"Too..." You stop, knowing that it's not going to be a good enough answer. She waits hopeful anyways, not daring to move.

"...complicated." Somehow you've managed to let your mother know that everything has been rough without actually telling her anything.


"Ah." She's disappointed, you could tell before she even opened her mouth. Your mother has turned back to the sink, rinsing her hands off. "It's fine, you don't have to stay up you know. Head to bed, I don't think I could carry you up those stairs anymore." Walking over, her hands drape over your shoulders and overlap as she hugs from behind.

When she speaks now its more of a whisper, "Even if you don't feel comfortable talking to me, I'm just so glad you're here." You're scared to look back, incase you end up seeing her trying to hold back tears. It's not like the sight of your mother crying was a rare one, but it would break your heart every time.
"Head up to bed, I love you." Her hands retract back, resting lightly now as she waits for a response.


"I-..." You hold your tongue, rising up from the seat instead. From behind your mother takes a step back, giving you room to leave as you refuse to look her direction.
"Y-Yeah." It's a terrible response, but it's all you can manage at the moment. Without waiting another moment you head back to the stairs, leaving your mother in the kitchen. Even if everything looks mostly the same it isn't, and you'll never come back to the home you had left behind.


Arriving back to the bedroom, you half expect Delilah to be waiting in your bed. You stand alone at the door though, and from here you can still see her door is the same as you left it. It's for the best if she stays put, but you can't help but feel a bit lonely here. Forcing yourself to keep awake, you manage to to find the old clothes waiting for you in the closet. Clean and folded, they rest now in boxes. It doesn't take long before you pull on something new, immediately smelling the scent of detergent. Aside from a much needed shower this is the cleanest you've felt in a long time, confirmed further when you collapse back down on the bed.

...

[1/2]

You might not have remembered falling asleep, but you find yourself jolting up. The clock in the room reads early in the morning still, but a few short hours have manages to pass. You sit there in bed, trying to figure out exactly why you've woken up and why your heart is beating as painful as it is.

"Nooo...!" A short sob from down the hall and you jump up, racing out to Delilah's room. Inside you don't find a thief or ruthless thug, but just your father standing there confused as Delilah cowers away. You try to figure out why he would have even came in here till you spot the pole in his hand, the tool he uses to open and shut the vents.


"Hey, I didn't mean to scare you like that I was just-" Dad notices you at the door and gestures at the pole. "I just came in here cause it didn't feel like I opened the vent all the way, it always blow harder downstairs when this one is closed. Didn't want to wake her up for this but I guess I ended up scaring her..." You try to look at Delilah but her face stays hidden away in her sleeves, breathing coming out harsh and shallow. She's freaking out, but you hope that she really was just startled and won't stay like this too long.

"What's going on? Did you get it open?" Your mother appears down the hallway, tired and confused. She notices Delilah right away, looking between you and your father for an answer.

"I got it I just-, here. One of you handle this, I don't think she appreciates me being in here much." Your father moves out, heading down the stairs. Ready to go calm Delilah down, your mother pulls you back.


"Do you want me to take care of this? You still look tired sweetie," she tries to offer you a reassuring smile now, "Besides, its not the first time I've had to stay up for something like this."
This, in your mother's case, probably means something like a nightmare or a small scare. She looks ready to help, but you're not sure if it's the right thing to do right now.

>Tell your mother you will handle it, Delilah trusts you
>Let your mother handle it, try to warn her about what's going on
>Let your mother handle it, trust her to take care of this
>Write-In

>>1002137
>Let your mother handle it, trust her to take care of this

You relinquish control to your mother, stepping back to let her work. She'd done this years before with you and Michele, maybe there's some sort of mother's charm that will help right now. For now you hold back on informing her about Delilah's trauma, saving the gritty details for a more appropriate time. You still stay put at the door way in case things go wrong, watching as your mother approaches slowly. Only able to wait with baited breath, it feels like one small burden has lifted off your shoulders when Delilah willingly looks up to her. Even if you can't hear exactly what is being said you can imagine it, having found yourself on the receiving end of her soft and gentle assurance that things were alright, even when they weren't. Of course as you grew older her tactics didn't work as well, maybe in due to you becoming more cynical of the world.


"Here, come on. Lets head down and see what I can find you," Mom encourages Delilah, taking her hands and helping her up. "You're old enough for some Tylenol, that should get rid of your headache." The two move past you, Delilah lead by your mother holding her hand. From behind your mother's back Delilah mouths sorry, unafraid to look at you like she had been of your father. Not that you can blame her, though now you almost regret not staying with her longer.


"Oh! Lawrence, could you do me a favor?" Mom stops at top of the stairs, looking back to you, "Will you make sure Jacks got the vent opened? I'm pretty sure you can reach it yourself." You nod and watch the girls head down, going in and following your mother's request. Warm air pours through the metal grate freely once you manage to push it open, allowing the room to reach the same warmth as your bedroom. On a work table you can't help but notice a picture frame laying face down, and upon fixing it back up you're greeted with a familiar image.


In black and white you are greeted with the faces of your family from years ago, all gathered together during a camping trip. Before Michele started going and staying out late every night and long before your throat, became the way it is. You have a stupid dopey grin on your face, matched by Michele's as she hugs you from behind. In the back your mother and father stand by a grill, looking up and smiling just in time for the photo. It hurts to look at it now and you resist the urge to return the frame back to its face down position.

You leave the smiling faces behind and move away, figuring it would be best to take care of yourself right now.

...

[1/2]

With your mother taking care of Delilah you finally take a much needed shower, watching the dirt and dried up blood circle down the drain. Most of your body feels sore, black-and-blue bruises spot your skin, and in a moment of thoughtlessness you scratch at your cheek and send a jolt of new pain through. You consider just going back to bed, to try and sleep this off like a terrible hangover, but come to the sudden realization that you aren't just here for no reason. Just because it's your parent's home it doesn't mean you can just let your guard down. All that's doing is asking for trouble, and you certainly don't need any more of that right now. A hot shower that you don't have to rush out of is still appreciated though, even if afterwards you have all the time to look over the cheek again. Too obvious to keep avoiding, you know that it's going to become a topic at some point. A bridge that you'll cross once there, you stop the nitpicking and move downstairs.


It's bizarre as hell to see Delilah and your father sitting at the same table eating breakfast, your mother at the coffee maker. She greets you warmly, handing over a warm mug and offering to prepare oatmeal. You can see that Delilah has already started on her own bowl, instead of eating though she seems more occupied with pushing around the half eaten oats. She looks over to you but refuses to look forward to where your father sits, paper and coffee at hand. There's no flinch when you take a seat next to Delilah, who manages to give you a small smile. You can't quite pinpoint what's wrong; it's not like she's freaking out like times before but instead looks rather nervous about something.


"I'm about to head out and shovel some of the neighbors walkways," Dad speaks up, not putting down the paper and it takes a moment to realize he's talking to you. "Told the Smiths I could help them out, Amy nearly busted her hip on the ice last year. Figured I could help a couple other folks with it too, if you wanted to lend me a hand-"

"Don't make him do that!" Mom interrupts where she is, turning to scold him. "First day our son is back and you want to put him to work? You're awful."


"I'm just saying if he wanted to lend me a hand. You're always getting on to me about overworking myself, this way we could take turns."

"Lawrence, you don't have to go and do that. If you want to help out, come with me to the store. I won't make you stand out in the freezing cold, just carry a few bags for me."
You'd expected this from your mother, but once again having your father ask for help so willingly like this feels strange. Delilah watches from where she sits, waiting for your answer.


>Go with your father
>Go with your mother
>Stay here
>Write-In

I know I've just made this thread but I may be gone more than usual for it. My grandmother died today, and so the next few days may be spent dealing with funeral arrangements and the like.

>>1003162
>Go with your father
>>1003170
You have my condolences. I know the feeling.

>>1003162
>Go with your father
Heading out with mom might just be asking for trouble one way or another. Someone spots us or we spill the beans on Michele.

Helping dad we might be able to think things over.

It surprises you just as much as your parents when you point to your father, indicating that you'll go out with him. Right away your mother attempts to come to your defense, saying that you don't have to go and that the exercise will do your father well.


"Fine." You insist, daring to actually look over to your somewhat shocked father. "Will help."

"Well, if you're sure," Mom says, placing a bowl full of warm oatmeal in front of you, "But make sure you stop if anything starts to hurt. Don't push yourself too far, make sure you dress war-"


"I'm sure he knows what to do." For once you're glad that your father has spoken up, pausing the overly doting behavior before it becomes overbearing. At his insistence to stop your mother looks ready to put up a fight, but once she looks over and sees that this is really what you've decided she instead holds her tongue. It would have became a long and drawn out ordeal years ago, your mother insisting that you needed rest despite anything you had to say. It was only to look out for you, but it would often become too suffocating.


"Well, I'm not going to let him out without a coat, and now the one he came in. Something clean, then he can go out." She's refused to completely give up but compromises instead, still a pretty good win regardless. As punishment though she offers a cold shoulder, giving any sign of affection and warmth she has to Delilah instead. "And what about you? Maybe you can help me pick out something for dinner?" Delilah looks ready to say yes, more than willing to actually look at your mother. Gray eyes dart in your direction and the yes turns to a no before it can even come out, a slightly disappointed look on her face. Your mother returns the look,sighing as her hands come to rest on her hips. "Well, I suppose going alone is fine. No complaining about what I make for dinner then, got it?"


Keeping a low profile isn't just for the sake of safety; you'd much rather not meet up with anyone from your past. It hardly goes well, and you doubt any previous relationship you had in the past will have remained positive through the years you've been gone. Not that you had many to begin with anyways, but the sooner you can get out of here the better. There's no telling who you might bump into and you'd much rather not deal with any of it.

...

[1/2]

Delilah agrees to stay at the house, given instructions on where the phones are and how to use the television. She resigns herself to the couch, remote in hand as she tries to find anything to watch while still lounging around in the borrowed pajamas. When you return from upstairs, now bundled up in old winter clothes you once had, she's settled on morning news. You'd think she wouldn't have any interest in this but to your surprise she looks rather adamant in watching.

"Ready Law?" Dad calls from the door way, pulling on his gloves. You finish the last button on the coat, saying goodbye to Delilah as you go to meet your father at the door. Already he holds a snow shovel at hand and leads the way out, your mother unable to stop herself from calling out more warning to keep warm outside.


"I swear, she thinks any sort of breeze will just knock me to my ass with pneumonia..." he mumbles, stepping through the thick snow and away from the house. "But your mom should be able to get out in the car easy enough, we can do our walkway later. Let's head down to the Smith's first, remember where they live?" He can't see it but you nod and he accepts the silence, leading you down a path you've traveled down many times before.


"I'll go ahead and go first, you can just jump in whenever." An attempt to make conversation but it's entirely one sided, only carried along with your nod in agreement. It's yet another awkward silence as you both tread through the snow carefully, watching for patches of ice hidden beneath. It only takes a few more minutes than usual to reach the small white house, belonging to a couple that were already old when you were a child. It doesn't take much work to clear away the snow leading up to their house, your father only forced to stop halfway with the aches in his back.


"Just need a breather, give me a moment," he says, refusing to give up the shovel. You know better than to try and fight him for it, remembering this as being more like the father you had left behind. Waiting for him you keep a careful eye on the street, not recognizing any of the sparse amount of cars that pass through yet still ready to run back to the house at the slightest hint of danger.


"You know..." Dad speaks up, readjusting his grip on the shovel as he prepares to return to work. "If I don't ask this your mom will, and you know how she gets. All last night she kept telling me I had to ask this, that if she did you wouldn't tell her the truth. So if you'd tell me... what happened to your face? It doesn't look like something that just happens."


>You just got in a fight that went wrong
>This was revenge from someone you had hurt badly
>It's from an accident, it's nothing to worry about
>Write-In

>>1004437
>This was revenge from someone you had hurt badly
We fucked up and it came back to haunt us.

Again.

>>1004437
>This was revenge from someone you had hurt badly

>>1004437
>>It's from an accident, it's nothing to worry about

>>1004437
>>This was revenge from someone you had hurt badly

"My fault." You pause, considering the option of claiming this as some sort of clumsy mistake.

"Figured that, but you don't get something like that from rolling out of bed." Too long of a wait for your father, he starts to shovel away at what snow remains on the sidewalk. You can't help but to grimace at the curtness of his words, something you thought you had already become used to. There's no use in meandering or beating around the bush, it'll just annoy him.

"Hurt someone." There's no need to add any more detail, your father has already came face-to-face with your temper before. "Hurt badly. This...retribution."


"Jesus Christ..." he lets out a sigh but you already know he was disappointed. "How many times have I told you before? That short fuse of yours will end up getting you in trouble. Del said she near had a heart attack when she saw your face last night." You panic for a moment before you remember that he's talking about your mother, not the runaway laying on the couch. Then again, you have no doubt that Delilah had the same reaction upon seeing you return to the apartments bloodied up like that.


You prepare to be berated further but surprisingly your father doesn't continue, perhaps more focused on the shoveling. When you try to take over the task he refuses to hand it over, leaving you to wonder why he even wanted you out with him anyways. He manages to finish the job, letting you stay by the street as he goes up to the door to let them know the path is cleared. As your father attempts to leave the chitchat of Mrs. Smith you begin to wonder how the rest of the neighborhood took to the news of you leaving too. In a small place like this gossip spreads like wild fire- whether it was true or not. Being the troublemaker that you were growing up it wasn't rare for you to pop up in such rumors, usually about fights that you more than likely did participate in.


But your parents had not just one but both of their children run away, not that either of you had been as well mannered as you should have been. It was hard enough dealing with it when you came back from prison, you can't imagine what it's been like for them. Mrs. Smith waves eagerly from the front door, looking past your father to do so. You wave back somewhat meekly, knowing that your father let you stay back exactly for this reason. Your mother might be hopeful but he's not; your father doesn't want to have to explain why his son randomly shows up one day only to vanish once again without an explanation. You go ahead and promise to keep your head down next time but the damage might already be done.

...


[1/2]

"Ack- dammit...!" Your father stops and reaches for his back, having pushed himself through the past two walkways. He's refused to give up, but now the pain seems more than enough of a bargaining tool to get the shovel in your hands. "Just finish this one while I catch my breath..." he mutters, standing back to let you finish what's left. Now it's your turn to be stubborn; there's only one set of sidewalks left to do after this and it'll go much faster if you just get it done. So far you've done a good job at avoiding being seen by others, mostly in part to your father no longer going up to the door. It hasn't been too long, maybe coming close to an hour and a half now, but you also want to hurry back to the house.


You manage to finish clearing the cement rather quickly, urging your father to hurry to the next house. He grumbles about you needing to slow down, that there's no need to hurry and tire yourself out, but comes along anyways. The shovel remains firmly held in your hands, ready to refuse any offer he has to take it back.


"Lawrence," right away you start to shake your head, prepared to hold it out of reach if needed, "I've got a question about that girl of yours."

Now you wished he was insisting on finishing the work himself, as you can't imagine most questions about Delilah will be any good.


"I don't like to snoop, you know that. But that girl, Bunny? She's pretty young, can't imagine she's running away from anything good. But those kids, they get into some real trouble out on their own. And, now I'm not saying she looks like it or anything, but I need you to be honest with me," he pauses, stopping in his step so that you're forced to look him in the eyes. "When I went in earlier, that bag was laying open on the ground. It looks like she has some prescription medicine in there, mine come in something similar. And I don't know how well you actually know this girl, but are those hers? Does she need to take them or...?"

Your heart skips a beat at this. Delilah still has John's medication with her and now your father is trying to figure out if they just let an underaged pill popper into their home.


>They belong to her, she needs to take them
>They belong to someone else she had been with, she's just holding them
>You don't know what they are
>Write-In

>>1006406
>You don't know what they are

>>1006406
>They belong to someone else she had been with, she's just holding them
No need to sow any distrust or raise more questions, someone just didn't trust themselves with the pills in their pocket.

>>1006406
>>They belong to someone else she had been with, she's just holding them

>>1006406
>>They belong to someone else she had been with, she's just holding them

"Not hers." For once you're quick to speak up to your father, catching him well off guard. "Holding them... for someone. Can't trust...themselves...to hold."

At this your father raises an eyebrow and asks, "Are they for you?" It stings that he would have to doubt your ability to not abuse medication like that but you just shake your head anyways, not saying another word. "Not sure why someone would trust a little girl for something like that, but honestly I was worried they were for you. Thought that maybe you were having to take the same stuff as me." A good chance to avert attention from Delilah and to ask the question that has been bothering you since he started talking about the pills.


"What are...you taking?" As far as you can recall, your father never had the need to take anything. Two aspirin and a nap was always enough to fix anything according to him, a stark contrast to a wife that was always ready to rush to the hospital at the slightest sign of a sniffle or cough in her children.


"Just something for my heart," he pats at his chest, "Has surgery nearly a year ago. Chest pains and trouble breathing, they don't think it's anything serious but they're keeping check on me. Course Del thought I was going to be a goner, but they're talking about using some new surgery later down the line... stents or something. Been using them down in Germany, but I don't know if I really need that." He's talking about it like it's not a big deal but your mind can't stop racing through the possibilities, the idea that you could have came back and found out your father has passed away. Or your mother for that matter, or even the idea that they could have up and moved away without leaving a trace of where they might be. It might be one of the few and far between things that you can, but you're at the very least thankful that you can stand here and try to convince your father why you should be the one to finish the job.


There's a strange sense of comfort in arguing with your father like this, just a feeling of normality and familiarity. It's like you can almost forget that you had left, that the last time you say this man he was sprawled on the ground by his own son.

You actually manage to get him to compromise though, to allow you to do the first half of the sidewalk and let him finish. A rarity, but one that you don't try to question. He waits by with a careful eye though, making sure you don't do more than your share. With your luck you manage to find a patch of ice, stubborn to be move as you try to chip away at it. All the while your father keeps looking towards the house of the neighbor you're doing this for, making sure no one is peeking out. You can't blame him for trying to hide the prodigal son he's no doubt ashamed of, and will no doubt end up hurting him and your mother further during your stay.


[1/3]

"I know you don't really like being the center of attention." As you stop to catch your breath he comes over, your father managing to pull the shovel away before you can protest and getting to work on where you'd stop. "And I told Del that last night too. Can't make any promises on her end, but tried to at least convince her to stay quiet about you coming back. She's just excited to have you back, but you know how folks like to talk about stuff they don't know about." With a bit of elbow grease he manages to dislodge the ice, breaking it away.


"I just want to help you feel comfortable here again, you know?"
No words come to you and so you don't speak, something that is probably for the best. You let the moment be what it is and your father must agree, not adding anything else. The thought of coming back here had been hell. You were convinced that if your father had answered the door it would have just been readily slammed in your face, that you'd been disowned during your absence.

You almost wish that had been the case, just so leaving wouldn't hurt as bad.

...


Freezing and once more sore, you're grateful to finally return back to the house.

"Doesn't look like your mom is home yet," Dad says, stopping by the street and looking at the footprints left behind from earlier. "Go on and head in, check to see if that girl is doing fine. When I scared her earlier... looked like she saw a ghost or something. Really hope I didn't scare her that bad... Anyways, gonna try and get this finished before Del comes back." You're more than okay with leaving your father to this work now and rush back inside the house, barely remembering to leave your wet boots by the front door. The television remains on but Delilah isn't resting on the couch and you start to panic but upon hearing the front door she sits up from where she's knelt down, looking excited to see you've returned.


"You're back!" she says, unsure if she should get up to greet you or stay where she is. Walking in you can see the tangle of wires and the VCR on the floor, various movies scattered on the floor that were once stacked up neatly. Delilah finally decides to stand up and away from the mess, coming over to meet you.


"Your mom mentioned that I could try watching some movies down here, but that it might not be set up right..." she can't help but to puff a cheek in frustration, looking back to her work. "I'm trying to get it set up but it's kind of hard...I can't move the TV to see where everything needs to go." With a silent plea she looks up at you, hoping that you'll pick up on her silent question. And so you go from one job to another, now trying to figure out which wire goes into what hole. Delilah waits by patiently, watching you work.

"I was trying to watch the news," she explains, "I wanted to make sure we weren't going to pop up on there or something. I still can't believe you actually just drove away from the cop like that."

[2/3]

"See anything?" you ask and Delilah shakes her head.

"No, it didn't look like they had much to say today." Delilah stops to look through some of the VHS's, putting them back in a nice stack. "There's a lot of Westerns here..."

"Dad's."

"I figured. My grandpa liked them too." She continues to look through the movies, trying to find one that would appeal to her while you keep trying to make the setup work. As you try and try again, your mind races to what it's going to be like when you guys leave here. Staying too long isn't an option, and that's something you have to keep by. You can't let you or Delilah get too comfortable, and you can't let yourself become too vulnerable either.


When the logo finally appears on the screen Delilah applauds your effort, but even through her smile it's easy to see all the stress and worry she still has.

"You're the best!" she announces, arms wrapping around you the best they can. "I thought I'd be stuck watching something like Sesame Street!" Even for something as simple as this her praise is appreciated, feeling the warmth return to your face.


"Ah- you're freezing!" Delilah says, pulling her face away from your coat, "Is it really that cold outside? Jeez..."

"It's fine."

"Well, you should still warm up. You don't want to get sick-"

"Okay mom." Immediately Delilah shoves away from you, making a face at getting called out for her nagging.


"For real though! Warm up, and if you aren't too bust then maybe you could stay down here and hang out. I'll try to find a movie you'd like too..." she starts to sound shy at this, moving her gaze back down to the movies again. With how tired your father was already you can guess that he'll probably stay outside for about twenty minutes or so.


"Call Crocket-" you being to say but Delilah shakes her head.

"I tried, I didn't get any answer. I'll try again later." Without any word from him the two of you are sitting ducks, but there isn't really much you can do till then.


>Stay down here with Delilah
>Your father and mother are out of the house, take the time to go see if you can locate your father's gun
>Write-In

>>1009047
>Stay down here with Delilah
No need to cause a scene or nothing, if anything happens we know the house better than anyone.

>>1009047
>Stay down here with Delilah

Just as a heads up, I will be gone Friday, Saturday, and maybe Sunday for the funereal.

Ignoring the soreness in your legs you manage to rise up, only to take your once usual spot on the couch. Delilah's face lights up once she sees that you plan to stay down here with her and hurriedly tries to find something appropriate to put in. Waiting by you shrug off the wet coat, slinging it over the back of the couch and looking over to the china cabinet across the room. Your mother might not have enjoyed the idea of having it in the house, but your father managed to convince her it would be best to have some sort of gun in the house in case of emergency. There had been times when he promised to show you how to shoot but you would either find a way out of it or annoy him enough to get the practice called off. You had only seen it a few times, usually at a low time in your life.


The first time hadn't been so bad; you were in the house alone and knew your father stored his liquor bottles somewhere out of sight. Searching through the top shelf, you were scared when fingertips brushed against cold metal and instead of bourbon you brought down a gun. Nothing big, nothing fancy- more than enough to get the job done. Holding it was frightening enough and you were quick to return it to its spot, hiding for the next few days as you were sure your father would have noticed it moved. There had been other times when you went to go check it out, when you had to stand on your tiptoes still to reach it. At first you were merely curious, looking it over and striking poses straight out of some cheap action movie. It when you became older, when you were tall enough to look at the shelf and see where the gun rested, that you started to go to it for other purposes.


At first you considered bringing it with to school, to use it in the middle of a fight and scare off your tormentors. You figured the guys at school kept messing with you cause they won, they always fought dirty and so they always won. But even as you planned everything, planned how the fights would turn out and how the gun would make them run away and stop, you could never bring yourself to pocket it. You couldn't even bring yourself to hold your finger over the trigger while messing around with it, much less when it would have been pointed at someone else.


There are times when you had other clouded thoughts, ones that made it seem easier to pull the trigger.


Ideas that still scared you to hell, no doubt about that. But you could find yourself becoming closer and closer to that point, on the days where you didn't want to go outside but staying at home was already hell enough. You would always either pussy out or come to your senses -depending on who you might ask- and the gun would be returned to its rightful place.

[1/3]

The last time it was in your hands you had been caught, right when you were posing with it once more, getting a feel for what it might be like to go through it. You hadn't even heard her come in, didn't know how long she was watching till she called out your name in fear. There had been no thoughts to actually doing it, but anyone walking in might have thought you were about to-

"Lawrence?"


Looking back over you can see that Delilah has been trying to get your attention, standing there concerned and looking over your face. "Are you okay?" You just tell her yes and she accepts the answer, asking if The Wizard of Oz would be okay to watch. You nod and she goes to start the movie, the hint of a bounce in her step.


"I really like this movie." Delilah says, returning to you. In her absence you've spread out across the couch, taking up much of the room much to her annoyance. "Hey, move over!" she says, trying to get in the empty place. "I need more room, you're squishing me!"

"Need the...space."

"No you don't! You're just being selfish and rude now-"

"My couch."

"No it's not!" As previews for other movies play on the television Delilah tries to push you over, held back easily at arm's length and a hand against her forehead. Bullying her like this gave you something brighter to think about, and when Dorthy finally appears on the screen you give in and move over. Delilah takes her spot but looks away at you, demanding an apology. Even when you offer one up she continues to pout, but her cold facade melts as the movie continues to play. You lean against the arm of the couch and she leans takes the chance to lean against you, curling up when you let her get close.


The color hadn't even appeared in the film yet when your father comes inside, his sudden entry making you sit at attention and nudge Delilah away. If they already have suspicions about her it would be best to play it safe, but your father doesn't seem to notice anything astray as he complains about the cold and removes his own coat. He mentions that he's going to be in the garage for a bit, that later he would like your hand in there. You just agree to it for now, breathing much easier once he leaves. Delilah seems relieved too, her eyes darting forward as soon as had saw him.

[2/3]

The movie does its job in cheering her up quickly, and as you lean back against the couch and watch you feel the heavy tug of sleep on your eyes. Delilah notices this, lightly scolding you to stay up. But as Dorthy finally gets those damn ruby slippers even Delilah can't stop you from nodding off.


.
..
...
You're a bad man
...
..
.


Click


Your eyes open at the sound of the VCR and your whole body jerks, barely recognizing it as coming to the end of rewinding a tape. With your chest hurting slightly and your heart beating rapidly, you try to remind yourself that everything is fine and that you had just been asleep. That the anxiety you're feeling was just from an only somewhat vivid dream and that everything here is actually okay. Looking over you're greeted with a black screen and see that you've ended up laying across the couch. Still tired and disoriented you lay there, feeling fingers trace through your hair and a warm lap beneath your head.

"Can't believe you actually slept through the whole movie..." Delilah says above you, speaking softly rather than annoyed. "You said you wouldn't."

"Sorry." you mumble before remembering where you're at, forcing yourself to rise before either parent can see you laying in Delilah's lap like this. "Where's-...?"


"Your mom came back a bit earlier. She brought in some groceries and then took your dad to the post office. I think they were stopping to pick something else up too though... " Delilah tries to think about what it could be but shakes her head. "I don't think it's important. Did you at least sleep well?"

"Yeah."

"Good, cause you're gonna have to stay awake the next time we watch a movie together."

"Choose something...not boring."

"It's not boring-" she's quick to defend the movie but just as quickly sees that you're just teasing her again, making herself calm down as a finger trails around your beard. She looks over your face, eyes half lidded with idleness and the very edge of her teeth biting her lip.


"What were you dreaming about?" she asks suddenly, hand gently resting against your throat. "I didn't know if I should have done something, but you looked kind of worried when you woke up just now..." The very gists of what you had dreamt remains now, but it still leaves you feeling unsettled.


>Tell Delilah that it was nothing, that you've already forgotten about it
>You had a dream about Charlie and you were feeling angry
>You had a dream about Michele and you were feeling helpless
>You had a dream about Delilah and you were feeling guilty

>>1011178
>You had a dream about Delilah and you were feeling guilty

>>1011178
>You had a dream about Delilah and you were feeling guilty

>>1011178
>You had a dream about Delilah and you were feeling guilty

"You."

Her gray eyes turn somber at this, going from calm to crestfallen.

"I'm sorry..." she starts to apologize, pulling her hands back and away from you, " I didn't mean to give you nightmares."

"You didn't."

"I wasn't a good dream," Delilah says, looking as if she had committed some great awful. "The least I could have done was wake you up..."


"You weren't...bad."

"Then-"

"I was." Time to move, you sit hunched over and feel just how dry your mouth is right now. Delilah shifts next to you but doesn't try to move away, her hands resting in her lap now. She takes glances over at your direction, trying not to stare as your head collapses against your hands. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as the shame tries to pull you down.

"Do...Do you want to talk about it?" Delilah asks but even if that's what you wanted to do you doubt it could happen.

"No."


"Was it really that bad?" It's a terrible thing to do but you can't bear to answer, the silence leaving Delilah the only option of guessing what could have happened. Deep down inside you know why you would have a dream like that, a secret sin you've kept only to yourself that weighs down heavily on your chest. As much as you would rather lock it away forever you know that telling her would help alleviate some of the dread, but at the same time you're afraid of her hating you for it. Yet again you're damned if you do and damned if you don't and you simply aren't strong enough to handle either.


"It was kind of funny..." Delilah breaks the quiet for you finally, a welcomed relief, "You started to do that thing where you snore and I kept trying to make you stop without waking you up. I thought maybe if I tilted your head a different way or something it would stop, but then you sort of just ended up falling over this way. At first I was kind of scared cause you were heavy and um... having you that close all of a sudden kind of scared me c-cause of... you know. But then I looked at you and you were just, just really cute asleep like that. I don't think someone that cute could really be that bad, you know?" She smiles warmly at you, no sign of fear in her face. When you finally give one back her grin turns slightly pursed lips, still wanting a kiss from such a terrible man as yourself.

You might not deserve it but she does, Delilah's cheeks reddening further when you give her the quick kiss she wants.


"Thank you..." she says, hands coming up to hide her flushed cheeks. "You know what you should do later?"

"What?"

"You should show me your room. If you want to, I mean... that's where you slept last night right?" Before you can agree to this the front door swings open and both your parents make their chilly return. You jump off of the couch in instinct, only to be caught completely off guard by the sight of your father in glasses. He had never wore them before and always made it sound like it was more trouble than its worth to keep up with them.

[1/2]

"Oh Lawrence, you noticed them right?" Mom asks, hanging up her coat. "They've been long overdue, but we finally managed to convince him to get a pair. Jacks kept complaining about them the whole ride home but I think they make him smart and handsome."


"They said I didn't have to keep wearing them." Dad mumbles, taking them off and shoving them away in his shirt pocket. "Damn things give me a headache."

"You'll get used to them! And don't forget to take them out of your pocket later, I don't want to find glass at the bottom of my washing machine-"

"I won't forget." Right away your father sulks off to the garage, leaving your mother behind and annoyed.


"That man, I swear..." she mutters, walking over to the couch. "So, anything happen while we were gone?"

"Lawrence fell asleep during the movie..." Delilah says, apparently still sour about it.

"Did his snoring shake the house?"

"Not this time."


"That's good. Jacks can get awful when it comes to that, I'd have to apologize to any of Lawrence's girlfriends if he turned out like his dad."
Delilah tries not to let out a nervous laugh but luckily your mother doesn't notice, only inviting her to help prepare lunch. You're glad that she's able to trust your mother so much, but now if you could only help her feel as comfortable around your father. That might be an uphill battle not worth fighting though, especially if your stay isn't going to be much longer.


Even through the walls you can hear the sounds of father working in the garage, though you couldn't figure out just what the hell he might be doing in there. The girls talk from the kitchen, and while the conversation sounds nice you start to worry when mentions of school start to come up.


You'll need to figure out a plan with Delilah later, but for now you;

>Go see what your father needed help with in the garage
>Hang out in the kitchen, make sure your mother doesn't pry too much
>Go upstairs, plan for what you can and look for anything useful you can take with you
>Write-In

>>1012917
>Hang out in the kitchen, make sure your mother doesn't pry too much
Del should be able to talk circles around some subjects, but we can hang around for a few minutes and grab something to drink before checking the garage.

>>1012917
>Go see what your father needed help with in the garage

>>1012917
>Hang out in the kitchen, make sure your mother doesn't pry too much

Alright guys I'm heading out for the funereal, I will probably be back on Sunday. Behave pls

>>1002117
>You play as Delilah, an unfortunate young girl going through tough times.

Awwwww, sweet.

>Right now, we are currently playing as Lawrence!

FALSE

ADVERTISING!


I want my money back, QM.

>>1018270
All sales are final

Sorry about the wait, but I'm home so I'll go ahead and put a new thread up tomorrow morning!

New Thread

>>1032491
>>1032491
>>1032491