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A puzzle of sortsDaisy is just trying to live her life. She's a dominant, angry nihilist who questions what life is all about and if love is even possible. This is her mess of a life. This is girlhood.
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Everything so far:
Twenty-Six
The crystal wine glass sparkled. It sparkled even when tilted purposefully. Red wine pouring out smoothly, without so much as a sound, as the dark liquid hit the clean, white carpet. Daisy eyed Philip angrily from across the coffee table as he did it. He poured it slowly as to drive her insane and watched with, as far as she could tell, delight, as her face turned a sour shade of pink. If she weren’t already happy with Allen, his younger brother, she’d have taken Philip by the throat and slammed his face into the growing stain on the carpet. Then she’d fuck him hard, the fury she felt reflecting in her pace and roughness. She’d even slap him a few times for good measure. He’d learn obedience if she wanted him to, but Daisy hated Philip, and he’d never get a taste of her as far as she was concerned.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Daisy whispered, glaring at his stupid face. It’s like he’s begging to be slapped, she thought.
“Clean it up,” said Philip slowly, his eyes tracing her figure on the sofa. If he was seeing her as she saw herself, he’d see a young woman with long brown hair and dark eyebrows that scrunched close together when she was angry. He’d see the bright green of her eyes and the gold and light brown flakes that were speckled in her irises. If he was observant, which Daisy doubted, he’d be able to see the small, horizontal scar under her left eyebrow, which she got when an older cousin shoved her into a pile of sharp rocks when she was six.
“You don’t know how lucky you are right now,” she said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to beat him senseless with a thick leather belt. She rose from her seat on the plush sofa and walked to the kitchen, returning a moment later with an unlabeled spray bottle and an old rag.
“You’d make a great house wife,” said Philip. His killer smile met her eyes as she glared at him.
“Bite me,” said Daisy, as she ripped the crystal glass from his large hand and placed it on the coffee table. I’d like to break those fingers, she thought. He was too arrogant and really didn’t know who he was messing with.
“I’d love to,” he said, watching as she got on her hands and knees to scrub the carpet. The length of her dress had moved higher up her thighs, but she didn’t readjust it.
Daisy ignored him and scrubbed. She’d be so pissed if the spill became a stain. Her hand ground harder into the carpet and the cleaning spray burned her throat as she breathed it in. No wonder Cinderella started seeing a fairy godmother and talking to mice, she was always high on chemicals. Daisy laughed at the thought, but the laughter stopped abruptly when she felt a hand on her ass. She slammed both palms onto the floor and pushed herself up onto her knees, then whipped around to slap Philip’s hand away. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” she screamed.
“What’s going on here?” asked Allen as he entered the room. He’d been in the bathroom less than five minutes, but that felt like centuries to Daisy, who was sick of his disgusting brother.
“Nothing, little brother, Daisy here is just getting a little emotional because I spilled some wine on your nice carpet. You know how women get. I can’t help it that I’m clumsy. Sorry Ash,” said Phillip, his voice was low and he sounded sincere, enough to convince Allen to go along with his story. Allen was too nice.
“Don’t call me Ash. You don’t get to call me that!” yelled Daisy. She wanted to cut off his air supply until his face reddened like a pacific rose. If he continued to behave this way she wouldn’t be able to control her desire to punish him.
“Hey! Babe, it’s alright. It was just an accident, and it’s just a carpet, don’t worry,” said Allen, offering her his hand to help her off the floor. She brushed the gesture away and got up without any help. She didn’t need it.
“Oh really? Okay. Fine. Clean it up yourself,” she said, tossing the spray bottle and rag onto the floor. She was pissed. Daisy left the room and locked herself in their bedroom, and she refused to emerge until Phillip finally left.
Seventeen
“Are you sure you were a virgin?” Peter asked while they were lying on the crumpled sheets, breathing heavily.
Daisy, who was staring up at the ceiling with mixed emotions, turned to face him. “How could you even ask me that?” she whispered sadly. She felt as though he had strolled up beside her, stabbed her a few times, and then just casually walked away from the bloody scene without any remorse. Her body started to curl into itself, she wanted to hide, and at that point she very much wished to be a turtle, or something dead. Dead things couldn’t feel pain.
“You just weren’t tight,” he said in a matter-of-fact and emotionless tone.
It was like a slap in the face. Daisy couldn’t believe it. She let him take her, gave herself so willingly to someone she had convinced her seventeen-year-old self she loved, and all she got in return was crap. “Oh,” was all Daisy could get out before she began to cry silently.
***
If Peter were smart, he’d know that women are only tight when they feel uncomfortable, but Daisy didn’t learn that till later, so she couldn’t correct him. According to Peter, she was always wrong.
Twenty-Seven
It was gray, and the clouds danced as if they themselves were praying for rain. Daisy’s bed was cold. The sheets were tangled at her legs, disorderly from all the tossing and turning. It seemed that every night, with her eyes shut tightly, her arms stretched out across the void and her hands grabbed in search of something, but always came up empty. There were no depressions on the pillow that occupied the right side of the bed, there hadn’t been for about three and a half months now. The sound of planes flying directly over her house every few minutes reminded her of how quiet the room was when they weren’t buzzing by like busy bees collecting pollen, but just like the planes, bees didn’t linger in her garden for long. On the windowsill sat the plastic yellow flower that usually bobbled back and forth with the morning sunlight, but today it remained static. Looking at the pillow tempted her to remain in bed all day.
She missed him. She missed him. She missed him.
Twenty-Five
“You look tired,” said Allen, gently tucking a few strands of messy hair behind Daisy’s left ear with his long, tanned fingers. He smiled brightly at her, the morning sun highlighting his sharp features. His short, raven black hair was combed down and away from his almond shaped eyes. His irises were a dark brown, like coffee with a hint of cream. Daisy loved his eyes. She felt she could trust them.
“That’s because I’ve been contemplating life, and I’ve figured out it’s completely meaningless,” she laughed sadly, pushing his strong, soft hand away as she cast her eyes down. His pillow had one large dent in it, near the left side, her side. He slept like a rock and never let go of her no matter how hot it was.
“How depressing. It feels like I’ve got a front row seat to watch the tragic comedy that is your life.” He laughed, but it wasn’t the wholehearted type she was used to. Then he walked out of the room without another word.
“It’s a goat song, that’s for sure," she said to herself. Oh how she loved Greek tragedies. Allen always stated how melodramatic she could be, but he didn’t seem to mind that much, usually finding it endearing. At least Daisy had hoped that was true.
Twenty-Seven
Daisy greeted some of her coworkers, the ones she didn't find completely repulsive. She walked like the dead past cubicle after cubicle. She said “hello” to Gale, and “Good morning” to Susan, and ignored everyone else because she hardly cared. She sat at her own gray cubicle, so square, so plain, so dreadfully boring, and then began reading one of the many manuscripts piled on her desk.
Tim, the ‘office man-candy,’ as Gale referred to him, showed up not long after her. He got to work around the same time every day, usually spending most of the early morning at the gym, and it showed. He loved working on himself, his body, and not much else. It was common knowledge around the office. His dirty blonde hair was combed into a pompadour, the latest trend. His long legs were clad in dark washed denim jeans that defined ever muscle in his thick thighs, and his blue button down had impeccably ironed creases. He was the same age as Daisy, and both had been working there for about three years now. When Aston had hit her lowest point of heartbreak, she started seeing more and more of Tim.
Much More…
"Hey Daisy, lunch at 12:30?" asked Tim, while stretching his arms above his head, large biceps straining against the thin fabric of his shirt. His question had interrupted her muddled thoughts.
"Sure," she said indifferently, looking away from him, her attention back on her work. Lunch meant a quick hookup on the old furniture that once sat in the waiting area, but now collected dust in the basement. Their casual lunches had started two months before. She’d be lying if said she wasn’t the one that pursued him, but she was feeling lonely. She needed a distraction. She was all those words that described some heartbroken loser, and she hated it.
Tim nodded casually and walked away. Gale, who thought their going to lunch meant that they were really going to have lunch, swiveled in her chair. "Look at those arms," she swooned as she watched Tim disappear around a corner. The running joke amongst the girls was that Tim's arms were god-like. Daisy was the one to suggest a mock religion in worship of them because she loved watching her older, tragically married coworkers’ lust after him. It was entertaining. It was ridiculous but she didn’t care; she didn’t care about a lot of things anymore, especially these last few months. The girls went along with it since the office environment was such a bore and they needed some relief, comedic or otherwise, to get through the day.
“Settle down Gale,” she laughed. Gale pouted mockingly and swiveled back to her desk. Daisy worked quietly until 12:30pm.
Twenty-Six
“Everything is pointless…” said Daisy in a hushed tone. She was lying in bed and had been staring at the same spot on the ceiling for about an hour.
“You’ve been reading Thomas Hardy novels again haven’t you?” asked Allen, sighing heavily. “I thought you said you were done with that depressing, nihilistic, atheist tool.”
“Oh, I’m done with him,” she sighed, unmoving.
“Then what’s going on, huh?” He asked, concern reflected in his frowned brow, but this was a common occurrence to him now. Daisy always had her moods, and she knew it could get tiring.
“Nothing, Allen,” she sighed heavily, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I won’t understand? What wont I understand Ash? What?”
“Nothing,” she said again, wishing that a large object would crash through the ceiling and kill her right then. She wanted that Donnie Darko smile.
“Come on, tell me!” he shouted. Clearly he was growing tired of this game. He was standing over her now, blocking her view of the unchanging ceiling. If only it were a game, she thought.
Daisy turned away from him and spoke into her pillow. “Everything is pointless…” she whispered.
“What’s pointless?” he sighed. “Huh? What is it now?”
“This!” she shouted, sitting up and turning to face him. “All of this! Everything… Love… Love is pointless! It’ll end and then we’ll be strangers… or- or enemies or something even worse.” She dragged her hands roughly down her face in frustration, she couldn’t get her thoughts to make sense in actual words. “Zombies! That’s it,” she said excitedly, “dead inside because our love killed us, or just one of us. One of us will be a zombie, most likely me. I can feel it already. The cold blackness of hate and unfeeling…” she trailed off.
Allen remained silent as he stared into her green eyes, the color of sunlight on crushed grass. He had told her many times before that they were so lovely to stare into. Her eyes were wet. Angry tears were trailing down her cheeks, they were almost a sweet release from all the pain in her mind, the unorganized manner of her thoughts. He continued to look at her silently, breathing steadily. She knew what he had to be thinking, he didn’t know her at all. Her face was known and unknown, her eyes lied.
Twenty-Five
Daisy’s fingers trailed slowly up and down her torso as she lie in bed. The lines she traced and retraced on her figure were cold and tingled pleasantly. The chill of every touch traveled through her entire body and made her shiver slightly. She bit down on her lower lip and shut her eyes slowly, enjoying all of the sensations that washed over her in that moment.
Allen was watching her from across the room. He sat silently on a desk chair, naked, and unmoving. She liked the idea of being watched, seen from afar, desired, but also distanced, like something unattainable. There was a sense of power that came with controlling the situation, and everything was under her control. Allen didn’t seem to mind relinquishing his power, she wasn’t entirely sure, but he never complained. Power had become more desirable than sex, but sex was normal enough and she didn’t mind having it often or rarely so long as she was in control when it happened.
Control Control Control
He was not allowed to touch himself, she wouldn’t allow it. It would spoil all the fun. Too many times had she asked a man the question “Did you come already?” and too many times had the answer been a shameful but satisfied “yes.” It was annoying. “Goddamn it,” was usually the only response from her, but when she was weak and cared too much it was sometimes an “It’s okay,” but it was never fucking okay.
One hand between her thighs, she called him over to her with the other, her fingers motioning like a small rolling wave that started with the pinky and ended with the index finger curling into her palm. Allen didn’t waste any time.
***
The room was hot, and perspiration seemed to be dripping down the walls in a slowed rhythm, matching, in speed, the sweat and wetness trickling down Daisy’s thighs. Allen took this moment to kiss them gently, savoring the salty sweetness of her and moving his hands gently upward to caress her small, rounded breasts. His kisses moved closer and closer to her inner thighs and once his lips met her swelling desire, she let out a small gasp. She kept his head firmly in place with both hands, and closed her eyes. This was her favorite thing about him.
Twenty-Seven
“Your eyes are beautiful,” said Tim. He would often say that when they were done fucking. Daisy’s eyes were a soft light green, the same as her grandmother’s.
"It means I can't be trusted," said Daisy. It was the first time her response was anything other than a simple 'thanks.' She wasn’t sure why she responded that way either.
"Why not?" asked Tim, turning his head toward the ceiling. She knew he didn’t really care about her answer. His asking was just a social thing humans do. Like asking someone how they are or how they’re feeling, but not actually expecting an honest answer, and not caring to hear any honest response either.
"It's just something my grandfather used to say,” said Daisy, even though she knew he wasn’t really listening. He’d especially started saying it after her grandmother had run off with some family friend. It became his mantra, and her own mother grew up hearing it repeatedly. “Don’t trust anyone with green eyes, they’re all liars like your mother,” he’d say. Daisy hadn’t said any of that out loud, it’s not like Tim was really hearing her anyway. What was the point of sharing anything with your lunch? It’s just meant to be consumed and forgotten.
“I'm starting to believe it lately," she added, realizing it was true, and saying it more for herself than for him.
Tim was a bit dense, not an idiot, but self-centered and never really concerned with anything unless it was his own reflection smiling back at him in the mirror. He liked fucking her, and she was convinced it was because he considered it another form of exercise. Tim was like a cheeseburger; they taste great, but once you started picturing the cow being slaughtered it got harder to enjoy, and you’d start feeling guiltier after each bite. Daisy was starting to feel guilty. Not because she cared about him, not at all, but she felt bad for using him. If she was exercise for him, he was just a simple distraction for her.
“So can I take you to dinner tomorrow?” asked Tim, having disregarded her last few statements. Of course he had.
"How about Janet from marketing?" said Daisy, she didn’t like to refuse people directly. It made life too awkward to deal with.
"What about Janet?" he asked, sounding confused. Of course he was.
"Well, you know… She's nice, you should ask her out," said Daisy as she quickly got up. She closed her blouse, and pulled down her skirt. As she combed her fingers through her hair, Tim stood up and tucked his package back into his briefs before zipping up his pants.
“You said you’d think about it last time,” said Tim. The muscles in his face were growing tense, making his countenance more stoic as the seconds ticked on.
“I thought about it,” said Daisy, unable to think of anything further to add.
“You thought about it? So what I’m not good enough for you? Is that it?” asked Tim, his voice growing louder, emphasizing each word as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t say that… I just- I just prefer being alone… I mean Janet is great…” said Daisy, tired of this conversation.
Finished buttoning his shirt back up, Tim grabbed her upper arm tightly with a terribly strong, pale hand. "I don't like Janet, I like you," he said. The muscles in his face visibly tensed, and the skin around his knuckles turned increasingly white as he held onto her arm. His forcefulness caused a button to pop off her blouse as she tried to pull away. Obviously he wasn’t used to rejection. This wasn’t like the forcefulness she allowed during intercourse, he was pissed.
"Janet has a nice personality… She’s pretty enough, and so sweet! She even bakes! Come on, she's a real catch," said Daisy. Managing to break his hold then, she pushed him a short distance away. He was lucky she wasn’t stronger because she would’ve punched him in the face over and over until he bled and begged for mercy. She smiled slightly at the thought of Tim on his knees, begging for forgiveness like a little bitch. Daisy was tired of men thinking they could control her or touch her without permission. All she could do then was smile at him. Not a smile that met her eyes, but one that said “that’s the last time you’ll ever put your fucking hands on me.” She left the basement soon after without hearing his response, and honestly, she didn’t care. She just wanted out.
Hopefully Janet had brought those famous brownies she had been mentioning for weeks. All the sex and rejection was making Daisy hungry.
Eighteen
“It’s over. I don’t want you anymore. Don’t you get that!” said Peter. He was cold. So cold toward her.
“But… I love you! We love each other…” pleaded Daisy like she’d done so many times before. She was used to it. Peter always threatened to leave her. He had even threatened to leave her when she got too scared to lose her virginity. She pushed him away that night and he left, slamming her front door shut. He gave her the silent treatment for a few days. It made her hate herself. What was wrong with her? It was her fault, it had to be. A week later, she gave up. Gave it up. She convinced herself it was love. She loved him so it was okay. It was the only way to mask the pain, but she didn’t know it then. Even when she had asked him to stop because the pain was too new and too unbearable, he did not stop.
“Oh come on Daisy! It wasn’t really love,” said Peter. You can really see the frustration on his face, thought Daisy. He just wanted to be rid of her. Of course he did. She was nothing. She hated herself for begging, but she didn’t know any other way.
“What? How can you say that to me! It was real to me!” she yelled. Crying was all she could do then.
“Grow up.”
Nineteen
In a new notebook for her thoughts, Daisy wrote thus:
Under surveillance
You hold the key.
I'm in your prison.
Trapped, but unaware.
Imprisoned, but told that this is love.
Love.
Love convinced me to relinquish my freedom.
Love.
Love is an illusion.
You cast the spell.
I was hit, deceived, imprisoned.
There was no escape. I didn’t know I was your prisoner.
Clever.
Trick after trick. You were a magician.
Threats are love.
Physical pain is love.
Cruel words are love.
Love.
Love is a clever trick, a lie, a prison.
Twenty-Six
"Babe?" Allen called out as he walked through the front door, his keys rattling in the doorknob as he pulled them free.
"Here," said Daisy, who was drying her face with a small towel in the bathroom. She put her face on in the morning and washed it off as soon as possible when she was home in the evening. The trickiest part was removing her eyeliner; it always came off partially and the rest would be messily smudged under her eyes like a raccoon.
"Hey, Bandit," said Allen, smiling as he looked down at her.
"Shut up!" said Daisy, hitting his shoulder playfully. She turned back to the mirror and began to wipe the dark lines away.
"Philip invited us out tomorrow night. He wants us to meet his new girl," said Allen, who now stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and watched her in the mirror.
"Another play thing huh? Do we have to go? I'd rather just stay home, or die from dysentery like in the good ol' days before your brother walked the earth," said Daisy. She wasn’t joking, but Allen laughed anyway. She pulled away from him and walked to the living room. He followed her and pulled her down to sit on the sofa beside him.
“What’s wrong?” asked Allen, his big brown eyes staring into hers. He reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it gently in his own.
“Your brother,” she said flatly and looked away.
“Are you still mad about the carpet?”
Daisy’s head whipped back around to look him in the eye. “Really Allen? Did you really just ask me that? Am I going crazy? Maybe I’m dreaming. This is a dream,” said Daisy, slapping herself gently a few time to get her point across.
“Very funny. Come on, talk to me,” said Allen, moving closer to her.
“Allen, I’m sorry but your brother is disgusting.”
“Oh come on, he’s not that bad!”
“He wants to fuck me, you know that right?”
“I mean… that’s… understandable, but he’d never pursue you, he’s my fucking brother!” yelled Allen.
“Just because he’s your brother doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try to do that. Honestly, you’re too trusting.”
“Whatever Ash. You just don’t know what it’s like to have siblings. You wouldn’t understand. Poor you. I’m Daisy and I’m an only child so that gives me the right to be a fucking moody bitch all the time-”
A loud clap made them both silent. Daisy was standing in front of him now. She had slapped Allen hard across the face. He didn’t get to talk to her that way. He was forgetting his place. He had to be punished, but she was getting too emotional to think of hitting him again. The first slap was just a natural reaction. Her hand burned from the force of the hit, but she liked the pain. Allen remained silent with a stunned look on his face, as though he hadn’t registered what just happened. Daisy looked at him, then at her hand, then back at him. Her face was wet. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t realized that she was crying. Her hands clenched tightly into fists. She wanted to scream. She wanted to beat him until he begged for forgiveness. Instead of giving into this desire, she walked away, but not able to resist the drama, she slammed their bedroom door behind her.
Daisy wasn’t even sure why she was so angry. Why did she insist on fight with Allen? Didn’t she love him? She thought about this as she lie in their bed, face still wet with tears. Maybe she didn’t like to be reminded of how truly alone she was. That has to be it, she thought.
Nineteen
"I've never been with someone like you before," said JY, short for Jin Yong. He was a handsome Korean guy six years her senior. If Daisy gave into her stupid fantasies, she’d squeal and call him “Sunbae” or “Oppa.” She’d been watching too many foreign dramas lately to say the least. They were a great distraction.
"What do you mean?" asked Daisy, looking into his eyes. He was lying on top of her, one hand beneath her shirt, cupping her left breast.
"I've only ever been with Korean girls. They're all so skinny and there's nothing to grab on to, you know?" he said casually.
"My boobs aren't even that big," said Daisy, laughing nervously.
"Trust me, they're big to me," said JY, grabbing her more roughly than before.
Daisy didn't know what to say to that. JY was very hands on, meaning he kept grabbing her roughly and holding her down. It got almost scary, but she ignored it. She didn't want to acknowledge the discomfort, she just wanted to get off. JY didn't really care what she wanted, and she knew this when he decided to enter her without another thought, and came about a minute later. That was that. She thought she would be the one using him but she felt as though she were just used like a fleshy doll. After, he asked her if she wanted to smoke, but she politely refused. She just wanted him to leave. Sometimes fantasies should be left as such, and people should not base their ideas of romance on dramas. Daisy realized then that meeting guys on dating apps probably wasn’t the best idea either. Genius.
Twenty-Five
Allen and Daisy were happy. That stage of happiness in a relationship where everything is calm and you’re so comfortable with each other. You have inside jokes, and favorite spots you’ve been to together and aren’t tired of yet. You even consider getting a pet together. A dog, or a cat, something that you can both claim, it’s like the first step to having a family. It was terrifying for Daisy. She wanted to be happy, and she didn’t want to be happy. Being happy meant trying to stay happy for a long period of time, and that meant a lot of effort on her part. It was too much for her to process. Longevity wasn’t her strong suit. Temporality was safer. She knew this, and she knew what would start happening soon enough. She’d fuck everything up, purposely, but uncontrollably. It was an unbreakable habit. She was a runner, not physically, but emotionally. She ran from love because it always seemed to betray her.
Seventeen
“Mahal Kita” said Peter. They were standing in front of the gate to Daisy’s childhood home. It was December. The tip of Daisy’s nose was bright red from the cold.
“What does that mean?” asked Daisy. She was busying herself with exhaling onto her hands to warm them.
“It’s Tagalog for ‘I love you’,” said Peter. He looked down into her eyes, and she stared back into his dark, almost coal-colored ones. Her lips trembled. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment longer before Peter closed the space between them. He leaned down to kiss her gently. Her face was cold. His lips were warm. Their kiss was nothing compared to the normal, everyday goings on of the world. It was a fragment in time that didn’t matter, and never would. It was pointless. It was useless. It was magic. Daisy thought it wonderful that anyone would even want to press their lips to hers, and she warmed under the heat of his closeness and the pressure of his lips on hers.
She loved him… She loved the idea of him… She loved the idea of being loved... She loved the idea of being wanted…
***
How could she have known what would come of this? This kiss that meant so much to her at that moment. This person who had told her he loved her would one day throw it right back in her face. If she had known what the future would hold after this night, she would’ve run, like she continued to do presently.
Twenty-One
Alexander looked like a Scandinavian prince. He was nice. He held doors open for other people, he listened and retained trivial facts that should have only mattered for a sort while in the moment of sharing, he listened and cared about feelings, he remembered people's favorite things, he was considerate, he was sweet, and most of all, lest we forget, he was nice. He was so nice that Daisy resented him. He was so nice that she felt the need to be cruel just to get him to stop being so excruciatingly nice.
He was a crier. There is nothing wrong with men who cry, nothing at all, it's sweet and understandable and lets women know that men are human too, and just as sensitive. Daisy didn't mind the crying, or the fact that he cried, but it was just the amount of tears he cried that drove her insane. He cried when she was mean to him. He cried when he was happy. He cried when the dog died in this movie, or that movie, he cried when Simba’s father was betrayed. He cried and cried, and she didn’t mind in the beginning, but soon enough it felt as though she were starting to drown in a tub filled with his salty tears.
Worst of all, he was too forgiving. She tried and tried to like the nice, sensitive guy, she really did, but goddamn it was it a pain in the ass.
“I cheated on you,” said Daisy with no remorse.
Alexander looked at her sadly, his sweet smile fading into a temporary oblivion. “Why would you do that?” he asked, chocking on the words.
“You bore me.”
“I bore you?”
“Immensely.”
“I-I can change…” he said, a few tears forming in the creases of his eyes.
“No. No. NO. Seriously?” she asked. “What is wrong with you! Aren’t you mad! Don’t you want to hit me?”
“Why would I do that?” he said as he sobbed.
“I tell you I cheated on you and all you do is say you can change? You should be pissed! You should be shoving me to ground, or threatening to hurt me, or at the very least asking me why I really did it! You bore me isn’t a real answer, even a crybaby like you should know that!” she yelled. Can he be this stupid, she thought.
“Why…why did you really do it?”
“You want to know the truth? I didn’t cheat on you.”
“What? Then why did you say-”
“I said it to see how you’d react. I hoped it would have been different than what I’m seeing now,” Daisy interrupted. She was done with him.
Twenty-Three
Lila was her upstairs neighbor, the type that made a lot of noise that was cause for concern as well as annoyance. On most days of the week, Daisy heard the loud moans and creaks that could only mean one thing was going on right above her, and the murmur of one voice, loud and powerful. It could only be described as a mixture of feminine and masculine, sultry and low. She soon learned that this voice belonged to Lila, whom she met one night when the noise got too loud to ignore.
***
After a succession of loud furious knocks, the door to 5b swung open. “Can I help you?” asked the tall figure from beyond the threshold, whose voice was airy and cracked as though it had been used too much.
Daisy stared. “I-I ugh…” She’s beautiful, thought Daisy, who couldn’t think let alone form words at that moment. She was the most beautiful girl Daisy had laid her eyes upon in her twenty-three years. Dyed silver, the roots of her ever-growing, natural black hair were exposed and unacknowledged. Eventually, Daisy would learn that her skin was darker depending on the weather, lighter when the sun hid in the clouds, and softer after a thunderstorm. Lila, the happa goddess: half Filipino, a quarter Russian, and a quarter Japanese. A Dom who hated being asked the question “What are you?” Try it, friend or stranger, and you’d get a hard slap across the mouth. Lila didn’t take shit from anyone, Daisy loved that about her.
“Spit it out, beautiful,” said Lila, whose face contorted in such a way that it conveyed annoyance, but her raised brow also showed a hint of curiosity.
Daisy’s face was red. How could she be reacting this way? She figured she looked like a child speaking to their first crush, and she couldn’t hide the embarrassment. After a moment of repeating “she’s just a pretty face,” to herself, Daisy was finally able to form a proper sentence. She laughed awkwardly, then said “I just wanted to come up here to ask if you could keep it down. I-I’m your downstairs neighbor and I can he-hear almost everything going on.” She averted her eyes as the last of the words came out. She stared at Lila’s feet, which were wedged into killer pointed heels. Daisy was so busy admiring her face that she hadn’t noticed what Lila was wearing until right then. Holy hell, thought Daisy, who knew her jaw would hit the floor if it weren’t so tensed up at that moment. She looked up and took in her figure, trying not let her eyes wander too long. Lila wore a black bra, one that lacked padding over the breasts and ultimately left them completely exposed. It clung to her shoulders and crisscrossed at the center of her cleavage, the thin lines meeting a two-inch stripe that ran horizontally across her stomach and hugged her under bust. At the center of the stripe was a small, black bow, but the bow did not hold Daisy’s attention for very long. Lila’s small, dark brown nipples were hard and seemed to be staring right back at Daisy.
“Everything?” asked Lila, calling Daisy’s attention back up to her stunning face.
“Wh-what?”
“You said you can hear everything?”
“Well… mostly,” said Daisy nervously.
“Want to come in?” asked Lila, smiling devilishly. Something in her was dark and almost fearsome, you could see it in her pitch black eyes.
“I-I… yes,” said Daisy. She was entering a lion’s den without much thought.
“Good girl,” said Lila, while leading her into her apartment and slamming the door shut.
***
If Daisy were the sun, she’d be the star revolving around plant Lila. For two years she was that star. She was taught about control. Power is more desirable than love. Men should be seen as nothing more than playthings. She’d always be Lila’s good, sweet girl.
Control. Power. Playthings. Be a good girl.
Twenty-Seven
Daisy preferred silence, but she also, on occasion, liked noise. In this moment, she was alone, in silence. She felt like she was drowning in it. She was in her living room, lying on her sofa, with dark circles under her eyes. No one was around to point out her current status as a human raccoon, and so she didn’t bother wiping the black lines away. She wanted very much to cry, or smash something, or chock someone until she felt some sort of release. She felt out of control, and it bothered her. She knew this was her fault, she did this to herself. You’re only alone because you chose to be alone, she thought.
She sighed, then decided that an all-liquid dinner would suit her best. She got up and walked out of the room, returning a moment later with two bottles of red wine, a wine opener, but no glass to drink from because she didn’t plan on using one. Daisy sat down on the sofa and then opened one of the bottles. It didn’t take long before she had drunk more than half the bottle and was already starting to feel drunk. Drunk and lonely. Her motions became sluggish. She grabbed her phone, and texted the first person she could think of.
“I’m not happy,” was all she could say. Her forehead wrinkled as she read over the text. It was too late to turn back, she had already hit send and could see the typing awareness indicator under her message. “Fucking insignificant bubble,” she said under her breath, but she knew it wasn’t insignificant at all. It had too much power, caused too much anxiety, and she thought that whoever suggested to add the feature to smart phones was a real heartless asshole who liked playing god.
“Even on your birthday?” replied Allen. She had forgotten about her birthday. She wasn’t necessarily unaware of it, but it wasn’t a priority either.
“It’s just another day, another moment.”
“(Sad face emoji)-
(…) There they were again. Those damn dots.
-Want me to stop by?”
“Yes.”
The crystal wine glass sparkled. It sparkled even when tilted purposefully. Red wine pouring out smoothly, without so much as a sound, as the dark liquid hit the clean, white carpet. Daisy eyed Philip angrily from across the coffee table as he did it. He poured it slowly as to drive her insane and watched with, as far as she could tell, delight, as her face turned a sour shade of pink. If she weren’t already happy with Allen, his younger brother, she’d have taken Philip by the throat and slammed his face into the growing stain on the carpet. Then she’d fuck him hard, the fury she felt reflecting in her pace and roughness. She’d even slap him a few times for good measure. He’d learn obedience if she wanted him to, but Daisy hated Philip, and he’d never get a taste of her as far as she was concerned.
“Are you fucking crazy?” Daisy whispered, glaring at his stupid face. It’s like he’s begging to be slapped, she thought.
“Clean it up,” said Philip slowly, his eyes tracing her figure on the sofa. If he was seeing her as she saw herself, he’d see a young woman with long brown hair and dark eyebrows that scrunched close together when she was angry. He’d see the bright green of her eyes and the gold and light brown flakes that were speckled in her irises. If he was observant, which Daisy doubted, he’d be able to see the small, horizontal scar under her left eyebrow, which she got when an older cousin shoved her into a pile of sharp rocks when she was six.
“You don’t know how lucky you are right now,” she said through gritted teeth, fighting the urge to beat him senseless with a thick leather belt. She rose from her seat on the plush sofa and walked to the kitchen, returning a moment later with an unlabeled spray bottle and an old rag.
“You’d make a great house wife,” said Philip. His killer smile met her eyes as she glared at him.
“Bite me,” said Daisy, as she ripped the crystal glass from his large hand and placed it on the coffee table. I’d like to break those fingers, she thought. He was too arrogant and really didn’t know who he was messing with.
“I’d love to,” he said, watching as she got on her hands and knees to scrub the carpet. The length of her dress had moved higher up her thighs, but she didn’t readjust it.
Daisy ignored him and scrubbed. She’d be so pissed if the spill became a stain. Her hand ground harder into the carpet and the cleaning spray burned her throat as she breathed it in. No wonder Cinderella started seeing a fairy godmother and talking to mice, she was always high on chemicals. Daisy laughed at the thought, but the laughter stopped abruptly when she felt a hand on her ass. She slammed both palms onto the floor and pushed herself up onto her knees, then whipped around to slap Philip’s hand away. “Don’t you fucking touch me,” she screamed.
“What’s going on here?” asked Allen as he entered the room. He’d been in the bathroom less than five minutes, but that felt like centuries to Daisy, who was sick of his disgusting brother.
“Nothing, little brother, Daisy here is just getting a little emotional because I spilled some wine on your nice carpet. You know how women get. I can’t help it that I’m clumsy. Sorry Ash,” said Phillip, his voice was low and he sounded sincere, enough to convince Allen to go along with his story. Allen was too nice.
“Don’t call me Ash. You don’t get to call me that!” yelled Daisy. She wanted to cut off his air supply until his face reddened like a pacific rose. If he continued to behave this way she wouldn’t be able to control her desire to punish him.
“Hey! Babe, it’s alright. It was just an accident, and it’s just a carpet, don’t worry,” said Allen, offering her his hand to help her off the floor. She brushed the gesture away and got up without any help. She didn’t need it.
“Oh really? Okay. Fine. Clean it up yourself,” she said, tossing the spray bottle and rag onto the floor. She was pissed. Daisy left the room and locked herself in their bedroom, and she refused to emerge until Phillip finally left.
Seventeen
“Are you sure you were a virgin?” Peter asked while they were lying on the crumpled sheets, breathing heavily.
Daisy, who was staring up at the ceiling with mixed emotions, turned to face him. “How could you even ask me that?” she whispered sadly. She felt as though he had strolled up beside her, stabbed her a few times, and then just casually walked away from the bloody scene without any remorse. Her body started to curl into itself, she wanted to hide, and at that point she very much wished to be a turtle, or something dead. Dead things couldn’t feel pain.
“You just weren’t tight,” he said in a matter-of-fact and emotionless tone.
It was like a slap in the face. Daisy couldn’t believe it. She let him take her, gave herself so willingly to someone she had convinced her seventeen-year-old self she loved, and all she got in return was crap. “Oh,” was all Daisy could get out before she began to cry silently.
***
If Peter were smart, he’d know that women are only tight when they feel uncomfortable, but Daisy didn’t learn that till later, so she couldn’t correct him. According to Peter, she was always wrong.
Twenty-Seven
It was gray, and the clouds danced as if they themselves were praying for rain. Daisy’s bed was cold. The sheets were tangled at her legs, disorderly from all the tossing and turning. It seemed that every night, with her eyes shut tightly, her arms stretched out across the void and her hands grabbed in search of something, but always came up empty. There were no depressions on the pillow that occupied the right side of the bed, there hadn’t been for about three and a half months now. The sound of planes flying directly over her house every few minutes reminded her of how quiet the room was when they weren’t buzzing by like busy bees collecting pollen, but just like the planes, bees didn’t linger in her garden for long. On the windowsill sat the plastic yellow flower that usually bobbled back and forth with the morning sunlight, but today it remained static. Looking at the pillow tempted her to remain in bed all day.
She missed him. She missed him. She missed him.
Twenty-Five
“You look tired,” said Allen, gently tucking a few strands of messy hair behind Daisy’s left ear with his long, tanned fingers. He smiled brightly at her, the morning sun highlighting his sharp features. His short, raven black hair was combed down and away from his almond shaped eyes. His irises were a dark brown, like coffee with a hint of cream. Daisy loved his eyes. She felt she could trust them.
“That’s because I’ve been contemplating life, and I’ve figured out it’s completely meaningless,” she laughed sadly, pushing his strong, soft hand away as she cast her eyes down. His pillow had one large dent in it, near the left side, her side. He slept like a rock and never let go of her no matter how hot it was.
“How depressing. It feels like I’ve got a front row seat to watch the tragic comedy that is your life.” He laughed, but it wasn’t the wholehearted type she was used to. Then he walked out of the room without another word.
“It’s a goat song, that’s for sure," she said to herself. Oh how she loved Greek tragedies. Allen always stated how melodramatic she could be, but he didn’t seem to mind that much, usually finding it endearing. At least Daisy had hoped that was true.
Twenty-Seven
Daisy greeted some of her coworkers, the ones she didn't find completely repulsive. She walked like the dead past cubicle after cubicle. She said “hello” to Gale, and “Good morning” to Susan, and ignored everyone else because she hardly cared. She sat at her own gray cubicle, so square, so plain, so dreadfully boring, and then began reading one of the many manuscripts piled on her desk.
Tim, the ‘office man-candy,’ as Gale referred to him, showed up not long after her. He got to work around the same time every day, usually spending most of the early morning at the gym, and it showed. He loved working on himself, his body, and not much else. It was common knowledge around the office. His dirty blonde hair was combed into a pompadour, the latest trend. His long legs were clad in dark washed denim jeans that defined ever muscle in his thick thighs, and his blue button down had impeccably ironed creases. He was the same age as Daisy, and both had been working there for about three years now. When Aston had hit her lowest point of heartbreak, she started seeing more and more of Tim.
Much More…
"Hey Daisy, lunch at 12:30?" asked Tim, while stretching his arms above his head, large biceps straining against the thin fabric of his shirt. His question had interrupted her muddled thoughts.
"Sure," she said indifferently, looking away from him, her attention back on her work. Lunch meant a quick hookup on the old furniture that once sat in the waiting area, but now collected dust in the basement. Their casual lunches had started two months before. She’d be lying if said she wasn’t the one that pursued him, but she was feeling lonely. She needed a distraction. She was all those words that described some heartbroken loser, and she hated it.
Tim nodded casually and walked away. Gale, who thought their going to lunch meant that they were really going to have lunch, swiveled in her chair. "Look at those arms," she swooned as she watched Tim disappear around a corner. The running joke amongst the girls was that Tim's arms were god-like. Daisy was the one to suggest a mock religion in worship of them because she loved watching her older, tragically married coworkers’ lust after him. It was entertaining. It was ridiculous but she didn’t care; she didn’t care about a lot of things anymore, especially these last few months. The girls went along with it since the office environment was such a bore and they needed some relief, comedic or otherwise, to get through the day.
“Settle down Gale,” she laughed. Gale pouted mockingly and swiveled back to her desk. Daisy worked quietly until 12:30pm.
Twenty-Six
“Everything is pointless…” said Daisy in a hushed tone. She was lying in bed and had been staring at the same spot on the ceiling for about an hour.
“You’ve been reading Thomas Hardy novels again haven’t you?” asked Allen, sighing heavily. “I thought you said you were done with that depressing, nihilistic, atheist tool.”
“Oh, I’m done with him,” she sighed, unmoving.
“Then what’s going on, huh?” He asked, concern reflected in his frowned brow, but this was a common occurrence to him now. Daisy always had her moods, and she knew it could get tiring.
“Nothing, Allen,” she sighed heavily, “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I won’t understand? What wont I understand Ash? What?”
“Nothing,” she said again, wishing that a large object would crash through the ceiling and kill her right then. She wanted that Donnie Darko smile.
“Come on, tell me!” he shouted. Clearly he was growing tired of this game. He was standing over her now, blocking her view of the unchanging ceiling. If only it were a game, she thought.
Daisy turned away from him and spoke into her pillow. “Everything is pointless…” she whispered.
“What’s pointless?” he sighed. “Huh? What is it now?”
“This!” she shouted, sitting up and turning to face him. “All of this! Everything… Love… Love is pointless! It’ll end and then we’ll be strangers… or- or enemies or something even worse.” She dragged her hands roughly down her face in frustration, she couldn’t get her thoughts to make sense in actual words. “Zombies! That’s it,” she said excitedly, “dead inside because our love killed us, or just one of us. One of us will be a zombie, most likely me. I can feel it already. The cold blackness of hate and unfeeling…” she trailed off.
Allen remained silent as he stared into her green eyes, the color of sunlight on crushed grass. He had told her many times before that they were so lovely to stare into. Her eyes were wet. Angry tears were trailing down her cheeks, they were almost a sweet release from all the pain in her mind, the unorganized manner of her thoughts. He continued to look at her silently, breathing steadily. She knew what he had to be thinking, he didn’t know her at all. Her face was known and unknown, her eyes lied.
Twenty-Five
Daisy’s fingers trailed slowly up and down her torso as she lie in bed. The lines she traced and retraced on her figure were cold and tingled pleasantly. The chill of every touch traveled through her entire body and made her shiver slightly. She bit down on her lower lip and shut her eyes slowly, enjoying all of the sensations that washed over her in that moment.
Allen was watching her from across the room. He sat silently on a desk chair, naked, and unmoving. She liked the idea of being watched, seen from afar, desired, but also distanced, like something unattainable. There was a sense of power that came with controlling the situation, and everything was under her control. Allen didn’t seem to mind relinquishing his power, she wasn’t entirely sure, but he never complained. Power had become more desirable than sex, but sex was normal enough and she didn’t mind having it often or rarely so long as she was in control when it happened.
Control Control Control
He was not allowed to touch himself, she wouldn’t allow it. It would spoil all the fun. Too many times had she asked a man the question “Did you come already?” and too many times had the answer been a shameful but satisfied “yes.” It was annoying. “Goddamn it,” was usually the only response from her, but when she was weak and cared too much it was sometimes an “It’s okay,” but it was never fucking okay.
One hand between her thighs, she called him over to her with the other, her fingers motioning like a small rolling wave that started with the pinky and ended with the index finger curling into her palm. Allen didn’t waste any time.
***
The room was hot, and perspiration seemed to be dripping down the walls in a slowed rhythm, matching, in speed, the sweat and wetness trickling down Daisy’s thighs. Allen took this moment to kiss them gently, savoring the salty sweetness of her and moving his hands gently upward to caress her small, rounded breasts. His kisses moved closer and closer to her inner thighs and once his lips met her swelling desire, she let out a small gasp. She kept his head firmly in place with both hands, and closed her eyes. This was her favorite thing about him.
Twenty-Seven
“Your eyes are beautiful,” said Tim. He would often say that when they were done fucking. Daisy’s eyes were a soft light green, the same as her grandmother’s.
"It means I can't be trusted," said Daisy. It was the first time her response was anything other than a simple 'thanks.' She wasn’t sure why she responded that way either.
"Why not?" asked Tim, turning his head toward the ceiling. She knew he didn’t really care about her answer. His asking was just a social thing humans do. Like asking someone how they are or how they’re feeling, but not actually expecting an honest answer, and not caring to hear any honest response either.
"It's just something my grandfather used to say,” said Daisy, even though she knew he wasn’t really listening. He’d especially started saying it after her grandmother had run off with some family friend. It became his mantra, and her own mother grew up hearing it repeatedly. “Don’t trust anyone with green eyes, they’re all liars like your mother,” he’d say. Daisy hadn’t said any of that out loud, it’s not like Tim was really hearing her anyway. What was the point of sharing anything with your lunch? It’s just meant to be consumed and forgotten.
“I'm starting to believe it lately," she added, realizing it was true, and saying it more for herself than for him.
Tim was a bit dense, not an idiot, but self-centered and never really concerned with anything unless it was his own reflection smiling back at him in the mirror. He liked fucking her, and she was convinced it was because he considered it another form of exercise. Tim was like a cheeseburger; they taste great, but once you started picturing the cow being slaughtered it got harder to enjoy, and you’d start feeling guiltier after each bite. Daisy was starting to feel guilty. Not because she cared about him, not at all, but she felt bad for using him. If she was exercise for him, he was just a simple distraction for her.
“So can I take you to dinner tomorrow?” asked Tim, having disregarded her last few statements. Of course he had.
"How about Janet from marketing?" said Daisy, she didn’t like to refuse people directly. It made life too awkward to deal with.
"What about Janet?" he asked, sounding confused. Of course he was.
"Well, you know… She's nice, you should ask her out," said Daisy as she quickly got up. She closed her blouse, and pulled down her skirt. As she combed her fingers through her hair, Tim stood up and tucked his package back into his briefs before zipping up his pants.
“You said you’d think about it last time,” said Tim. The muscles in his face were growing tense, making his countenance more stoic as the seconds ticked on.
“I thought about it,” said Daisy, unable to think of anything further to add.
“You thought about it? So what I’m not good enough for you? Is that it?” asked Tim, his voice growing louder, emphasizing each word as he spoke.
“I wouldn’t say that… I just- I just prefer being alone… I mean Janet is great…” said Daisy, tired of this conversation.
Finished buttoning his shirt back up, Tim grabbed her upper arm tightly with a terribly strong, pale hand. "I don't like Janet, I like you," he said. The muscles in his face visibly tensed, and the skin around his knuckles turned increasingly white as he held onto her arm. His forcefulness caused a button to pop off her blouse as she tried to pull away. Obviously he wasn’t used to rejection. This wasn’t like the forcefulness she allowed during intercourse, he was pissed.
"Janet has a nice personality… She’s pretty enough, and so sweet! She even bakes! Come on, she's a real catch," said Daisy. Managing to break his hold then, she pushed him a short distance away. He was lucky she wasn’t stronger because she would’ve punched him in the face over and over until he bled and begged for mercy. She smiled slightly at the thought of Tim on his knees, begging for forgiveness like a little bitch. Daisy was tired of men thinking they could control her or touch her without permission. All she could do then was smile at him. Not a smile that met her eyes, but one that said “that’s the last time you’ll ever put your fucking hands on me.” She left the basement soon after without hearing his response, and honestly, she didn’t care. She just wanted out.
Hopefully Janet had brought those famous brownies she had been mentioning for weeks. All the sex and rejection was making Daisy hungry.
Eighteen
“It’s over. I don’t want you anymore. Don’t you get that!” said Peter. He was cold. So cold toward her.
“But… I love you! We love each other…” pleaded Daisy like she’d done so many times before. She was used to it. Peter always threatened to leave her. He had even threatened to leave her when she got too scared to lose her virginity. She pushed him away that night and he left, slamming her front door shut. He gave her the silent treatment for a few days. It made her hate herself. What was wrong with her? It was her fault, it had to be. A week later, she gave up. Gave it up. She convinced herself it was love. She loved him so it was okay. It was the only way to mask the pain, but she didn’t know it then. Even when she had asked him to stop because the pain was too new and too unbearable, he did not stop.
“Oh come on Daisy! It wasn’t really love,” said Peter. You can really see the frustration on his face, thought Daisy. He just wanted to be rid of her. Of course he did. She was nothing. She hated herself for begging, but she didn’t know any other way.
“What? How can you say that to me! It was real to me!” she yelled. Crying was all she could do then.
“Grow up.”
Nineteen
In a new notebook for her thoughts, Daisy wrote thus:
Under surveillance
You hold the key.
I'm in your prison.
Trapped, but unaware.
Imprisoned, but told that this is love.
Love.
Love convinced me to relinquish my freedom.
Love.
Love is an illusion.
You cast the spell.
I was hit, deceived, imprisoned.
There was no escape. I didn’t know I was your prisoner.
Clever.
Trick after trick. You were a magician.
Threats are love.
Physical pain is love.
Cruel words are love.
Love.
Love is a clever trick, a lie, a prison.
Twenty-Six
"Babe?" Allen called out as he walked through the front door, his keys rattling in the doorknob as he pulled them free.
"Here," said Daisy, who was drying her face with a small towel in the bathroom. She put her face on in the morning and washed it off as soon as possible when she was home in the evening. The trickiest part was removing her eyeliner; it always came off partially and the rest would be messily smudged under her eyes like a raccoon.
"Hey, Bandit," said Allen, smiling as he looked down at her.
"Shut up!" said Daisy, hitting his shoulder playfully. She turned back to the mirror and began to wipe the dark lines away.
"Philip invited us out tomorrow night. He wants us to meet his new girl," said Allen, who now stood behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and watched her in the mirror.
"Another play thing huh? Do we have to go? I'd rather just stay home, or die from dysentery like in the good ol' days before your brother walked the earth," said Daisy. She wasn’t joking, but Allen laughed anyway. She pulled away from him and walked to the living room. He followed her and pulled her down to sit on the sofa beside him.
“What’s wrong?” asked Allen, his big brown eyes staring into hers. He reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it gently in his own.
“Your brother,” she said flatly and looked away.
“Are you still mad about the carpet?”
Daisy’s head whipped back around to look him in the eye. “Really Allen? Did you really just ask me that? Am I going crazy? Maybe I’m dreaming. This is a dream,” said Daisy, slapping herself gently a few time to get her point across.
“Very funny. Come on, talk to me,” said Allen, moving closer to her.
“Allen, I’m sorry but your brother is disgusting.”
“Oh come on, he’s not that bad!”
“He wants to fuck me, you know that right?”
“I mean… that’s… understandable, but he’d never pursue you, he’s my fucking brother!” yelled Allen.
“Just because he’s your brother doesn’t mean he wouldn’t try to do that. Honestly, you’re too trusting.”
“Whatever Ash. You just don’t know what it’s like to have siblings. You wouldn’t understand. Poor you. I’m Daisy and I’m an only child so that gives me the right to be a fucking moody bitch all the time-”
A loud clap made them both silent. Daisy was standing in front of him now. She had slapped Allen hard across the face. He didn’t get to talk to her that way. He was forgetting his place. He had to be punished, but she was getting too emotional to think of hitting him again. The first slap was just a natural reaction. Her hand burned from the force of the hit, but she liked the pain. Allen remained silent with a stunned look on his face, as though he hadn’t registered what just happened. Daisy looked at him, then at her hand, then back at him. Her face was wet. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t realized that she was crying. Her hands clenched tightly into fists. She wanted to scream. She wanted to beat him until he begged for forgiveness. Instead of giving into this desire, she walked away, but not able to resist the drama, she slammed their bedroom door behind her.
Daisy wasn’t even sure why she was so angry. Why did she insist on fight with Allen? Didn’t she love him? She thought about this as she lie in their bed, face still wet with tears. Maybe she didn’t like to be reminded of how truly alone she was. That has to be it, she thought.
Nineteen
"I've never been with someone like you before," said JY, short for Jin Yong. He was a handsome Korean guy six years her senior. If Daisy gave into her stupid fantasies, she’d squeal and call him “Sunbae” or “Oppa.” She’d been watching too many foreign dramas lately to say the least. They were a great distraction.
"What do you mean?" asked Daisy, looking into his eyes. He was lying on top of her, one hand beneath her shirt, cupping her left breast.
"I've only ever been with Korean girls. They're all so skinny and there's nothing to grab on to, you know?" he said casually.
"My boobs aren't even that big," said Daisy, laughing nervously.
"Trust me, they're big to me," said JY, grabbing her more roughly than before.
Daisy didn't know what to say to that. JY was very hands on, meaning he kept grabbing her roughly and holding her down. It got almost scary, but she ignored it. She didn't want to acknowledge the discomfort, she just wanted to get off. JY didn't really care what she wanted, and she knew this when he decided to enter her without another thought, and came about a minute later. That was that. She thought she would be the one using him but she felt as though she were just used like a fleshy doll. After, he asked her if she wanted to smoke, but she politely refused. She just wanted him to leave. Sometimes fantasies should be left as such, and people should not base their ideas of romance on dramas. Daisy realized then that meeting guys on dating apps probably wasn’t the best idea either. Genius.
Twenty-Five
Allen and Daisy were happy. That stage of happiness in a relationship where everything is calm and you’re so comfortable with each other. You have inside jokes, and favorite spots you’ve been to together and aren’t tired of yet. You even consider getting a pet together. A dog, or a cat, something that you can both claim, it’s like the first step to having a family. It was terrifying for Daisy. She wanted to be happy, and she didn’t want to be happy. Being happy meant trying to stay happy for a long period of time, and that meant a lot of effort on her part. It was too much for her to process. Longevity wasn’t her strong suit. Temporality was safer. She knew this, and she knew what would start happening soon enough. She’d fuck everything up, purposely, but uncontrollably. It was an unbreakable habit. She was a runner, not physically, but emotionally. She ran from love because it always seemed to betray her.
Seventeen
“Mahal Kita” said Peter. They were standing in front of the gate to Daisy’s childhood home. It was December. The tip of Daisy’s nose was bright red from the cold.
“What does that mean?” asked Daisy. She was busying herself with exhaling onto her hands to warm them.
“It’s Tagalog for ‘I love you’,” said Peter. He looked down into her eyes, and she stared back into his dark, almost coal-colored ones. Her lips trembled. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment longer before Peter closed the space between them. He leaned down to kiss her gently. Her face was cold. His lips were warm. Their kiss was nothing compared to the normal, everyday goings on of the world. It was a fragment in time that didn’t matter, and never would. It was pointless. It was useless. It was magic. Daisy thought it wonderful that anyone would even want to press their lips to hers, and she warmed under the heat of his closeness and the pressure of his lips on hers.
She loved him… She loved the idea of him… She loved the idea of being loved... She loved the idea of being wanted…
***
How could she have known what would come of this? This kiss that meant so much to her at that moment. This person who had told her he loved her would one day throw it right back in her face. If she had known what the future would hold after this night, she would’ve run, like she continued to do presently.
Twenty-One
Alexander looked like a Scandinavian prince. He was nice. He held doors open for other people, he listened and retained trivial facts that should have only mattered for a sort while in the moment of sharing, he listened and cared about feelings, he remembered people's favorite things, he was considerate, he was sweet, and most of all, lest we forget, he was nice. He was so nice that Daisy resented him. He was so nice that she felt the need to be cruel just to get him to stop being so excruciatingly nice.
He was a crier. There is nothing wrong with men who cry, nothing at all, it's sweet and understandable and lets women know that men are human too, and just as sensitive. Daisy didn't mind the crying, or the fact that he cried, but it was just the amount of tears he cried that drove her insane. He cried when she was mean to him. He cried when he was happy. He cried when the dog died in this movie, or that movie, he cried when Simba’s father was betrayed. He cried and cried, and she didn’t mind in the beginning, but soon enough it felt as though she were starting to drown in a tub filled with his salty tears.
Worst of all, he was too forgiving. She tried and tried to like the nice, sensitive guy, she really did, but goddamn it was it a pain in the ass.
“I cheated on you,” said Daisy with no remorse.
Alexander looked at her sadly, his sweet smile fading into a temporary oblivion. “Why would you do that?” he asked, chocking on the words.
“You bore me.”
“I bore you?”
“Immensely.”
“I-I can change…” he said, a few tears forming in the creases of his eyes.
“No. No. NO. Seriously?” she asked. “What is wrong with you! Aren’t you mad! Don’t you want to hit me?”
“Why would I do that?” he said as he sobbed.
“I tell you I cheated on you and all you do is say you can change? You should be pissed! You should be shoving me to ground, or threatening to hurt me, or at the very least asking me why I really did it! You bore me isn’t a real answer, even a crybaby like you should know that!” she yelled. Can he be this stupid, she thought.
“Why…why did you really do it?”
“You want to know the truth? I didn’t cheat on you.”
“What? Then why did you say-”
“I said it to see how you’d react. I hoped it would have been different than what I’m seeing now,” Daisy interrupted. She was done with him.
Twenty-Three
Lila was her upstairs neighbor, the type that made a lot of noise that was cause for concern as well as annoyance. On most days of the week, Daisy heard the loud moans and creaks that could only mean one thing was going on right above her, and the murmur of one voice, loud and powerful. It could only be described as a mixture of feminine and masculine, sultry and low. She soon learned that this voice belonged to Lila, whom she met one night when the noise got too loud to ignore.
***
After a succession of loud furious knocks, the door to 5b swung open. “Can I help you?” asked the tall figure from beyond the threshold, whose voice was airy and cracked as though it had been used too much.
Daisy stared. “I-I ugh…” She’s beautiful, thought Daisy, who couldn’t think let alone form words at that moment. She was the most beautiful girl Daisy had laid her eyes upon in her twenty-three years. Dyed silver, the roots of her ever-growing, natural black hair were exposed and unacknowledged. Eventually, Daisy would learn that her skin was darker depending on the weather, lighter when the sun hid in the clouds, and softer after a thunderstorm. Lila, the happa goddess: half Filipino, a quarter Russian, and a quarter Japanese. A Dom who hated being asked the question “What are you?” Try it, friend or stranger, and you’d get a hard slap across the mouth. Lila didn’t take shit from anyone, Daisy loved that about her.
“Spit it out, beautiful,” said Lila, whose face contorted in such a way that it conveyed annoyance, but her raised brow also showed a hint of curiosity.
Daisy’s face was red. How could she be reacting this way? She figured she looked like a child speaking to their first crush, and she couldn’t hide the embarrassment. After a moment of repeating “she’s just a pretty face,” to herself, Daisy was finally able to form a proper sentence. She laughed awkwardly, then said “I just wanted to come up here to ask if you could keep it down. I-I’m your downstairs neighbor and I can he-hear almost everything going on.” She averted her eyes as the last of the words came out. She stared at Lila’s feet, which were wedged into killer pointed heels. Daisy was so busy admiring her face that she hadn’t noticed what Lila was wearing until right then. Holy hell, thought Daisy, who knew her jaw would hit the floor if it weren’t so tensed up at that moment. She looked up and took in her figure, trying not let her eyes wander too long. Lila wore a black bra, one that lacked padding over the breasts and ultimately left them completely exposed. It clung to her shoulders and crisscrossed at the center of her cleavage, the thin lines meeting a two-inch stripe that ran horizontally across her stomach and hugged her under bust. At the center of the stripe was a small, black bow, but the bow did not hold Daisy’s attention for very long. Lila’s small, dark brown nipples were hard and seemed to be staring right back at Daisy.
“Everything?” asked Lila, calling Daisy’s attention back up to her stunning face.
“Wh-what?”
“You said you can hear everything?”
“Well… mostly,” said Daisy nervously.
“Want to come in?” asked Lila, smiling devilishly. Something in her was dark and almost fearsome, you could see it in her pitch black eyes.
“I-I… yes,” said Daisy. She was entering a lion’s den without much thought.
“Good girl,” said Lila, while leading her into her apartment and slamming the door shut.
***
If Daisy were the sun, she’d be the star revolving around plant Lila. For two years she was that star. She was taught about control. Power is more desirable than love. Men should be seen as nothing more than playthings. She’d always be Lila’s good, sweet girl.
Control. Power. Playthings. Be a good girl.
Twenty-Seven
Daisy preferred silence, but she also, on occasion, liked noise. In this moment, she was alone, in silence. She felt like she was drowning in it. She was in her living room, lying on her sofa, with dark circles under her eyes. No one was around to point out her current status as a human raccoon, and so she didn’t bother wiping the black lines away. She wanted very much to cry, or smash something, or chock someone until she felt some sort of release. She felt out of control, and it bothered her. She knew this was her fault, she did this to herself. You’re only alone because you chose to be alone, she thought.
She sighed, then decided that an all-liquid dinner would suit her best. She got up and walked out of the room, returning a moment later with two bottles of red wine, a wine opener, but no glass to drink from because she didn’t plan on using one. Daisy sat down on the sofa and then opened one of the bottles. It didn’t take long before she had drunk more than half the bottle and was already starting to feel drunk. Drunk and lonely. Her motions became sluggish. She grabbed her phone, and texted the first person she could think of.
“I’m not happy,” was all she could say. Her forehead wrinkled as she read over the text. It was too late to turn back, she had already hit send and could see the typing awareness indicator under her message. “Fucking insignificant bubble,” she said under her breath, but she knew it wasn’t insignificant at all. It had too much power, caused too much anxiety, and she thought that whoever suggested to add the feature to smart phones was a real heartless asshole who liked playing god.
“Even on your birthday?” replied Allen. She had forgotten about her birthday. She wasn’t necessarily unaware of it, but it wasn’t a priority either.
“It’s just another day, another moment.”
“(Sad face emoji)-
(…) There they were again. Those damn dots.
-Want me to stop by?”
“Yes.”