What You Call A Runaway
Delilah:
What would you do if your baby sister got all the attention you craved? Maybe I was egotistical because my mother painted me to be the apple of her eye, but why was it that everyone else chose her?
Was it because her skin was so rich with melanin that it was hard not to see her when you walked into a room of people? Was it because her hair could grow so tall that her afro would be almost twice the size of her head? Or was it because her mouth was so loose that all her thoughts tumbled from them no matter how rude or out-of-pocket they might be?
I was nothing like my sister. No matter where I went, she always stood out and I was simply swept under the rug like a dust bunny that no one could bother with. I was okay with it for a while, but when that one validation I got from my mother died with the woman, I couldn’t help the slowly creeping resentment when it came to Aurora. Our godmother did her best never to show favouritism, but even a blind man could see they connected more.
Even with my brother, I felt like nothing sometimes.
So… when I got older and we had to live with our mom’s twin sister and her husband, I didn’t want history repeating itself. I wish I could say I did what I did out of love, but it was purely for my prideful obsession with lack of attention—for my low self-esteem.
What did I do you may ask?
Well, Uncle Adam had a thing for my baby sister, and like any other older sister, I wanted to “protect” her. Well, I did either way. I should be thanked for what I did, but you know what happened instead?
He kicked me out.
Aurora just had to be so outspoken, friendly and enigmatic all at once. Pulling the wandering eyes of our uncle in a way that shouldn’t have even been thought of, but it did. I noticed the stares; I heard the hushed conversations between him and my aunt. She begged for him to behave himself and told him that Aurora was just a baby.
I was older and more mature in body, so why wasn’t I looked at in that manner? I wanted it to be me. I wanted to be the one desired. So… I went to Uncle Adam. I spoke to him and struck up a deal that he could have me until Aurora was at least of age, and I would never refuse or report him.
It took a while, but I began to like it. I was still angry though because he would never stop looking at her; watching over her, preventing her from having boyfriends, monitoring her periods.
I just knew that once she was finally of age, he would have ditched me only to go at her. The fact Raphael didn’t notice broke my heart.
He was so protective yet was so oblivious to everything that happened to me because he was so busy looking after our stupid little Rory.
I hated them all, but I guess I won since I’m the one who walked down the streets of Paris with a whole new language on my tongue after trials and tribulations. I had run away here the moment I got the scholarship I applied for. None of my family knew about it, but when did they know anything when it came to me? I took the chance and came here using all the money I had saved up from part-time jobs and money Raphael would randomly gift me. He thought I didn’t know that he was in contact with Aunt Lizbeth, but I allowed him to believe that long after I found out.
Just another receipt that those people never loved me or prioritized me the way I deserved.
I was in my early thirties and I was on my way to make something of myself. Despite the language barrier before I came here, I adapted.
So many years have passed since my first time here, and I’ve come so far. It was time to finally have the life I wanted. A life where I wasn’t second, third or last. I was prioritized in my life by me. One day I’d be that to someone else, but until then, I believe I could hold my happiness long enough.
…I hope.
“Davis? Delilah Davis?” the lady from the front desk called. I was seated in the waiting room with at least five other applicants for the job. “It’s your turn, my dear.”
I smiled politely as I rose from my seat and nodded respectfully. “Merci.” I didn’t waste time entering the elevator that waited for me and stood in the centre with my fingers twiddling over my briefcase handle.
The elevator music hummed softly as I slightly danced to the calming tune, a positivity in my body that I’d nail this job interview.
It wasn’t too long before the doors opened for me, revealing a wide office room filled with nothing but glass for walls—a beautiful scenery of the France capital as its scenery. It was mesmerizing seeing as I’ve never gotten the chance to explore the country the way I truly wanted. One day it would happen though.
In the middle sat a man, the one who ran the whole thing, tall, old, wrinkled yet clean. His scent filled the room and caressed my nostrils, making me grateful for the chance to smell it.
A good scent was beautiful, but I would never fuck a wrinkled old man ever again. I’m not that anymore. Taking a seat in front of him, I adjusted my grey pencil skirt and gracefully crossed my ankles, remembering the etiquette that has brought me this far.
“… Delilah, is it?”
I nodded, immediately opening my briefcase to get my papers. “Yes, sir. I have all my papers with me. I tried handing them in at the desk, but the lady said I should save it for you—”
“You’re not French?” the man asked in English, he easily picked up on my underlying accent.
My eyes widened a bit. “I’m sorry. I’m not. Will that be an issue?”
“You are neither American, nor British, nor—”
“I’m Jamaican,” I cut him off. There was no need for guessing games. I never really made an effort to hide my accent, but I never tried to blatantly show it either. “I moved to America at thirteen and then left for here at eighteen.”
“How old are you now?”
“Thirty-three, sir,” I answered as I stretched my papers towards him. He shook his head in negative and leaned back in confusion. “Is there an issue?”
The old man shook his head as he smiled, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his brown eyes. “I think I want you for another job, but it depends on how you answer next.”
“… I have credentials in various things, but I’m here for the CFO position—”
“I understand that.” He nodded, yet still disregarded my purpose here. “You’re exotic, beautiful, educated and I take it you’re not rich?”
“… I didn’t know those were the credentials needed—”
“Have you been homeless before?”
That touched a nerve. I had fallen homeless while staying here once before. It was a very rough patch for me and I almost developed an addiction. I didn’t want to face that; I wasn’t my sister. I got my shit together as best as I could, how I could.
“I haven’t,” I lied.
The old man smiled, a little chuckle rumbling from his throat. “I like you. I want you for the job.”
“The CFO job?” I asked.
“When you sat out in the hall, what did you see?”
My eyebrows furrowed. “Women.”
“All beautiful, all educated, but none that looked like you, walked like you and exuded what you do. You’re the only one out there that has caught my eye for the actual position I want filled.”
Maybe I should’ve gotten up and left the moment I felt the interview going off track. Was this a scam? What if this was some human trafficking schtick? That could never be it. That would be crazy. Also, what exactly did he mean by exotic and that no one looked like me? There were other black girls there as well. That could have never been what he meant, right? Was it my silver short hair? Did I give off a certain vibe?
“You’re perfect.” He smiled and then suddenly clapped his hands causing me to jolt a bit.
What was wrong with him? I should definitely leave. “Uhm… thanks for having me. The opportunity was great, but I’ll take my skills elsewhere.” Rising from the chair, I walked away, about to make my exit.
I pressed the elevator button and waited for the doors to open. As the metal pieces slid apart, I was ready to step in, but a man near the equivalent of a brick wall appeared in front of me. His pale green eyes rimmed a pale shade of yellowish-brown. They were pretty, but they looked like they belonged to an unhinged man behind that calmness.
It sent a chill down my spine as he smiled down at me. I wanted to run, maybe scream. I could feel every bone in my body tell me to get away, but he was blocking my only exit and the old man looked like he had found the jackpot. It was as though he was presenting me to this pale-eyed man before me.
“Sirène d’argent,” the pale-eyed man said, his height towering over me as if my 5’11” stature was nothing. “What a pretty thing you are.”
My heart sank; my stomach flipped; my bones trembled. Everything in me knew this wasn’t good, but why did I want to see what happened next? Why did I want the man before me to give me all the attention I’ve ever craved? Why was I like this? Why am I so pathetic?
I, Delilah Shanavaye Davis, am what you call a runaway… and I think I’m about to get kidnapped.
