eldorne_girl | (no subject)

(no subject)

[The door is shut. Not locked, never locked, but the door to Delia's and Josie's room is shut.]

[inside, there is only one person - Delia. Lovely, pretty little Delia, red-eyed and curled up on her bed.]

[Drinking]

[Because some things never change.]

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[she throws a pillow at him.]

Neither do I. M'just saying.

*Thom protests, hissing*

Ow.

[For a moment, her expression is stricken (someone who claims to love him...)
and she bites her bottom lip and says,]

Oh, Thom, I'm sorry.

[before she stops, and runs her free hand through her hair]

*and he smiles, closing his eyes*

Too bad for you -- I'm invincible.

Oh, of course.

As am I.

[she settles back down, curled up almost like a cat as she watches him]

*sleepily* Is that what you told Roger?

No. I told him that I loved him, and that I never wanted to see him again.

I didn't even lie.

You have funny ideas about love.

[she shuts her eyes, maybe that will make his voice go away]

I know.

Go to sleep, Thom.

Promise you won't stab me or anything.

*But he's already gone.*

Only ever in the back.

[but he's gone, and she's falling, and the scene they present would clash should Josie come back before tomorrow]

She does. Opens the door quietly, neatly. Ever neatness and perfection, as she must be. Pauses in the doorway, face calm, eyes bright and cold and burning hot. One hand tightens, for just a moment, on the door-frame, the other hanging by her side, fingers curled just so.

That perfect mask of a face falters, briefly, then the emotion, if it was, is gone. No-one there to see it, in any case. She turns. Shuts the door as noiselessly behind her as she had opened it.

There is always room for her in Valentine's bed, after all. He's a strange soul, as cold and bleak as she feels. She likes him. Perhaps. . . But she will always come back to Delia.

Always.

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