'Ello, guys!
3 exams down and only 4 to go!!!!! :D :D :D
So as a little procrastination celebration, I wrote this l'il chapter for y'all.
NOTE: Song does NOT below to me, (I note it in there BUT) it belongs to the incredible Matt Corby. The song inspired this chapter, it's currently on repeat. I suggest that if you can, you give it a listen as you read, when it crops up :)
Hope y'all are all doing well and enjoy this chapter! :)
Dad met me when I landed.
There were a few fans scattered about, and I took my time meeting every single one of the seven of them that had come all this way to the airport to meet me.
I forced smiles for photos and I signed autographs.
I pretended to be happy when underneath I was cracking.
Dad could tell though, he could always tell.
Just like Luke.
Why don’t you shut the hell up?
He hugged me tightly and suggested the best words I’d heard all day.
“Let’s go home.”
*
My bedroom was exactly the way I had left it.
Pastel coloured, totally not me and absolutely nothing like my room in Sydney.
The walls and ceiling were a gentle cream colour, my furniture was sandy-coloured wood and my carpet was a faded lilac.
Only a few photos of Em and I and Jules and I were blu-tacked to the walls, the only signs that I even had friends.
A framed picture of my mum stood proudly on my desk amongst my school books and more books lined my bookshelf alongside little knick-knacks and photos of me and my dad.
I sighed. The room was nice, but it wasn’t home.
Now that I think of it, it had never truly been home.
Home had apple green walls and photos stuck over every inch of space. Home had a blue carpet covered in books and toys and memories. Home was tall, blue-eyed and blonde-haired.
“Stop it, Delilah.” I growled at myself. “You made this decision yourself. Now you have to accept it and move the hell on.”
But I didn’t want to.
How could I?
Before I could stop myself, I had my phone in my hand, my thumb hovering over Luke’s number.
You can’t say shit like that over a phone call
What was I planning to say anyway?
I’m sorry?
This was a mistake?
I love you?
Put the phone down
I plugged my phone into the dock and selected the music icon, allowing Ed Sheeran’s melodious rasp to murmur through my room.
I sat on my bed without unpacking my luggage and waited for the tears to come.
But they didn’t.
Maybe I was all cried out, maybe I was numb, maybe I had finally realised that I’d gotten myself into this mess.
Whatever the reason, I couldn’t cry.
All I could think of was Luke’s lips on mine and his fingers entangled in my hair, and the way his beautiful blue eyes lit up when he saw me wake up in the hospital bed, and the way he’d traced my scars and told me I was “so goddamn beautiful”.
My chest ached. My heart was hollow.
Being without Luke now, even after having done it for the past five years, was like I was missing a part of myself.
Maybe my lungs, maybe my brain, maybe my heart.
I wasn’t sure of anything except that it hurt like hell and that leaving him behind was the worst mistake I’d ever made.
I turned and glared at myself in the mirror. “This makes three times.”
The day’s performance and travelling had taken their toll on me and I looked a right state.
My clothes were rumpled, my hair was straggly in its ponytail and makeup rimmed my eyes thinly.
I was a mess.
And I couldn’t even call myself a hot mess, because that would be lying. I was just a tearstained, hollow, broken mess.
And maybe because I liked to torture myself, I got to my feet, opened my wardrobe and reached to the very back to pull out the box.
It was dusty; I hadn’t touched it since we’d moved in.
But even under the grey layer of dust, I could see the peeling blue paint and glitter.
It was roughly the size of a large shoebox, with Delilah and Luke scrawled along the top in Luke’s messy handwriting.
Tentatively, I stroked a finger across the lid of the box, tracing our names, permanently entwined in ink.
Matt Corby’s raspy voice began to croon roughly from my speakers, and I couldn’t help but feel that this song was so appropriate.
I opened the box slowly as his song stirred.
I’m giving up
This whole lie, this whole me
Call it out like a family
Instead I bide my time, get a ride
Until the rubber leaves the road
First came a small bundle of drawings.
Forgotten games of hangman and naughts & crosses.
Stick figures.
Rough sketches of landscapes.
Really terrible portraits we’d done of each other with our eyes closed.
You said don’t lie so I made the truth
Seemed like a lie to even you
Control your fear. It's clear
That you do not know where you're going to
Next was a collection of ticket stubs.
From the movies we’d seen at the cinema, the odd play we’d seen at the theatre, a visit to the national gallery, trips to Luna Park and concerts from music artists.
So, don’t you worry
You'll be my resolution
Characters of no illusion
You'll be my resolution
A handful of guitar picks was next.
Ones we’d coloured in, ones we’d bought for each other and professional looking ones.
The glittery pink one Luke had bought me as a joke when Dad had gotten me a ukulele.
Then the professional looking one with my initials emblazoned on the chestnut coloured pick in bright gold. DC.
One month down and it’s in sight
oh, I’m guaranteed to lose my mind
It's dangerous to speak and sigh
You might know what I’m trying to hide
I pulled out a few odds and ends: a tennis ball with LH scrawled on the green in black Sharpie, a snow globe from Luna Park, a postcard from the beach and small penguin keyring.
So from the cradle to quarter age
oh, I bought the book but didn’t flip the page
oh, readiness is near. We steer
As far away from the coming of days
A packet of stickers and fake tattoos was next.
Luke had been obsessed with these fake tattoos, and I had a few sheets of Australian flags and kangaroos and the green and gold.
So, don’t you worry
You'll be my resolution
Characters of no illusion
You'll be my resolution
Characters of no illusion
You'll be my resolution
A few torn pages of song lyrics Luke and I had written together.
I had to stifle a laugh at how bad some of them were, but some had potential.
Love me, love her, love you…
She’s got heels as high as the sk-sk-sky, I just want to make her m-m-mine…
Tic tac toe, I love you more than you know…
Sunshine and sadness, rain and smiles…
And then I saw you dancing in the rain and I knew life would never be the same…
None of the above mentioned had potential.
With a shake of my head and an amused smile, I put the lyrics aside and reached in to grasp the last, slippery object.
Turn around, put it down and see
That this is really the place to be.
I’m not you, nor you me
But we’re both moving steady.
The final strains of Resolution drawled to an end and only silence rang in the room.
Finally came the photos.
Luke and I at age five, his arm around my shoulders, a cheeky grin all over his chubby cheeks. My nose was wrinkled at him.
Luke and I at age six, this time standing back to back with our fingers positioned as guns, dressed all in black and wearing dark sunglasses, pretending to be spies.
Luke and I at age seven, sitting on our bikes and wearing helmets bigger than our heads, grinning toothily at the camera.
Luke and I at age eight, our arms slung around each other and our wide grins looking slightly terrifying underneath our thick face paint. Luke was a tiger and I’d gone for a butterfly. (We were so cliché that it made me chuckle in embarrassment.)
Luke and I at age nine, sitting on the red-leather booth seats of Calloway’s with massive ice cream cones in our hands and big, sugar-induced smiles on our faces. Luke was poking his tongue out and crossing his eyes and I was laughing at his ridiculous expression.
Luke and I at age ten, seated on wobbly stools in his garage with guitars in our hands. Luke was leaning over his guitar to reposition my hands on the strings and I was looking down intently at our entwined hands.
Luke and I at age eleven standing with our mothers. Mum and Liz were dressed in pretty dresses in bright colours. Luke was looking very handsome dressed in a suit and I was looking happy dressed in my bright yellow sundress, white sandals and flower crown.
We had been heading off to a mutual friend’s wedding, I think. It had been in a massive green park, under a gazebo. Luke and I had sat next to each other and he’d rolled his eyes good-naturedly as I’d gasped over how pretty the bride was. Then he’d gone to play with the other boys, but hadn’t forgotten me, stopping to wave at me every few minutes where I perched with the other girls, eliciting much teasing from both parties.
And finally, Luke and I at age twelve, in the final pre-Alison stage.
This photo had been taken as we were about to leave for the school dance. Cooper Redruff had made a reappearance in our first year of high school, and had asked me to the dance. Before I could even politely decline, Luke had burst out with “she’s going with me!” Then his cheeks had gone impossibly red and I’d giggled for ages.
He was wearing nice pants and a button up shirt and I was wearing white ballet flats and a short and flowy halter-neck dress in blue with a sheer overlay of white, so the overall effect was one of the sky. My hair was out and had been straightened by my mum, and my fringe was pinned off my face as it swept to the side.
I was beaming with happiness and Luke looked pretty happy with his arm around me in the photo.
I remembered the night so well. We’d entered together and then, embarrassed by everyone’s staring, had parted ways almost immediately. I made my way to Jules and her partner, Alan and we chatted awkwardly, my eyes always watching Luke muck around with Cal and Mike.
Then a slow song, Heaven, came on, and Luke excused himself and made his way over to me, where I stood awkwardly alone by the punch.
He’d smiled at me and took my hand, sweeping me out onto the dance floor without even asking.
He didn’t even have to ask. It was Luke. He just knew.
He always had.
With a frustrated sigh, I shoved eight years of memories back into the dusty box and slammed the lid shut, dropping it on my floor.
Then I pressed my palms to my eyes and tried to control my shaky breathing.
It wasn’t fair. Luke had no idea, no goddamn idea, of the kind of effect he had on me.
I loved him.
I always had.
It had been hidden behind friendship and jealousy and hurt and anger and sadness, but it was definitely there.
I just couldn’t deny it anymore.
The doorbell rang, interrupting me from my thoughts.
“Delilah, can you get it?” Dad called from downstairs. “I’ve got my hands full with dinner!”
“Sure!” I yelled back, pleased when my voice didn’t break.
I decided against looking at my appearance, anyone who rang the doorbell at nine o’clock at night was practically asking for a scary-looking person to open the door.
I hurried down the stairs and skidded down the hallway, stopping myself just before I hit the door and wondered who the hell wanted to see us at this time of night.
Was Em back already?
Was it Kay, dropping over for tea and Dad had forgotten to tell me?
Was it one of the neighbours?
Biting my lip anxiously, I opened the door, prepared to greet the person standing on my doorstep with a thin smile.
My eyes widened when I took in the figure there.
His hair was tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it and he was breathing heavily like he’d just run a marathon.
I gasped and froze in shock.
Because out of every single person I’d been expecting to see on my doorstep that night, he was at the very bottom of my list.
“Luke?”