Page 7 of God of War

“Please, Airy,” she says, using the mispronunciation of my club name that made me laugh. Now it just makes me grit my teeth. “Just… give me a couple minutes. I swear, I’ll leave straight after.”

I know I should kick her out. I’m tempted to throw her over my shoulder and toss her out that way, if I could do it without her screaming up a storm.

But I swing the door closed, like a fucking idiot.

This is not good. Not. Good.

Delaney nods once, then seems to notice that she’s actually inside my house. I realize we’re standing in the dark, so I quickly flick on the lights, illuminating the narrow hallway and the small living room, still dressed up with knitted blankets and cat figurines like Gran still lives here.

Delaney slips further into the living room and trails her fingers along the little porcelain cats on the table beside the sofa.

“I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs, then giggles. “It’s like my Grandma’s house.”

When she turns to me, she’s smiling. I think it might be the first time I’ve seen her smile — her big buck teeth taking up most of her little mouth, like she hasn’t grown to fit them yet. But that’s all of her — knobbly knees and bony elbows.

I take a deep breath and fold my arms across my chest. “You need to leave, kid. I mean it.”

“But I need to talk to you.”

“We can talk tomorrow, in the day time and not inside my house.”

Her mouth twists into a frown. She looks down, her fingers digging into the cover of the ragged little book she’s got. As I watch, I see her fingernails dig in so hard they leave little indents in the thick cardboard.

Plop.

One little tear hits the book cover. She hastily wipes her face, as if she’s surprised by the tear as well, and hides behind her curtain of hair once again.

“Okay. I… I’m sorry,” she says finally. “I’ll go.”

Fuck.

She moves past me, toward the front door, and I almost let her go. I know I should let her go.

“You want some hot cocoa or something?”

Delaney stops, her back to me, but she lifts her head.

“Do you have marshmallows?” she asks.

***

I scoop my shirt off the floor and slip it on as the milk simmers. Delaney sits at the kitchen table, swinging her bare feet. As I fix up the mugs with cocoa and sugar, I think about my mom, back before the drugs used her up and spit her out and I came to live with Gran.

“My mom used to do this,” I say suddenly. Delaney stops swinging her legs and cocks her head at me. “Make me hot cocoa when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

I pour in the milk, give it a stir and then place Delaney’s mug in front of her. Taking my own, I stay standing, leaning against the counter across the kitchen.

I shrug. “Nightmares, I guess. Kid stuff.”

All I know is that it made me feel better. Maybe that’s why I’m doing this right now, because I made her cry and now I need to make Delaney feel better. Because Gran feels bad for her too.

She stares into her mug. Studies it.

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