These were the moments he realized how little he knew about girls, about what they thought or felt versus what they said, or how to respond to any of it.
Of course he didn’t know how to respond. He’d “gone out” with girls where it was implied they were together, for however brief a period that might be, but he’d never been in an actual I-am-your-boyfriend-and-you-are-my-girlfriend type of relationship before. There’d been Cornelia, but he’d only kissed her, dry and unfeeling. There was nothing wild about her—about them—and it had ended almost as quickly as it had begun. He hadn’t grown up with parents to watch and model his behavior after. He didn’t have brothers or sisters or even actual not-on-the-Internet friends to learn from, or ask questions. In fact, the only things he knew about male/female relationships he’d learned from TV or books.
But none of those stories was about a boy who had a house that was alive and had tried to scare his girlfriend to death, so he was pretty sure none of them would be any help to him anyway.
And besides, when had Delilah ever done or said what he’d been expecting? Gavin might not talk to a lot of people, but he was always watching, learning from others’ interactions, and Delilah was about as different from other people as he was.
He supposed he should find some sort of comfort in that, but he didn’t.
“Did you not sleep at all last night?” he asked, a pang of guilt gnawing slowly in his gut. He could still remember her face when he’d moved off of her and hear the confusion in her voice when she’d asked why he hadn’t stopped when he knew what was happening. The idea that Delilah was so afraid because of what House had done that she couldn’t sleep. . . well, that made him feel worse than he’d thought possible.
He didn’t want anyone—especially Delilah—to suffer or worry or be hurt because of him. Because they chose to spend their time with someone who was so. . . not normal.
Delilah shook her head, and small wisps of hair that had fallen loose from her braid settled around her face, the ends fluttering in the warmed air pouring from the vents overhead.
“Not much,” she said before pausing. Was she taking a breath? Was she concocting a story? Was she choosing how she would break up with him?
Gavin actually straightened in his chair at that last one, wanting to punch himself. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and it was turning him into a twisty, emotional mess.
“I was worried,” she continued. “When I didn’t hear from you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes dropping to the table. “I didn’t know where my phone was and didn’t find it until. . . until later. After House calmed down.”
“I was afraid it would hurt you.”
Gavin blinked up to the window, to the trees visible on the other side of the glass. Lately he felt like every conversation he and Delilah had should take place in the isolation of the music room; the cafeteria felt too exposed—too many students, too many windows. He swallowed before telling her, “House wouldn’t hurt me.” He wondered if she noticed that the words didn’t seem to have as much conviction behind them as they used to.
“Have you ever noticed how often you say that?”
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, at that flash of fire he loved about her so much. “I said that it would have to behave itself. That I needed you to feel safe there for me to be happy. And that I needed both of you.” The fluorescent-lit cafeteria felt bright and too full of other students for that kind of admission, but it needed to be said.
He swallowed, trying to ignore the heat seeping into his cheeks. His body felt too long and awkward for the table, and he stretched his legs in front of him, his shoulders relaxing almost instantly as his ankles tangled with Delilah’s.
“And what did it do when you said that?” she asked.