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I looked up at her, and she scoffed, her brown eyes full of tears. She brought her hands up to her eyes and pushed the heels of her hands into her eyelids. “I can’t deal with this right now. I’ve had a long day, a long week, really, and I just want to go home.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I upset you by pointing out that this fuck—” I grinded the toe of my loafer into his forehead slightly, leaving a streak of dirt on his skin, “is exactly what I was talking about the other night?”
Delia looked around at the empty streets and turned back to me, sighing. “I’m going home,” she said simply, opening her car door.
“You can’t. You need to stay to file the police report,” I protested, pulling her away from the door by her wrist.
She looked down at my hand, circled around her small wrist, and then our eyes met. “Please just let me go.”
“Is that really what you want?” I asked her. I wanted to interlace our fingers, to feel the warmth of her palm against mine.
But tears started to fall, and she shook me loose. “I’m sick of your judgment, the way you talk about my job, the way you gossip with Jeremy about me, everything about you.”
Gossip? Like I’m some teenage girl? What is she talking about?
“I don’t gossip,” I said stonily, and she looked at me with an expression like she was exhausted.
Her shoulders drooped, and her eyes were moving quickly, scanning my face. “So you’re going to deny talking with Jeremy about me?”
I shrugged and reached out to take her hand, but she stepped back, shaking her head, so I dropped my hand and asked, “Is there some reason that’s wrong?”
I couldn’t understand why it angered her so much that I cared enough about her to talk to my friends about her.
“There is when you’re talking badly about me and my choices,” she said coolly, with a hard stare.
Frustrated, I looked away and asked, “And how do you think I feel? You’re so offended by my opinions, but you don’t try to prove me wrong at all. You’re completely reckless. Look what happened tonight!”
“You think this is my fault?” she spit out.
“No, of course not. I just think—"
She interrupted me, “And why do you care if I’m reckless?”
I couldn’t say the real reason. I couldn’t say that I felt drawn to her, that I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She couldn’t know how deep this − whatever it was − had gone in my head. I felt insane knowing she didn’t feel the same way. She liked the kiss, but she clearly didn’t like me.
I scoffed and sputtered out, “I don’t care ifyou’rereckless. I care that – you know, I’d care if anyone was put in positions like you are, apparently weekly.”
“You wouldn’t even know about any of it if you’d stop following me like some stalker,” she said sharply, and it felt like a stab to the gut. That was twice now that she’d painted it all as nefarious.
Why couldn’t she understand that I cared about her safety?
The man started to stir, and Delia looked down at him. I pushed my foot into his head, and she said, “Yeah, I’m not sticking around to see how angry he is when he wakes up.”
“You can’t go, Delia. I’ll keep you safe. Trust me.” I felt desperation welling up in my chest, a need for her to stay. I needed her to make this police report. If she didn’t, how could we be sure he wouldn’t just come back again? I couldn’t stay outside her work every day. Eventually, he could find her alone, and then what would happen? I felt panic rising up just thinking about it.
“No! I’m going. And Idon’ttrust you.”
Her words cut deep, and I clenched my jaw in response. If she really felt that way, then what was the tension I felt when we touched? But if it was all in my mind, I would leave her alone.
I waved her off, “Fine, just let this fucking creep do it to someone else.”
“Everyone else isn’t my responsibility. And besides, they have my number and his name. I’m not staying.” She got into her car, slamming the door behind her.
I felt torn. I had a sense of duty to hold this man and make sure that Delia got her justice and that this man was arrested that night. But I also had a sense of duty to make sure Delia got home safely. She had just been through something traumatic, and I couldn’t just let her take herself home.
With a grunt, I left the man and walked over to knock on her window. She rolled it down, not looking at me, staring straight out the windshield.
“You’re upset. You’ve been through something really scary. Can you just let me drive you home, please?”