30. Daisy
DAISY
By Wednesday, all evidence of the rain and gloomy weather is gone, and in its place, the sun shines bright and taunting. I pull the pillow over my head. I’m all out of tears which is too bad because for once, I’d like to wail and scream instead of being shy, quiet Daisy.
The house is still. I haven’t seen or spoken to Violet since Saturday night.
Jane and Dahlia check on me at least once a day, but the only time I’ve left my room is to go to campus.
Violet’s either in her room with the door closed or not home.
It hurts to fight with her like this, but after everything that went down Saturday night, I don’t have the energy to hear her say, ‘I told you so’.
I haven’t spoken to Jordan either, though he’s texted and must have come by the house because I found a box of candy on the doorstep when I got back from class yesterday.
No note (I guess he figured the dozen of I’m sorry texts were enough), just the entire candy aisle of the gas station up the street.
The box is now shoved under my bed with all the other things I don’t know what to do with. Like my heart.
I meet Dahlia downstairs to walk to campus. We have a psychology class together this semester.
“Hi,” she greets me with the same tone you might use when approaching a wounded animal.
“Hey.” We start down the sidewalk. “Thanks for sending your notes from Monday. Mine were a mess.” Like me.
“You’re welcome. How are you doing?” She’s the only one who knows about Jordan. I ran into her when I came home Saturday night and broke down the second I saw her. I needed to tell someone so I could stop hoping it was only a bad dream.
“Okay. Terrible. Depends on the minute.”
The hockey team is out of town for an away game, but it doesn’t stop me from imagining him around every corner as we get to the heart of campus.
Every dark head of hair and backward hat makes my pulse spike and my stomach twist. He’s everywhere and nowhere, and I can’t decide which is more devastating.
“Have you talked to Violet yet?”
I don’t answer, but the cutting look I shoot her is all she needs.
“She’s hurting too. You should talk to her.”
“And hear her tell me how she was right? No thanks.”
“Come on. Vi wouldn’t do that.”
I’m not so sure. Not even sure I don’t deserve it. I thought what I had with Jordan was so different than whatever she’d had with Gavin. Untouchable even. That’s the problem with falling in love. It makes you feel invincible. Or maybe that’s just the problem with falling for someone like Jordan.
When class is over, I linger on campus, avoiding home.
I go to the bookstore and look around, but the Valley Hockey merch reminds me of him.
From there, I go to the art lab and pull out my sketchbook, but after forty-five minutes of holding my pencil to the pad, I haven’t summoned the desire to draw anything.
My creative muse is drowning her sorrows in a bottle of Fireball.
With no sanctuary in sight, I go back home. Sitting on the floor next to my bed, I reach under and carefully pull out the box of candy. I don’t open it, just stare at it, trying to picture Jordan tossing things inside.
I miss him, and I really, really hate that I do.
He knew I liked Liam and he deliberately kept us apart. I’m used to being overlooked or dismissed, and that hurts in its own kind of way. But being seen and not being good enough—that’s brutal.
I don’t even wish that Liam had asked me out, not anymore, but I hate that Jordan took that from me. It wasn’t his place. He did something he knew would hurt me and then he knowingly deceived me by throwing himself in front of Liam and pretending to need my help.
All those nights getting to know him that I’ve held so close to my heart. I can’t help but look back at every encounter and second-guess the things he said and did. How could he do that? How could he kiss me and say such sweet things without telling me?
I’m mad at him, but I’m mad at myself too. I ignored all thoughts that we didn’t make sense together. Did I really think the hottest player on campus was spending all that time with me because he genuinely liked me? The ache in my chest gives me my answer.
Leaving the box untouched, I go downstairs and out into the back yard.
The music is going next door, and voices carry over the fence.
It’s early, and the party isn’t at full volume, but it drowns out my footsteps as I cross the yard to the tree house.
My favorite place is ruined with memories that make me feel like a fool.
My chest lifts and falls as my breaths quicken. My steps are slow and measured, my body trembling. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him.
I love him.
My fingers wrap around the ladder. I squeeze the wood and pull, wishing I could tear the whole thing down with my bare hands. It doesn’t budge.
This close to the fence, I can hear the party more clearly—the laughter, the happy chatter, and drunken squeals of delight.
I grip the ladder until my knuckles turn white and my palms sting. And then I open my mouth, and I scream.
I scream until my throat is raw and no sound is left.
I scream until I’m me again. Quiet Daisy.