up, she failed to take a step back.

They were so close.