Categories > Cartoons > Delilah and Julius > Surreal
Chapter Ten - Promise
The sound of running water echoed throughout the empty room. She sat in the shower, fully clothed, letting the icy water run over her. She felt dirty ... so dirty. How could she ever be clean again? It seemed impossible. Her headache was back, with a vengeance. Punishment - it had to be. Punishment for what she had done.
A soft creak caught her ear. Someone was in her room. She wasn't in the mood to deal with Roger. Not his questions, his pushing, his selling, his affection. She wasn't in the mood to deal with Al. Not his annoying overuse of the words "like" and "man". She wasn't even in the mood to deal with Scarlett, her friend, mentor, the mother she never knew. Not the questions and the confessions that would follow.
As he stepped into the room, her heart skipped a beat. No, not him. Not now. She couldn't imagine why he would want to see her. She had betrayed him, drawn his blood. How could he stand to look at her, after what she had done?
She expected shouting, cursing. Maybe even a slap to the face, as payback. None came. Instead, he walked closer to her. Without saying a word, he stepped into the shower and turned off the water. Her lips were turning blue. She was shivering. He grabbed a towel from the shower rail and wrapped it around her.
"Get up." He said gently.
His tone surprised her. There was no hint of sarcasm, rage, sorrow. It was filled with compassion and maybe even ... love. Was this just a ploy to make her feel guiltier than she already did? She wanted that to be true, to make things so much easier. Right now she was confused. How could he look at her with eyes filled with tenderness? There was no hatred, not even a hint.
She stood up. He pulled her close to his body and walked slowly to her bed. Grabbing the blue housecoat off a chair, he held it out to her. Taking it, she pulled it on and stripped off her wet clothes. She tossed them on the floor.
"I'll run them through the dryer." He said, stooping down to pick them up.
"No." She protested. "You don't have to. You shouldn't."
He looked at her and smiled: a smile that made her heart melt. When he had gone, she let herself fall backwards onto her bed. Why was he doing this to her, being to nice? Did he have amnesia? Had her blow been so hard that she had injured his brain? All these questions floated through her mind. She wanted to stay awake and ask him when he got back, but she was so tired. Her eyelids seemed to way a ton, and she was too drained to resist. Soon she was asleep, dreaming of better days.
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When her clothes - her pyjamas - were dry, Julius grabbed them and left the laundry room. 1 Corinthians 13:12-13 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. He ran the verse over in his head. Love keeps no record of wrongs. What Delilah, his Delilah, had done was one of the biggest wrongs in his life. But he was to forget this and still love her.
He walked into her room and found her sleeping. She was curled up in a ball on the end of her bed, breathing softly. It seemed almost criminal to wake her, but he had to speak to her now. He could see that by being kind he had perhaps won her back. Waiting any longer could risk losing her. Roger might get to her first.
Shaking her shoulders slightly, he roused* her from sleep. Delilah gave a small, tired moan as she rolled on to her back. Her eyes opened, and her expression changed to one of apprehension. Oh no, what does he want? Her face said.
"I need to talk to you." Julius murmured.
The words made her stomach twist into a knot. This was it; this was when he exploded, when he shouted at her for the choices she made. All this kindness had just been an act. He had drawn her close so he could rip her throat open. She prepared herself for the blow of the words.
"I want you to promise me something." His intense stare made her uncomfortable. Why couldn't he just start with the verbal abuse, just get it /out of the way/?
"What?" she asked, her voice wary.
He took her shoulders and held her in front of him. "I want you to promise ... promise that you'll stop all of this shit." She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a finger. "Just hear me out. Delilah, this isn't just hurting you. It's hurting everyone; me, Al, Scarlett, Nosey, even Emmet and Ursula. You've changed and it's freaking me out. Just a few hours ago, you could have killed yourself. It has to stop. I don't know why you're doing this, and you don't have to tell me. Keep it to yourself. But I'm your partner, your friend"-/and so much more .../ he wanted to say, but didn't-"and care about what happens to you. I don't want to wake up one morning and find you lying face-down on the floor, dead, with an empty bottle of pills in your hand. I've already been through two funerals in my life, I don't want another one."
He sighed, glad to have it off his chest. "So just promise me this, okay? Promise me that you'll stop hurting yourself."
Right now, Delilah felt to incredibly schizophrenic. Part of her wanted to spit in his face, yell at him to keep his nose out of her business, slap him. Again. But the other part, it held her back. This part wanted her to listen to the words of wisdom. It wanted her to stop with the drugs, stop hurting the people she cared about most in the world.
She looked up into her partner's eyes, and grinned. "I promise." She said, and pulled herself into his chest.
==============================================================
Synonyms for /Promise/: sacred word, pledge, vow
Promises are made to be broken. - Anonymous
______________________________________________________________
Gah! Short, again! Oh well, let's hope it's meaningful.
*Do you have any idea how long it took me to figure out how to spell "roused"? It was like: rosed - no, wait, that's not it ... rowsed - no ... roo-NO!!
-panda_1418
The sound of running water echoed throughout the empty room. She sat in the shower, fully clothed, letting the icy water run over her. She felt dirty ... so dirty. How could she ever be clean again? It seemed impossible. Her headache was back, with a vengeance. Punishment - it had to be. Punishment for what she had done.
A soft creak caught her ear. Someone was in her room. She wasn't in the mood to deal with Roger. Not his questions, his pushing, his selling, his affection. She wasn't in the mood to deal with Al. Not his annoying overuse of the words "like" and "man". She wasn't even in the mood to deal with Scarlett, her friend, mentor, the mother she never knew. Not the questions and the confessions that would follow.
As he stepped into the room, her heart skipped a beat. No, not him. Not now. She couldn't imagine why he would want to see her. She had betrayed him, drawn his blood. How could he stand to look at her, after what she had done?
She expected shouting, cursing. Maybe even a slap to the face, as payback. None came. Instead, he walked closer to her. Without saying a word, he stepped into the shower and turned off the water. Her lips were turning blue. She was shivering. He grabbed a towel from the shower rail and wrapped it around her.
"Get up." He said gently.
His tone surprised her. There was no hint of sarcasm, rage, sorrow. It was filled with compassion and maybe even ... love. Was this just a ploy to make her feel guiltier than she already did? She wanted that to be true, to make things so much easier. Right now she was confused. How could he look at her with eyes filled with tenderness? There was no hatred, not even a hint.
She stood up. He pulled her close to his body and walked slowly to her bed. Grabbing the blue housecoat off a chair, he held it out to her. Taking it, she pulled it on and stripped off her wet clothes. She tossed them on the floor.
"I'll run them through the dryer." He said, stooping down to pick them up.
"No." She protested. "You don't have to. You shouldn't."
He looked at her and smiled: a smile that made her heart melt. When he had gone, she let herself fall backwards onto her bed. Why was he doing this to her, being to nice? Did he have amnesia? Had her blow been so hard that she had injured his brain? All these questions floated through her mind. She wanted to stay awake and ask him when he got back, but she was so tired. Her eyelids seemed to way a ton, and she was too drained to resist. Soon she was asleep, dreaming of better days.
--------------------------------------------------------------
When her clothes - her pyjamas - were dry, Julius grabbed them and left the laundry room. 1 Corinthians 13:12-13 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. He ran the verse over in his head. Love keeps no record of wrongs. What Delilah, his Delilah, had done was one of the biggest wrongs in his life. But he was to forget this and still love her.
He walked into her room and found her sleeping. She was curled up in a ball on the end of her bed, breathing softly. It seemed almost criminal to wake her, but he had to speak to her now. He could see that by being kind he had perhaps won her back. Waiting any longer could risk losing her. Roger might get to her first.
Shaking her shoulders slightly, he roused* her from sleep. Delilah gave a small, tired moan as she rolled on to her back. Her eyes opened, and her expression changed to one of apprehension. Oh no, what does he want? Her face said.
"I need to talk to you." Julius murmured.
The words made her stomach twist into a knot. This was it; this was when he exploded, when he shouted at her for the choices she made. All this kindness had just been an act. He had drawn her close so he could rip her throat open. She prepared herself for the blow of the words.
"I want you to promise me something." His intense stare made her uncomfortable. Why couldn't he just start with the verbal abuse, just get it /out of the way/?
"What?" she asked, her voice wary.
He took her shoulders and held her in front of him. "I want you to promise ... promise that you'll stop all of this shit." She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a finger. "Just hear me out. Delilah, this isn't just hurting you. It's hurting everyone; me, Al, Scarlett, Nosey, even Emmet and Ursula. You've changed and it's freaking me out. Just a few hours ago, you could have killed yourself. It has to stop. I don't know why you're doing this, and you don't have to tell me. Keep it to yourself. But I'm your partner, your friend"-/and so much more .../ he wanted to say, but didn't-"and care about what happens to you. I don't want to wake up one morning and find you lying face-down on the floor, dead, with an empty bottle of pills in your hand. I've already been through two funerals in my life, I don't want another one."
He sighed, glad to have it off his chest. "So just promise me this, okay? Promise me that you'll stop hurting yourself."
Right now, Delilah felt to incredibly schizophrenic. Part of her wanted to spit in his face, yell at him to keep his nose out of her business, slap him. Again. But the other part, it held her back. This part wanted her to listen to the words of wisdom. It wanted her to stop with the drugs, stop hurting the people she cared about most in the world.
She looked up into her partner's eyes, and grinned. "I promise." She said, and pulled herself into his chest.
==============================================================
Synonyms for /Promise/: sacred word, pledge, vow
Promises are made to be broken. - Anonymous
______________________________________________________________
Gah! Short, again! Oh well, let's hope it's meaningful.
*Do you have any idea how long it took me to figure out how to spell "roused"? It was like: rosed - no, wait, that's not it ... rowsed - no ... roo-NO!!
-panda_1418
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