“Hello?” I call out into a seemingly empty store.
“I’m comin’!” a woman’s voice snaps from a room beside the wall of cigarettes. An older lady steps out of the dimly lit room, her black hair piled upon her head, and eyebrows perfectly shaped. There she is. She was the one that checked me out when I got a few things for my place. A black silk tight top hugs her chest nicely, and gold rings on her fingers are all I can see of her but she looks like a biker woman.
She snatches my soda with long, sharp black nails and scans it.
“Three, ninety-nine.” Her eyes snap to me, waiting for me to pay up. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a five-dollar bill.
“I got it, Mom.”
My head jerks toward the familiar sound and Thane smiles at me. Taking the soda from the counter, he hands it to me. She lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing in on me, her tongue in her cheek.
“This the new girl?” she asks, still looking at me.
“Delilah,” he tells her my name. “And yes, she is the one we hired.”
Placing the five-dollar bill back into my back pocket, I offer a smile in return.
“Thank you.”
“This is my mom, Smurf.”
She crosses her arms. “‘Cause I’m short, everyone gives me shit because I can’t reach shit around here.” She feels the need to explain, and I lightly laugh in response. It’s a cute nickname actually, but when I think of Smurf, I think of little blue, friendly creatures, not this woman.
“You done with the piece?” Thane looks at me in question, resting one of his hands on the counter.
“I am,” I say on an exhale. “It took me all day, but I think it looks pretty good.” I shrug in response, not wanting to sound conceited, but I also don’t want to sound like he shouldn’t have hired me.
Silence settles between us, the air suddenly not as cool as before.
“Have you eaten?” he asks, and I roll my lips on one another while trying to think of a response. I haven’t eaten but I don’t think us having a late night dinner together is the best idea.
My heart jackhammers in my chest, pain and lust that has never really gone away making me confused and angry. The way he touched me today was a lack of judgment on my part. I can’t get involved with him. I just can’t. There’s too much there and I don’t know if it’s real or just based on the fact of our history.
“I’m fine. I’m exhausted and going to head back to the apartment and call it a night.” My words spill with uncertainty, the idea of spending an evening with Thane appealing because I have so much to say to him, but… no. I’m scared of retelling a past and even more terrified how he will react. Will he care? Tell me I’m overreacting?
“Okay.” He gives a slow nod, that crooked smirk on his face making me feel just like I did when I was a kid.
My feet slowly shuffle backward until my back hits the glass door. Lifting the soda, I look from Thane to his mom. She kind of reminds me of my mother with that top, it’s something she would wear. Ol’ ladies aren’t afraid to flaunt what they got, and that’s a fact. I wonder if she’s just as fucking crazy as my mother.
“Thanks for the soda.”
“Yeah… no problem.” Her words full of crass as she looks at her son with a dead stare.
Turning around out of the station and into the hot night air, I twist the top off the soda and let it pour into my mouth. The crickets and frog return to a loud roar as I slip into the darkness and it makes me think of Piper. She’d piss herself if she could hear this. Back to my little nook of the street, I look up at my bedroom window where a lamp glows behind a blind. It’s still so crazy to believe I’m here by myself, in my own place without my dad or a Devil lurking over my shoulder.
Delilah
7
Delilah
Rain batters against my bedroom window this morning, the loud crack of thunder making me jump where I lay. I’m not used to such loud storms where I come from, in fact, rain is rare. Shuffling over to lie on my back and stare at the ceiling I yawn, the bike I worked on yesterday is supposed to get picked up today, I wonder how much I’ll get paid for this one. Thane should have my next piece to work on, I hope it is something bigger I’m ready for a challenge. The smell of spray paint drifts into the air, making my silent thoughts stop abruptly. I don’t use spray paint. Sitting up, I throw the blankets off me and hurry into the living room. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but the smell of spray paint has me on edge. Rain continues to splash against the building hitting the kitchen window with a force but the smell of wet paint gets stronger.