Page 92 of XX Love Affair
“She never stalked me, but she was clingy, and when I was over hooking up with her she blew up my phone for a few weeks. That’s the closest I’ve ever come to having someone showing up on my doorstep and refusing to leave my street for several days. Honestly, what is wrong with that woman?”
“Who? Lyse? Or Irene?”
“Either of them. But especially Irene. Isn’t she married? You’d think her husband would be aware of her antics and want her stopped if only to save their damn image.”
“You don’t know Josh like I do. Irene controls everything but his finances and who he sleeps with when she’s not looking. She does the same thing to him, so I never called them out on it. Besides, I wanted the…” Helena sighed. “They made me feel special. God damnit, that’s how I end up in these situations. Even my teacher made me feel special, and that ruined our lives.” She shook her head when she looked toward Delia again. “I can’t believe you’re here. Like… why?”
“I don’t know. That’s the question for the ages.” Delia’s hand cramped against her chest. “I need to ice this. Let’s get out of these woods. Seriously, are we even still in the city?”
She and Helena stood up at the same time. “Yeah? You’ve never been in a park before?”
“Obviously…” Delia craned her head back, drinking in the canopy. “If we have parks like this back home, I’ve been sleeping on them. But I also don’t get out in nature much.”
They walked side by side out of the park, although Helena kept her arms crossed and Delia nursed her sore hand as they wandered toward the largest lot. Crap. My car is back at Brynn’s. Should Delia go straight there and face what she had done to another woman? Or should she focus on Helena, the woman she had done all of this for?
Delia’s fingers curled. Who knows what waits for us back at that house? The police? A bunch of drama? No chance to speak with Helena, the woman who might still be Delia’s girlfriend at the end of this trip?
“How badly do you want to go back to Brynn’s?”
Helena gazed out across the half-empty parking lot separating her from the street her coach lived on. “I’d rather start feeding my hair to a paper shredder.”
That was all Delia needed to hear.
One taxi later, they were back at her hotel room with no sign of Irene’s car. Hopefully, that meant they would truly have some much-deserved privacy.
“I’m a disgusting mess.” Helena sat on the end of the king-sized bed, a sight for sore eyes when Delia walked in with a bucket of ice. She shoved her hand into it and kept her distance. “Was gonna hit the shower when I got back, but Irene was there… I had to text Coach and let her know I was with you. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. What if…”
“What about your mother?” Delia placed the bucket by the TV, her knuckles finally numb enough to flex without pain. “Should you contact her?”
“My mom…” Helena flopped back onto the bed, her gym shorts wrinkled and her sweatshirt riding up her torso. “She cares more than my dad, but that’s not saying much. The less she knows, the better.”
“Maybe I should meet her soon. You know, since I’m in town.”
Helena rolled onto her side. “Why?” she asked, incredulous.
“Because I’m your girlfriend.”
Helena had never responded with such fluid movements, not even when she and Delia were at the peak of their romance, surprising one another with dates, presents, and whispered words that were meant to titillate, nothing more. Yet there was Helena, half-falling off the bed as Delia remained resolute where she stood by the TV.
“Since when!”
Delia loved that look of genuine surprise on Helena’s face. “Since a couple of months ago, I thought.”
“But you broke up with me.”
“I thought I did. Then that woman got involved against your will, and it made me realize that all of these empty feelings I’ve been dealing with since you left are trying to actually say something. Helena, when I look at you…” Delia sighed. “Do you know what I see?”
She glanced down at her workout clothes and grass-stained sneakers. “A hot mess?”
“I see a grown woman who cheers me up with her presence. Everything else is panache.”
“Do you mean it?” Helena pressed her sprawled fingers against her stomach, smoothing down the loose sweatshirt fabric. “Because I feel the same way about you. As cringey as that is.”
“Is it ‘cringe’ to admit that you like somebody for more than sex? Because I don’t think so.”
“When you were my age, would you think it was cringe?”
“Depends.” Delia took a step forward. “I never met anyone at nineteen I could see myself having a genuine relationship with. It was all… self-serving erotic drivel. When I wasn’t partying for the sake of it, anyway.”