Her name is Delilah and in no way shape or form, is she a delicate woman. Though her father used to put Pulped Orange Juice in her bottle when she fell down the stairs because it was her favorite drink. Today, a particularly unwelcoming one, her newly ex-boyfriend is set to show up at her house and pick up “his” belongings... but she knows he just wants to see her and apologize for accidentally waking up in Lauren’s bed. She stumbled out of her den, into the living room, and then to the kitchen.

Her name is Delilah and in no way shape or form, is she a delicate woman. Though her father used to put Pulped Orange Juice in her bottle when she fell down the stairs because it was her favorite drink. Today, a particularly unwelcoming one, her newly ex-boyfriend is set to show up at her house and pick up "his" belongings... but she knows he just wants to see her and apologize for accidentally waking up in Lauren's bed. She stumbled out of her den, into the living room, and then to the kitchen. Her Navy Blue and Olive, striped pajama bottoms dragged, and her right pant leg caught on the nail head that stuck out of the door frame. She looked back towards her bedroom, through the living room, then down to see what entity had the audacity to pull her back to bed on this oh-so-important day. She stared with disgust, then violently jerked her leg from the grip of the metal, like metal was her mother, and her mother would definitely tell her not to have HIM over today. But, she started back on her mission, just like she would when she was fifteen. Delilah continued to her fridge and poured a glass; 50% Orange Juice, 50% water, to dilute her sense of security... to give her a certain edge. She then drew herself a bath; One part lavender vanilla scents and a little Dawn Dish Soap to make it bubbly. She set up her indie music on her speaker, dimmed the lights, set her cocktail of courage on the shower ledge, and prayed that when he got here, he wouldn't ask questions. Questions lead to emotions, and Delilah is not a delicate woman. The bath became too much, as it too would not just shut up and stop asking. She dried off and then heard the dreaded knock and her ex's confused voice. "Delilah? Are you here? I didn't know if you still wanted me to come".

She ran to the door, peeked out her head, and mumbled "come in, I have to go get dressed".

He nervously followed her through the doorway and decided to wait for her to signal that it was ok to come to her room.

Unexpectedly, she emerged from her den with the boxes of what she deemed "his" and tempestuously tossed them on the table where he was sitting. "This is it?" he asked. She answered hastily, "Yes. I think so." He stood up, started walking to the door, and even managed to grab the handle, but then did exactly what Delilah dreaded. He said, "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. I thought about you, every time I was with her. Just so you know". So not to live up to the meaning of her name, she told him that he needed to leave... "Now". He glared at her, disappointed by his failed attempt to win her back, then muttered his last words: "I really loved you". He walked out and shut the portal to the outside world of loneliness. Delilah then swiftly ran to lock it. She turned her back to the door and sank to the bottom like the Pulp in her juice as she had at the bottom of her father's stairwell. And though her Dad was not there to pick her up, and make her forget all of the troubles she faces, the memory of the orange juice in the bottle let her pick up her pieces, and remember that she is Delilah, and she is not a delicate woman.

Not A Delicate Woman, Fiction, 596 words, Felicia Wingate, This was part of a writing prompt: Orange Juice. I wrote this with the relationship of mine and my father's in mind. It's a very short story about a woman, who grew up with her dad as her hero. Fixing her broken pieces with orange juice. It's about how a father can impact his children in such monumental ways; he could make something as simple as orange juice seem like a drink of life. I am a 19-year-old multifaceted woman. I didn't like writing when I was younger (I love it now), although I always had a very advanced reading level and an aptitude for learning about life. I paint and draw, I've sung at concerts with 10,000+ people watching, and I'm an Undergrad Biology student at Azusa Pacific University. I minor in English and Music. The arts are my passion, as well as the sciences. I promised myself that if I could get a job that kept me from living on the streets, that I'd go back to school to become an English and Philosophy professor. Before my undergrad experience, I was dually enrolled in high school and community college. I got myself into the honors English program at the college when I was 16 and would help my fellow high school peers to write essays that would inspire. I boast a two-sided personality. On one hand, I am quiet, and I love listening to the words of other people. On the other hand, if you bring up a subject I'm passionate about, I could talk to you for hours about it. Like I mentioned before, I sing and I paint, as well as write. I do those things a lot, so I'd say those are more passion-driven than Hobbies. I like hiking though! Being surrounded by trees would be my hobby.