Chapter 21
Daisy
January third hits like a slap to the face.
My alarm clock blares, cruelly reminding me it was time to get back to reality. As lonely as it was over the Christmas break, hiding away from my friends, it was nice to just be by myself. No college, no work, no cheer, just me and my wine.
I drag myself out of bed, wrapping myself up in the ridiculous hoodie Ezra had bought me, and the bright yellow fuzzy socks Talia had given me.
I should probably wash them, but it’s nothing a few sprays of perfume can’t fix.
I pad into the bathroom, grimacing at my reflection.
Those bottles of wine really weren’t doing the bags under my eyes any favours.
I pile on the concealer under my eyes, looking slightly less tired than I had five minutes ago, and brush the mascara onto my lashes for the first time in forever. It was time to get back to normal.
Ezra and Talia meet me by the campus gates, Ezra’s hair like a beacon of orange light against the grey sky, puffy with clouds that threaten to pour snow down on us at any given moment.
He’s practically bouncing, wearing the jacket I’d thrifted and upcycled for him for Christmas.
It was a jean jacket with the word ‘Swiftie’ hand-stitched on the back in glittering gold thread.
He wore it proudly over his hoodie, grinning when he caught me staring at him.
Talia stands shivering, wearing her hair in a low, messy bun, the little sun-and-moon necklace I got her twinkling against her throat.
They both smile at me, each pulling me into a tight hug, telling me how much they had missed me over Christmas break.
We enter the campus to the sound of Ezra absolutely losing his mind over Taylor Swift’s new album. Again.
“I swear to gods,” I mumble, pulling the strings of my hoodie tighter, “she’s got like a hundred albums now. Are we sure she’s not some immortal witch?”
“She’s just a talented queen,” Ezra replies, deadly serious. “You just don’t understand art.”
Talia rolls her eyes so hard I’m worried she might dislocate them, if that’s at all possible.
My shoes crunch along the frosted path, the laughter from my friends fading into a dull hum as an unsettling feeling slides down my spine.
Like a thread being pulled, a warning I can’t quite place.
It starts as just a little prickle, but it quickly turns into a heavyweight.
The air turns too thick, like something’s pressing heavily on my chest—and that’s when I realise it.
Eyes. Staring. Not just one or two. Dozens, maybe more.
I scan the courtyard and notice heads are turned, and whispers are passing like currents through the air.
A girl in a pink beanie mutters something to her friend and, immediately, they look at me.
Their expressions twist into curiosity, then something like pity, but even that quickly shifts to a judgemental, almost disgusted look. My stomach sinks.
“Am I going insane,” I mutter, folding my arms tightly over my chest, “or are people actually staring at me?”
Talia and Ezra freeze in their tracks, sharing a guilty look between them. One I do not like in the slightest.
Ezra clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. “So, uh… Daze. Something happened.”
I stop walking, my breath catching like a hook in my throat. “What?”
Talia bites her lip, her eyes soft, but I can see the panic in them. “The police report about Ethan… it got leaked.”
“What?” I gasp. “What do you mean leaked?”
Ezra shoves his hands into his pockets, clearly bracing himself. “It’s in the paper. Online. It says he died not long after… after sexually assaulting his girlfriend at the time. It named you, Daze.”
The ground disappears, the sky presses in. My blood drains so fast I think I might actually pass out. My ears ring with the kind of high-pitched noise that usually comes before total collapse.
My name. My name, plastered on headlines, linked with Ethan, linked with violence, with pain. With everything. I didn’t want the world to know. Not like this, not ever.
“How… how are they even allowed to release that information?” I whisper, my voice thin and shaky.
“I don’t know,” Talia answers, stepping closer and placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
No. No, I’m not okay. I’m not even close to okay. I feel exposed, picked apart, like someone reached into my ribcage and flipped everything inside out for the world to examine. But I can’t let them see that; nobody can see that.
I breathe, deep and slow. Let my spine straighten and pull out the mask I’ve worn since I was a kid. The sunshine mask, the one that makes people believe I’m fine, even when I’m absolutely, completely unravelling.
“Yeah,” I lie with a smile so fake it feels like broken glass. “It’s good that people know he was a piece of shit.”
Ezra gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like I just shot him. “Did our little Daisy Duke just swear?”
I force a laugh and elbow him in the ribs. “Shut up.”
We start walking again, the whispers sticking to me like static. I smile through all of it, because I have to. I’ve come too far, survived too much, to let Ethan win. He’s already taken enough; I won’t give him more.
“See you at practice later,” Ezra calls, blowing a kiss.
“Love you!” Talia echoes, linking arms with him as they veer off toward their class.
Unluckily for me, thanks to needing to catch up, Talia isn’t in this class with me.
I wave, watching them disappear. Once they’re out of sight, I pull my hood up and lower my head.
I keep it lowered as I walk through the main doors of the psychology building, trying to ignore the faces that glance at me and then quickly look away.
Some faces I catch glimpses of try to offer fake smiles, but most don’t bother.
Typically, my class is on the second floor, right at the back of the building. I move as fast as I can, my shoes echoing on the polished linoleum. My thoughts spiral with every step. Do they think I’m lying? Do they pity me, hate me? Do they think that I killed him?
I shove through the classroom door and spot an empty seat in the back, slipping into it like a shadow.
Professor Doyle starts the class without acknowledging me.
No forced “welcome back,” no questions, no eye contact.
I wonder if he saw the article. I wonder if he knows.
Part of me is grateful nobody has said anything directly, but the other part of me wants to scream.
I want someone to say it, to ask me what they’re all so desperate to know.
But I also just want to disappear, to melt into the floor and never be looked at again.
Funny isn’t it, the human brain. How it can want two things that are polar opposite to each other.
I sit through the whole lecture in silence.
My notes are messy, my handwriting barely legible.
The words just blur on the page, my pulse thrumming through me like a warning drum.
I don’t want to be the story people whisper about.
But I’ll continue to smile and shine. Because if I stop pretending I’m okay, I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way back.
Cheer practice that afternoon was brutal.
Not physically—though the burn in my legs was ungodly—but emotionally.
The kind of brutal that crawled beneath your skin and sat heavy on your chest. Every beat of the music felt too loud, every clap and stop and cheer a mockery of who I used to be.
I went through the motions like a wind-up doll, arms raised, legs kicking, mouth forming the right words at the right times.
But there was no soul in it, not anymore.
Because who the hell were we cheering for?
The football team? The one without the captain?
The one whose former star player raped me, then died?
The pitch looked the same—fresh-cut grass, white lines bright in the low winter sun—but I wasn’t the same girl standing on it. I felt like a ghost among the living, stuck in some alternate version of my life that I couldn’t crawl out of, no matter how frantically I tried.
When practice finally ends, I collapse onto the bleachers next to Ezra and Talia, gulping down water like my life depended on it.
My lungs sting, my thighs tremble, and my chest is unbearably tight.
Sweat glistens at my temples, and I can’t tell if I want to scream or run.
But I don’t have time to figure it out, regardless.
Because Jason Mahoney is walking directly my way.
Swaggering like he’s the star of something shitty teen drama, with a malicious glint to his grey-blue eyes.
“Hey, Daisy,” he says, loud enough that it makes my stomach drop. He wants attention for this, his predatory smirk confirming it. I brace myself, my heart pounding erratically.
“Uh… hey, Jason?” I manage, confusion in my tone laced with a hint of dread.
He steps closer, tilting his head like he’s about to offer me a compliment.
But the words that come out of his mouth make my blood turn to ice.
“Listen, I heard you’re not a virgin anymore.
You know, after putting out for Ethan.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
“So, I was wondering if you’d consider me next.
I’ve never had a bigger girl before. Or are you gonna scream rape if we fuck too? ”
Everything freezes. The air, the people around us… Me. I feel my soul leave my body, hovering somewhere above the bleachers, watching myself sit there and take the vile words being thrown at me.
Ezra’s voice cuts through the haze in my mind. “What the actual fuck?”
Talia doesn’t wait to respond. She launches herself over the row in front of us and punches him—hard.
There’s a satisfying crunch as Jason stumbles backward, blood pouring from his nose.
I watch as he wipes it with the back of his hand, glaring at me, despite Talia being the one who sucker punched him.