Chapter 7
Daisy
The hunger didn’t come in waves anymore.
It just hums. A constant, gnawing ache in my stomach, I’ve learnt to ignore.
I pour black coffee into a chipped thermos, hoping the bitterness will fuel me enough to get me through the day.
It won’t, but I like to pretend it does.
Just like how I pretend I’m not tired, or worried, or fraying at the edges.
Because pretending has become somewhat of an art to me.
My apartment smells faintly of toast, burnt as always. I shove my textbooks and work apron into my battered tote bag, checking the fridge one last time to see if it’s still tragically empty. It is. Half a stick of butter, one egg, and a bottle of off-brand ketchup glare back at me.
My walk to campus is soggy in the bitter fall weather, but it’s peaceful.
The cracked pavement glistens with rain, and leaves cling to my boots, my college looming ahead like a tired giant made of grey brick clad in ivy.
The surrounding buildings are a mix of hopeful modern renovations and a weary old library that smells like dusty books. My favourite smell alongside coffee.
Rent was due next week, and my last paycheque from the coffee shop barely covered the electricity bill.
I’d already sold my mom’s old earrings, and yesterday morning, I finally gave up her necklace—the delicate gold one with a tiny engraved heart.
I pawned it without looking the guy behind the counter in the eye.
“I just need enough to float me until next payday.” I’d said.
He didn’t ask questions, just handed me sixty bucks and a receipt I wouldn’t use. I knew damn well the necklace was worth more than that, especially sentimentally. But sentiment didn’t pay the bills.
By the time I reach the coffee shop where I work part-time, my socks are wet, my hair is a mess, and I’m ten minutes early because I couldn’t stand being alone in my apartment any longer.
“Morning, daydream,” my manager calls as I clock in.
I flash him my brightest smile as I pull on my apron.
Work is its usual blur of overly complicated orders and cracked hands from over-washing.
I joke with the regulars, write silly doodles on the to-go cups in my assortment of glittery gel pens I keep in my apron pocket, and silently mourn the smell of pastries I can’t afford.
I sneak a broken cookie from the tray when no one’s looking. Sweet, sugary salvation.
It’s just past noon when my saving graces arrive.
“You look like sunshine got punched in the face,” Talia says, dropping onto a stool.
“And still glowing, thank you,” I say, wiping my hands on my apron.
Ezra slides a paper bag across the counter like he’s sliding me drugs. “A flaky croissant for our flaky ray of light.”
“Poetic,” I say, tearing into it like a gremlin. “And you guys are the best. Did I mention I love you? Because I really love you.”
Ezra leans over the counter despite my never-ending warnings about him doing that. “You’re not eating enough again, are you?”
“Ez,” I mumble around a mouthful of heaven. “Let me have my carbs in peace.”
They stay for a while, chatting about their latest drama.
A group project disaster for Ezra, who absolutely despises having to work alongside people that aren’t Talia and me.
Talia’s drama was yet another problem with yet another Tinder date.
Apparently, this one was ‘overenthusiastic’, whatever the hell that meant.
Ezra slaps his hand on the counter. “We need a night out. I’m thinking: neon lights, terrible music, and maybe a bouncer named Blade.”
“I have class tomorrow, and uh… we aren’t old enough,” I remind him.
He rolls his eyes like he completely forgot we were still under the legal drinking age and flops back on his stool like I’d just broken his heart.
Ethan shows up at my apartment like a rom-com boyfriend knockoff, holding a greasy pizza box, his too-perfect smile shining.
“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he says, stepping inside without waiting. “You get snappy when you’re starving.”
He doesn’t say hello or ask how I am. He just sets the pizza on my coffee table and settles on the couch like he owns the place.
“Thanks,” I say, dropping onto the couch. “How… generous.”
“Generous is my middle name,” he jokes, kicking off his ridiculously priced designer trainers.
He smells faintly of cologne and gym sweat.
And the already tiny apartment shrinks a little with him in it, though I can’t explain why.
I eat in silence as he talks about himself, then his coach, his gym progress, and finally, his ex, who ‘totally wants him back.’ I nod when appropriate and smile when expected.
I slowly eat the pizza, despite wanting to inhale the entire thing.
I don’t want another comment on my body from him, even though he’s the one who brought the damn thing over here.
His hand lands on my thigh halfway through some action movie I didn’t ask to watch. I watch as he rubs slow circles above my knee, making my body freeze.
“Ethan,” I say softly but firmly.
“What?” He grins. “You’re tense, so I’m helping.”
I shift my knee away from his touch. “Don’t. Not tonight.”
He leans closer, lips brushing my neck. “Come on, babe. Don’t be like that.”
I turn my head to him with a soft smile as my heart pounds. “Ethan, I said no.”
He pulls back, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, okay. Chill.”
I curl into the couch, arms crossed across my chest. “I’m just… tired.”
He exhales sharply. “Right. Tired. Always fucking tired.”
He suddenly stands, grabbing his keys from the table and slipping his shoes back on.
“Are you mad?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
He just shrugs. “Guess I’ll book a reservation next time I want to touch my own girlfriend.”
He storms out the door, slamming it behind him, causing me to flinch, and leaving me alone in the quiet.
I sit staring at the now-closed door, the half-eaten pizza still sitting on the table, as something hollow presses against my ribs.
I didn’t do anything wrong, but I still feel like I did.
That familiar guilt creeps in like fog. I switch the TV off and curl my knees to my chest, staring at my reflection in the dark TV screen. I look so tired, so not me.
Maybe this is me now. Because it’s not just Ethan, it’s everything.
The bills piling up, the empty fridge, the way I flinch every damn time my phone rings, in case it’s my dad calling to ask for money he knows I don’t have.
And as well as all that… the deal. The one I never made, but somehow got thrown into anyway.
I keep pretending it’s not real, that it’s a hallucination, and that I’m just severely mentally ill. I laugh softly. I must be going utterly insane.
“If anyone out there’s listening,” I whisper up to the ceiling, “maybe throw me a goddamn bone?”
Nothing answers, of course. Just the drip of the kitchen tap and the gentle creak of the floorboards above.
I think about my mom. What would she say if she saw me like this—tired, scared, nearly starving, and desperate?
Would she be disappointed in me? Or would she hold me and tell me I’m stronger than I think I am?
My throat tightens. I miss her. I miss her so, so much.
I let the silence settle, heavy on my chest. And still, somehow… I smile. Because tomorrow, the sun rises again. And so do I.