The next day

The next morning feels like a blur. My head’s still spinning from the night before—the fight with my dad, the weight of his disappointment, and the ache in my fists that refuses to go away. I don’t even want to think about it. But what else is there to do? I know I can’t sit around all day and stew in it. So when I get a text from Delilah, something inside me stirs.

“Hey, you wanna meet up today?”

For some reason, I can’t bring myself to ignore it. Maybe it’s the need to escape, to forget about everything that’s been going on. Maybe it’s because I’m craving a distraction. I don’t know. Either way, I reply without thinking.

“Sure, where?”

She texts back almost immediately. “How about that café we went to last month? I’ll meet you there at 2.”

It’s a place I’ve been to a few times, tucked away on a quiet street. I don’t exactly know what’s going to happen when I see her, but I feel like I need to. Maybe I can talk to her, clear my head. Maybe she can help me make sense of everything that’s going wrong in my life.

When I show up at the café, I see Delilah almost immediately, sitting at a corner table by the window. Her long, dark hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and there’s that same look in her eyes—like she’s got everything figured out, while I’m still trying to piece my life together.

She waves when she sees me and smiles, that smile that always seems to make my stomach do flips, even though I can’t quite figure out if it’s real or just for show. I walk over to her, trying to act casual, but the weight of last night, my dad, and everything that’s been building up makes it feel like I’m walking through thick mud.

“You look... good,” she says when I sit down, her eyes scanning me like she’s sizing me up. “You okay? You seem a little off.”

I hesitate, trying to gauge whether I want to tell her about what happened last night. About my dad. About how I’m falling apart and trying to make sense of it all. But I don’t think I can. Not yet. Not with her.

“Yeah,” I say, forcing a grin. “Just a lot going on. You know how it is.”

Delilah tilts her head, studying me with a sharp gaze. “Yeah, I get it,” she replies coolly. “I’ve been there. But you know... you can always tell me if something’s wrong, Lachlan.”

Something about the way she says it makes me feel like she’s holding something back. Like she’s not really asking because she cares, but because it’s easier for her to keep me in this little space, this place where I’m always the one who needs fixing.

I force myself to keep the smile on my face, though it feels more like a mask now. “I’ll be fine,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “I’ve got it under control.”

Her lips curl up at the corners, but there’s something almost calculating in her smile. “Of course you do,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “You always do. But you know, sometimes you don’t have to handle everything alone.”

I feel a pang of something—maybe it’s irritation, maybe it’s just the frustration of the past few days—but I don’t let it show. “I’m not alone,” I reply quickly.

She tilts her head, a slight frown forming between her brows. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, almost too quickly. “I just meant... you know, you could let people in more. Like, you don’t have to keep everything to yourself.”

I nod, but it feels like the conversation’s shifting, like she’s trying to make it about me, when really, I’m trying to not think about me for a second. I’m trying to forget about the tension with my dad, about how I feel like a failure because I can’t live up to the expectations everyone’s set for me.

I change the subject, bringing up something lighter—an old story from school, trying to get the conversation back to a place that feels comfortable, normal. But she doesn’t let it go.

“You’re really good at deflecting, you know that?” she says with a smirk. “It’s like you want people to think you’ve got everything together, but I can tell something’s bothering you. Maybe you’re not as okay as you say you are.”

I laugh a little, a nervous, strained sound. I want to brush her off, tell her I’m fine. But there’s something in her eyes that keeps me from doing it. It’s like she’s reading me, studying me in a way that feels... unsettling. And I hate that she can see through the act I’m putting on.

“What do you want me to say, Delilah?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend. “You want me to tell you everything? Because that’s not how this works.”

She raises an eyebrow, her smile never quite reaching her eyes. “I’m not asking you to tell me anything, Lachlan,” she says, leaning in slightly. “But I can tell something’s eating at you. And I’m just here to listen. If you want to talk.”

I can’t shake the feeling that she’s not as concerned as she seems. Like she’s toying with me, keeping me at arm’s length while dangling the idea of support in front of me. It feels manipulative, and that unsettles me more than I want to admit.

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to block out the sharp edge of her words. I don’t want to deal with this right now. I don’t want to deal with her, with my dad, with anything. I just want some peace, even if it’s just for a little while.

“I’m good, really,” I say again, trying to sound more convincing this time. “But thanks for offering.”

She doesn’t press any further, but there’s something in the way her eyes flicker that tells me she’s not done with this conversation. Maybe she’ll come back to it later, or maybe she’s just waiting for me to crack. Either way, I’m not ready to deal with it. Not today.

For now, I’m going to pretend everything’s fine and enjoy this moment.

We sit in silence for a few moments after I tell Delilah I’m “fine,” both of us picking at the remnants of our drinks. I can feel the weight of the conversation hanging between us, the tension just beneath the surface. But she doesn’t push any further, and for that, I’m thankful. I don’t want to deal with it right now. I just want some time to think, to breathe.

Delilah taps the rim of her coffee cup, then stands up abruptly. “You want to get out of here? A walk might do us both some good,” she suggests, her voice light but with a hint of something else I can’t quite place.

I nod, eager to leave the stuffy café behind. It’s too quiet, too cramped. I need to stretch my legs, clear my head. “Sure. A walk sounds good.”

The cool air greets us as we step outside. It’s a little windy, but not enough to be uncomfortable. We walk side by side, neither of us talking much at first. I glance at Delilah from time to time, but she’s staring ahead, her eyes distant. I wonder if she’s still thinking about what happened back at the café or if it’s something else entirely.

We stroll down the street in silence, passing through a neighborhood I don’t recognize. The streetlights flicker on as the sky starts to darken, the glow of neon signs and the sound of distant chatter filling the air. I feel a little lighter, just being outside, away from everything. But even so, it’s hard to shake the feeling that something’s off between us.

Then, as we round the corner, I see a tall, broad-shouldered guy approaching. He’s got Blonde hair and a cocky grin plastered across his face. He looks... familiar, like someone I’ve seen around before, but I can’t quite place him.

Delilah spots him too. Her expression shifts in an instant—her eyes soften, a smile creeping up at the corners of her lips. It’s like a mask slides over her face, the lightness in her step replaced by something different, something... almost too practiced.

“Samson!” she calls, waving at him enthusiastically. “Hey, I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

I stand there, confused for a moment, watching her interaction with this guy. Something in the way she says his name doesn’t sit right with me. It's like she's been rehearsing that greeting, her voice just a little too sweet, her eyes lighting up a little too brightly.

Samson steps forward, his grin widening when he sees her. He pulls her into a quick hug, and I can't help but feel a pang of discomfort. It’s so... familiar, the way they interact. The way she melts into his embrace, her body language shifting.

"Didn't expect to see you here either, Delilah," Samson says, looking over at me briefly before his eyes flick back to her. “How’ve you been? Been meaning to catch up.”

Delilah pulls away from him slightly, flashing a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes when she turns to me. "Oh, this is Lachlan," she says, her tone flat, almost as if she’s introducing a stranger. "Lachlan, this is Samson. We’ve hung out a few times.”

I feel the sting of her words more than I should. She has hung out with him, and it’s clear that there’s more between them than she’s letting on. The way she’s acting, the way she’s distancing herself from me, makes it obvious she doesn’t want Samson to know anything about me. Her voice is too casual, too indifferent. Like I don’t matter enough to be part of the conversation.

I try not to let it show, but the knot in my stomach tightens. My hand clenches at my side, the frustration bubbling back up again.

"Nice to meet you," I say, my voice coming out more tense than I mean. I reach my hand out, but it feels pointless. It’s not like I’m actually interested in making small talk with this guy. I’m just trying to be polite, trying to hold onto whatever sliver of composure I’ve got left.

Samson shakes my hand, his grip firm, almost possessive. His gaze lingers on me for a second too long, then slides back to Delilah. "You’re lucky to have a friend like Delilah," he says with a smirk, clearly trying to assert some sort of dominance without even realizing it.

Delilah chuckles softly, her eyes flickering to me briefly before she quickly turns her attention back to Samson. “Yeah, I suppose I am," she says, her voice light again, like it’s all just a game.

I stand there, feeling like a third wheel, an outsider to this whole scene. They exchange a few more words—mostly small talk about the usual stuff, the weather, what they’ve been up to. I try to listen, but it feels like I'm on the edge of a conversation I’m not invited to. Delilah’s playing it cool, but I can tell she’s keeping something from me, something that involves Samson.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Delilah turns back to me, her smile widening in a way that feels almost rehearsed. “Well, Samson and I are gonna grab a drink. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Her eyes dart to Samson, and I can almost see the subtle signal she gives him, a brief exchange of a look that I can’t quite place but feels loaded with something unspoken.

I nod, trying to hide my frustration. “Yeah, sure. No problem.”

I force myself to smile, though it feels hollow, and wave them off. Delilah gives me a quick, almost dismissive wave in return, before walking off with Samson, her steps light and carefree.

I stand there for a moment, watching them walk away, a dull ache settling in my chest. It’s clear now. Whatever she’s been telling me, whatever I thought we had—Delilah’s got someone else. And I’m just the guy she’s been playing.