Delilah kept the grenade pin in her pocket. It was a reminder that what happened was real. Using weapons and powers was real. The lost ones were real. Injuries were real. The war was real. Not that she doubted it. But it’s one thing to talk about it in your own home and another being part of it. Once everyone was back and (mostly) together, reality hit her. Hard. It wasn’t a dream or training session. She still didn’t feel ready.
Delilah was lying on her back with her head by the foot board. Her right leg and arm dangling over the edge; they were filled with lead. Golden curls were scattered around her head like a halo. Jazz was playing faintly in the back ground. She didn’t care for old music, but Jazz was always calming. Not today, unfortunately.
She wanted to see Roxanne, but she didn’t have the energy. Or maybe it was lack of will power. Deiliah’s whole body felt like lead. She felt that she would suffocate if she stopped telling herself to breath. She wanted a bath; to sit in hot water and literally melt. But she couldn’t budge. Instead, she closed her eyes. A few hot, silent tear streamed down the side of her face. She was drained physically, mentally, and emotionally.
Roxanne was in the infirmary and Deiliah was just a fucking brick. She knew if she was hurt, Roxanne would’ve been there the moment Delilah’s name was uttered. Delilah felt weak. With a deep breath, she opened her eyes again and gazed at the ceiling. She just needed to be confident that she was strong enough for both of them. Fighting her weighted limbs, Delilah got up.