A/N: I'm trying to get this done before eleven. I have to get ready and go to my mommy's so we can go to a RAW show four hours away! Did I mention that she hates wrestling? Lmfao. I was planning on making her love Chris Jericho, but I don't think that's going to work out. I shall make her fall in love with...Randy Orton.
Punk's eyes flickered toward Delilah every few moments during the drive back to her parents' car. She wasn't sitting like a normal person would be sitting in a relaxed situation. Her back was straight and her hands were folded in her lap. Her back wasn't even touching the back of the seat as she was sitting as close to the edge of the car seat as possible. The seatbelt looked as if it was digging deeply into her thin neck.
"I'm…You're…Are you afraid or something?" Punk managed to ask, noticing that Delilah's eyes were wide with fear.
She blinked three or four times and the look of fear was gone. Instead, it was replaced by a look of normalcy, and even enjoyment. Her eyes brightened up to an unnatural shade of blue. "Afraid? No, I'm not afraid. What is there to be afraid of, Punk?"
Punk chuckled, getting over the fact that she had just switched moods as quickly as someone could flick a light switch. "I don't know…For all you know, I could be a psycho axe murderer that preys on young children. Ew, that's creepy." Punk shuddered at his words. He had disgusted himself.
"I think you're the one who should be afraid. After all, who just stops and talks to some dead looking girl who is standing in the middle of the street? I think I have a better chance of being the psycho axe murderer." Delilah turned to Punk and gave him the widest and brightest smile that she could imagine.
Punk became uneasy. Who was this crazy girl grinning at him like a Cheshire cat? His palms became sweaty as he gripped the steering wheel tighter and tighter.
"I'm totally kidding. God, Punk, you're such a pansy."
Punk frowned after being called a pansy. Usually, it was a term he was called often. Whenever he turned down an opportunity to drink and party with the boys, they called him a pansy or some other derogatory term. Usually, Chris Jericho was behind it all. He always seemed to brush it off. When one of the guys called him that, he shrugged and continued on with his daily life, not even acknowledging it. But when a small twenty-four year old zombie girl who looked as if the smallest breeze from the wind would snap her in half happened to call him a pansy, it broke him.
They rode in silence for the next few minutes. Punk was paranoid, glancing back and forth between Delilah and the road. Delilah sat perfectly content. Even though her window was rolled down, her hair didn't even fly in the wind. He didn't realize that he was staring at her and not even watching the road until she said something.
"Are you going to keep staring at me or are we going to crash into that fallen tree?" she said, not sounding nervous or scared at all.
Punk snapped out of the trance that Delilah unknowingly put him in. His head turned back to the road. Sure enough, the fallen tree that she was speaking of was not very far ahead of them. He slammed on the breaks, sending the car skidding down the road. The smell of skid marks filled the air as they flew closer and closer to the large tree in the middle of the road.
And then they stopped.
"Are you okay?" Punk asked, turning to his female companion in the front seat.
"Yes," Delilah nodded, still sitting with perfect posture. She wouldn't look at him, but still asked, "Are you alright?"
"Good. This is the tree where I left my parents. It looks like they've gone for help. Maybe if I get out of the car and look around, I'll be able to find some sort of clue that would—" Delilah started, but she was cut off when she started shaking uncontrollably.
"Delilah!" Punk screamed, lunging across the car to help her.
And then the shaking stopped.
"I mean…" Delilah started again, clearing her throat. "Maybe if I go with you, I'll be able to find my parents."
Punk shook his head. "I don't think so, Delilah. I'm a busy guy. I should already be halfway to Connecticut right now."
Delilah's hand reached across the car, without her consent, and grabbed his hand. Her body was acting on it's own without any input from Delilah, although she was used to this by now. It still scared her to death. "Look, Punk…I need help. I'm scared to go out there on my own. And you can help me. Please? You'd be my hero."
At Delilah's touch, Punk's entire body jolted as if her touch was filled with an electric current.
"Sure, Delilah. I'd be happy to help you."
Delilah hated this. She hated being controlled by her mother, no matter where that woman was.
Delilah hated being possessed. And now she was bringing CM Punk into it.