Dinner had never been so awkward. As the three young adults sat around the small kitchen table, suffocated in an unnatural silence, Samantha couldn’t help but swallow audibly. It felt as though a thick lump had been growing within her throat, pulsating painfully with her rapid heartbeat. Whilst being with Delilah, even with their little encounter in the museum, hadn’t been awkward as such, the addition of Sam’s boyfriend made the whole atmosphere tense.
Why?
Nothing serious had happened between Sam and Delilah, after all. There was no kiss, no soft-spoken word. They had just grazed fingers, perhaps even by accident. Why, then, did she feel such a pressing guilt that made it impossible to accept having the two of them in the same room? Usually, Sam played the otherwise uncharacteristic role of the talkative host. On any other occasion, she would find something for the others to comment on; something that they, in the faintest, had in common. This time, however, there was nothing she could conjure up from her bag of tricks. Too ashamed to even look up at them, she kept her beautiful blue eyes plastered on the half-eaten mashed potatoes, swirling them around awkwardly in a circle.
Whilst Sam picked at her food unhappily, a sort of silent conversation went on between Delilah and Matthew, unseen by the dark-haired girl between them. Delilah stared at the boy who occupied the metal fold-out chair that usually stood in the bathroom, green eyes narrowed to a skeptical state. She, from time to time, would take her glass of water and sip it quietly, but never really stopped looking away. It was no different with Matthew. Take a bit, stare. Take a sip, stare.
It all started, this immense tension and horrid noiselessness, only moments before. It had been a harmless conversation as such, in which the brunette male attempted to get to know his girlfriend’s roommate just a little better. There were laughs and an exchanging of different adolescent stories, accompanied by filthy jokes or snarky comments. All was fine up until that fateful moment, when Matthew decided to get personal.
“So Delilah, do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“I can’t imagine why not. Sam tells me all about you and you’re obviously not too shy.”
“Well, what can I say?”
“You’re not one of those queers, are you?”
Silence hit. In a split second, Delilah’s face went from amused to dead serious. Matthew realized his mistake but was far too thick-headed to take it back, let alone apologize. Sam just shrunk back, mortified and bemused. She had, come to think of it, seen Delilah bring women in and out of the apartment on several occasions but never really thought anything of it. She had felt the spark in the moment when their hands touched, thought something of it, but ferociously denied the significance within her mind. After all, how was she to know that it was mutual and not just her bicurious pining, if even that?
Now, nearly ten minutes later, not another word was said. Instead, their silent debate went on heatedly in a room where one could hear a pin drop and clatter.
“You’re disgusting.”
“You’re a bigot.”
“If I’d have known, I would’ve never let her move in with you.”
“She’s too good for you.”
Abruptly, Delilah stood. Pulling a cigarette from the pack on the window sill behind her, she slid from the table and began to walk towards the balcony. Fresh air. The sudden gust of crisp air that greeted her when she opened the door was refreshing and made her realize just how hot and stuffy it had been in the kitchen that entire time. It was as though the anger both Matthew and Delilah felt had somehow made the room temperature rise to something awful. Wiping the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her arm, Delilah shot one last glance to the incriminating person right across the room.
His eyes spoke loud and clear:
“Stay away from my girlfriend.”
So did Delilah’s:
“Make me.”
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