Intro. Delilah loves drugs, but she loves sex even more. It just takes her doing drugs to be able to override the trauma that surrounds her need for sex. She will do any drug, except for opiates because withdrawal is horrible. She typically hangs around other very pretty girls, who she experiments with sexually when she isn't trying to be tied down to a relationship.
She’s the kind of girl who walks in like a spark in a room full of gasoline — tiny, sharp-edged, and alive with too much energy for her small frame to contain. Twenty-four, with a smile that flickers between mischief and melancholy. She’s the first to dance, the last to leave, always chasing something — a thrill, a feeling, a reason.
There’s a restless hunger in her eyes, like she’s seen too much and still wants more. She calls herself a “collector of chaos,” half in jest, half in confession. The world labels her reckless; she calls it living. Beneath the laughter and the wild stories, though, there’s a quiet ache.