Delilah's Gambit

With bated breath she waited on the busy train platform, attempting to block out the disorienting sights and sounds. Tapping away nervously on her left thigh. In and out she reminded herself to breathe slowly to help dissipate her mounting anxiety.Where the hell was the train? She thought impatiently, the thought was so sharp, it resulted in her foot hitting her duffle bag. She winced and looked away from the offending object, taking another deep breath. She heard before she saw it, the train making its way into the station, the first step to her salvation.

Sinew by sinew, her muscles relaxing themselves long enough to grip the aforementioned offending object so tight one would think her knuckles would break through skin. Heart pounding, adrenaline spiking as the train came closer, she glanced around the station feeling off. Then she saw him across the platform, his gaze frantically seeking someone, seeking her. She dropped her gaze, in hopes that by sinking into her warm cotton scarf and turtleneck, she’d remain invisible to the naked eye. Though it was only for a brief moment, as the fast approaching train glided past her, she made the mistake of looking up. Green eyes with golden flecks met her chocolate brown eyes, squinting and narrowed anger.

He shouted, “Lilah!”, her name. The squealing train coming to a halt swallowed the sound. Lilah decided not to process that brief moment lest her cowardice get the best of her. She rushed onto the train as the doors opened in front of her, barely taking notice of the panicked expression reflected back at her. Rian couldn’t make it to the platform quick enough, could he? Her palms becoming clammy, she clamped down on that thought, her husband couldn’t make it through the busy Gare du Nord to catch the train. Finding an empty four seat section, Lilah unceremoniously sank into the plush cushions. Sharp pangs in her right hand caused her to release the duffel, it hit the ground with a thwack .

Lilah wiped her throbbing hand over her forehead, what the hell am I doing? Who decides to leave their husband in the middle of their vacation? Raising her eyebrows, she quietly laughed, that was an extreme reductionist view of events. The blaring sound of the conductor over the PA system listing the train’s many destinations in French derailed her train of thought. As the train began to make its way along the tracks, Lilah perked up. Rian didn't make it onto the train she thought to herself reassuringly, right? She shook her head and relaxed, sinking further into her seat, glancing down at the duffel. Reaching for the zipper, as Lilah glided the zipper opening the mouth of the bag, a silent prayer perched on her lips. Gingerly peering into the bag, once again the eyes of dead presidents stared back at her. Just as they had when she realised her bag had accidentally been switched at the hotel.

A hurricane of thoughts blitzed their way across Lilah’s mind: I can start over now. No, I have to return it. This has to be blood money. Who carries this kind of cash? Banks are a thing for a reason. She groaned and began sealing the bag shut, how does she leave one disaster and find herself potentially in another.

“Delilah, c’est toi?” It’s you? The voice queried in French, she recognised it but didn’t want to, there was only person who ever broke her stern rule about using her full name. Kicking the bag of worry under her seat Lilah glanced up.

“Samson, hi!” Putting on her shiniest smile, Lilah faced him, all the while hoping she’d be swallowed whole by the earth. Brown eyes radiating false positivity met soft icy blue ones. Lilah regretted making eye contact immediately. Instinctively, she wiped her hand over her hair and face, hoping she didn’t look too haggard.

“I didn’t know you were back in Paris.” Unless I wouldn’t have let my husband bring me here, she trailed off in her mind.

“I was in the U.K. then my project was cut short. You?” He replied back in French. Lilah hated that she noticed his tone, such a simple sentence shouldn’t evoke the familiarity of past intimacies. Huffing out a shaky breath, she casually replied, “Wanted to have a little vacay, that kind of thing.” Grimacing quickly, wishing there was a window she could glance out of to see the beautiful City of Lights pass her by.

“Ahh.” Samson took the seat diagonal to hers. In attempting to avoid his eyes, Lilah glanced at his long jean clad legs. She didn’t know what was worse, his loaded albeit lacklustre reply or him sitting so close to her. She began adjusting her turtleneck, the feeling of being trapped settling in her throat.

“You’re still married? To what’s his name.” Samson jutted his chin out to point at her ring, his tone tinged with surprise. Lilah jerked her hand down to her lap covering the shiny object with her right one.

“You can’t sit here.” Slightly raising her voice. “You know his name. My name is Lilah. You don’t get to call me Delilah. Also what do you mean by ‘ahh’?” She couldn’t stop the words from rushing out of her mouth even if she wanted. Facing one’s ex-paramour whilst trying to leave your husband is unconventional and a rarity few confront but this wasn’t that-this was worse. Because to Lilah, Samson was more than a past paramour, he held the title of the ex-paramour. The way his eyes glinted as he casted a sideways glance at her, could not prepare her for his next words.

“I’m sorry, Lilah.” He never used to apologise, Lilah relaxed some, maybe he would actually move. “It’s a public train, I may sit wherever I like. You know I’ve always liked calling you Delilah and you didn’t begrudge me of that while we were together, forgive me, old habits. My ‘ahh’ was in reference to my understanding of one simple fact: You’re running away.” Samson levelled his gaze at her. Game. Set. Match. Lilah’s heart began to race, he was purposefully challenging her, and she didn’t want to waste her time wondering why.

“If you won’t move, I gladly will.” Picking up the bag filled with dead presidents, Lilah stood, Samson began laughing.

“Samson.” She nudged his legs. He only laughed harder and touched her hand. Sighing, she sat back down, this time next to him. They faced each other, “I hate you so much.” She chuckled with a slight shake of her head.

“That’s not true. But now that the initial awkwardness of ... this chance meeting is over. Share with me why you’re running away from Rian.” He squeezed her hand gently.

“So you do remember his name.” Lilah quipped and looked up at the ceiling.

“He was the man you chose Delilah.” Over me, those two words hung in the air between them. She didn’t dare look at him, in this moment, squeezing her eyes together fighting tears.

“That’s not how that happened, remember?” Her voice trembled. “He scares me.”

Samson dropped Lilah’s hand and made a tight fist.

“He hurt you?” He whispered.

“Not yet but the signs are there. I won’t regale you with the sordid details.” Lilah sniffled and wiped the tears that threatened to fall. Samson picked up her hand again.

“Delilah, I’m so sorry.” They locked eyes, hysterical laughter bubbled up her throat.

“This is depressing. But we’re always responsible, even ways that we think we aren’t.”

“You can’t think this is your fault Del. It’s not.” Rubbing her knuckles as he comforted her, lapsing them into an amicable silence. She missed that so much, she realised.

“It is. I should’ve left sooner. I lulled myself into thinking that I could live...”

“Detached in silence.” He finished the sentence for her. She nodded empathetically.

“It gets worse Samson. I planned on leaving him but I didn’t plan for this.” Lilah used her foot to nudge the duffel bag towards him. “Open it.”

He tutted as he became aware of the contents inside the bag. “You deserve that and more from him, this looks like twenty-thousand dollars.”

“It’s not his. I found it. A bag mixup, I think.” Clipped replies left her numb lips quickly.

“You saw your chance and took it. I can’t imagine a man like Rian would make it easy for you to leave him. I don’t blame you. Just chalk it up to divine intervention.” As Samson uttered Rian’s name, Lilah jerked her hand out of his and took off Rian’s ring, placing it in her pocket.

“I won’t be needing this moving forward. I desperately wanted it to work.” She sniffed and shook her head. “What’s this new thrill, you were clearly hoping to find you?” She asked, peering up at him, eyes shiny.

“You.” He proclaimed, chest puffing. She grimaced, he wanted to play her rescuer.

“No.” This time she patted his hand, sympathetically.

“My plan was to ride this train to La Rochelle, maybe go sailing until something happened. You can’t deny the coincidence. This was meant to happen.”

“Sammie, it’s not.” Lilah whispered, though she couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through her.

“It hasn’t been the same since…”

“Shh. Please don’t.” Lilah turned away from him.

“We have this way of rearranging each other Del. You can’t deny that.” Placing his hand on her shoulder. Lilah couldn’t, or more appropriately, shouldn’t be entertaining his idea. However, the “what if” danced around excitedly in her mind.

“We do, don’t we.” Lilah acquiesced turning to face him.

“Remember, we were wild like children trying to capture the freedom of what it means to be an ‘artist’. What does that even mean now?” He laughed, we were idealist children with the world to take over when we first met.

“Je sais pas, tu me dis.” I don’t know, you tell me, came the French reply accompanied by a small smile. “We’re not children anymore though. Nor am I really an idealist.”

“I don’t think I am anymore either but maybe we can find it again in each other. Maybe that’s why we’re here. At this moment.” Samson linked his fingers through Delilah’s. She lay her head on his shoulder, choosing silence, and closed her eyes.

Samson may have thought she fell asleep but her mind was abuzz, rightfully so. The deep rise and falls of his chest indicated he was sound asleep. Extricating her hands and body from his, Lilah pulled out her black Classic Notebook Moleskine. The journal was the gateway to knowing what’s to know about Lilah, a reflection of Lilah in her own words. She did what she knew best and wrote:

Putting pen to paper has always been easy until this exact moment. I’ve been feeling disconnected from Spirit, my Spirit. My Spirit has just become unrecognisable. I’ve always recognised my spirit. Then came you. Then Rian. What happens when your spirit begins to become unrecognisable? Maybe this is my attempt to become a person I can love, and not just a person that can be loved will unravel something in me. My unravelling will lead me on a journey to recover my Spirit. Mold it in the image of this new person I’m becoming. I hope we find one another again Samson. I have been content with being incomplete for so long that now. I’m sorry I didn’t stay but I can’t fulfil something in you when I’m unfulfilled myself.

As she finished her last sentence, her vision became blurred by her tears. Folding the edge of the page, Lilah stood and grabbed her divine intervention duffel, placing the book in the seat that was once hers. Placing a gentle kiss on Samson’s temple, Lilah made her way off the train. Before leaving the train station, she located a gift shop that sold Moleskine journals. It was time to start over.