for desire ; harvard

[Deleted]

DELILAH HARVARD

[presto] I can't keep pushing this down any deeper, Why do I keep trying if I can't keep her? Every move I make, is just another mistake, I wonder what it would take, [/presto]

Distance was meant for toothpaste and tangerines, our twin apartment in the village tattoo'd with matching "Harvard," in bold. 

We bought alcohol last night. Hell if I know what I'm doing, Hayden grabbed it from a department store and I was practically just cheering her on from the sidelines. Back in Harvard we aren't allowed to drink and I'm a little bitch when it comes to rules; it tastes like shit. Like toothpaste and tangerine and I can feel my throat die a little when I take my first shot at our apartment table -- it feels more like I'm drinking a shotgun's barrel. Ash in my throat and I cough and Hayden smiles.

It's kind of a blur. Hazed and sanguine; I think I'm an angry drunk. Or as angry as I can be. Hayden calls me a lightweight and fuck if I'm not; I've never been allowed. No drinking, no public affection, goddamn it, my nerves are screaming. Hands shaking, butterflies and I feel like I'm elementary around her, nervous and shaky and another shot, another, I raise whenever she does and she seems as fucked as I am. 

Oh boy I hope so. 

I can't keep my eyes off her, sleepily and hazy and every other form of the word, Savage's voice tints my senses; "you're a sweet thing, aren't you." Sweet.

That's all I am to her. 
That's all I am. 

Sweet and cute and tiny and adorable and fucked, fuck -- I don't understand. Sixteen years it's been me and her, Delilah and Hayden and Hayden and Delilah and I can't understand it, I don't understand how she can take a fucking train ride across the country with me and just - I don't know. Just sit next to me and talk to me like we're nothing but friends; like I'm just Delilah, when she's never been just Hayden to me.

I can't concentrate, I can't keep my eyes off of her. Even in these sentences with her I can't concentrate on her because she's all that's on my mind and -- "fuck."

Goddamn, fuck, it's burning me alive and I can't stand it, so I don't. I grip one hand behind her neck, the other on her face and goddamn it, she tastes like tangerines and toothpaste, but I'm tired of distance. I'm tired of being right next to her and being two districts apart and I'm tired of being just Delilah, tender and haunted and she's my poltergeist and I can't just be her whatever. 

And it feels wrong, somehow and in every way. She doesn't love me, I stop. My hands sliding down her neck and back into my lap and fuck. 

"I'm sorry," the last words of just Delilah. Put it on my tombstone, my drunk ass is ready to die. 

✦
table by zoe