Chapter 9 Daisy - Thank you, August.
The Journal of Daisy D. Stiles - Thirteen years ago
An unfortunate altercation happened today.
That’s exactly how Principal Rosewood described August body-slamming Ben Caponi into a locker after he tried to slap my ass in the hallway.
Everything happened really fast. One minute, I was walking from History to Geometry, minding my own business.
Next thing I knew, Ben’s nasty Hot Cheeto breath was in my face.
He was whispering how good I looked in my yoga pants, but my vision went black and my ears started ringing after that.
I was busy trying to do my breathing exercises Dr. Saltore taught me for anytime I’m feeling cornered or stuck.
Those breathing exercises didn’t do shit. But the sound of Ben’s body ricocheting off metal sure did the trick to snap me out of my impending panic attack.
August had Ben pinned, and he was seething. I watched Ben struggle to get a mouthful of oxygen in. A second later about four teachers pulled them apart and marched all three of us to the main office.
Mr. Rosewood asked what happened. I recounted the sequence of events in a monotone voice that felt nothing like my own. After Mr. Rosewood expressed how unfortunate this situation was, I was sent to guidance.
I wanted to thank August, but I never got the chance.
I’ll admit, the day wasn’t bad.
We all definitely had a blast setting up our tent sites, and when the guys scattered to collect wood for the fire, Margot, Red, and I got to unpacking the food prep to get ready for the dinner we’d be making over said fire.
Real stereotypical camping shit.
But like I said. It wasn’t bad. It was actually kind of fun.
We’ve had music going and conversation flowing.
Gus and I have managed to keep a safe distance between us with glances to a minimum.
I still remember too vividly what it felt like to have him inside me.
And with the way I caught him shaking his head at me earlier, it seems he’s having a difficult time not recalling the same memory.
I got some content I can use for the riverside, and Gus, true to his word, didn't object. Probably because it required minimal effort on his part. But hey, a win is a win.
But now it’s the middle of the night, everyone is safely passed out in their tents, and I’m laying on the rock solid dirt of the fucking earth because the air mattress I found stowed away in the attic at my parents’ house deflated an hour ago.
As you can tell, things don’t seem as though they can get much worse. Until I let out a frustrated breath and hear the unzipping of a tent nearby.
I pause, hoping it’s just someone up to use the bathroom. The heavy footsteps headed my way clue me in before Gus makes himself known outside my tent.
“What’s going on? I’ve been listening to you fucking hem and haw for an hour now,” he gruffly whispers.
“Bet if you smother yourself with a pillow the silence would be bliss,” I offer sarcastically.
“Open up,” he demands, ignoring my suggestion.
“No.”
“Open the fucking door, Daze.”
Should I remind him it’s a literal tent? He could easily rip the flimsy material and get what he wants, but for some reason he stays firmly on the other side. I huff and sit up, throwing my blankets to the side. I lean over and jerk the zipper up so it flaps open.
I look up to see Gus is standing in front of me in a wide stance with his arms across his chest and a scowl on his face.
Gus’s hair is perfectly rumpled. He has one of his classic maroon flannels open over a plain white T-shirt and tantalizing grey sweatpants stretched across his thighs.
They do absolutely nothing to hide every massive piece of August Burton.
His work boots are untied, the laces dangling on the ground.
I fight to not suck in a breath. God, he’s a vision right now. The coals from our earlier fire are still lit and glowing a dull red in the pit behind him. The full moon is showing off, casting down a light onto our site in a way only a place in the middle of nowhere like this could offer.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Gus snaps me out of my oggling. Jesus Christ, I need to get it together.
“I’m fine. Well, I was until you practically banged down my door.”
Gus peers behind me, into the tent, and his frown lines deepen. “What happened to your mattress?”
I pointlessly try to shift my weight to block his view.
I pull on my oversized crewneck to try to cover my bare thighs.
It might be the end of September and cold as shit outside, but I still can’t sleep with pants on.
I obviously regret that now. “Nothing. I told you, I’m fine. Besides, it’s none of your business.”
Gus’s eyes linger for a moment on my exposed skin, and I fight a shiver that’s not from the dropping temperature. “You can’t sleep on the ground.”
You know, I somehow forgot this fact about Gus over the years of distance. He can get tunnel vision speedy quick. Once he gets something in his head, it’s really hard to get him off that track. So I know that now that he knows I’m put out, he’s going to try to fix it. Even though he hates me.
“I’ll manage,” I lamely offer.
He exhales and looks up at the night sky. “Daisy.” The breath of my name causes a prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
I hear the stirring of someone in one of the tents only feet away from us, reminding me we’re not the only two out here. “Go back to your tent, Gus. We don’t need to wake everyone else up.”
“Oh, I’ll be sure everyone here knows you’re refusing help. Let’s see where that gets you.”
“You wouldn’t,” I seethe.
“Just let me blow the air mattress back up, and I’ll be gone in two minutes. We can pretend this whole thing never happened.”
“You can’t,” I tell him.
“I have my pump. Let me go grab it.” Gus turns, but I stop him before he takes a step.
“Don’t bother. There’s a hole the size of a fucking donut. The mattress is as dead as a doornail,” I admit.
Gus’s head rotates towards me again. I don’t look to meet his eyes in embarrassment.
He once again sighs, and it sounds like almost all of the fight in him leaves with it.
“Listen. It’s like, one-thirty in the morning.
I want to sleep. I’m sure you want to sleep, even though you’re being a stubborn pain in the ass.
” He pauses, but I still say nothing. “Please.” It comes out pained.
“Get up, and let’s go. And for fuck’s sake, put some pants on.
You’re gonna get sick,” he chastises me.
I bite my lower lip, trying to think of any other reasonable and logical solution for my situation. I come up with nothing.
“It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice,” I say.
I’m surprised when Gus lowers himself into a squat in front of me. I focus on the noodle-like shoelaces of his boots. His voice sounds like gravel. “You always have a choice. I’m asking you to take my tent, and I’ll sleep in my truck.”
That was…oddly, extremely nice. And confusing.
And kind of exactly the kind of thing I needed to hear.
“That’s not fair,” I argue. But at the same time, I reach back and grab my pillow, snatching my blanket along with it.
I find my discarded sweatpants and quickly push my legs through, shimmying them up over my hips.
“I won’t make you uncomfortable, Daisy.”
“And I don’t want to put you out,” I counter while exiting my tent and silently saying goodbye to my useless air mattress. “Listen, I appreciate this. I do. I’m good to sleep on one side, if you promise to stay on yours. I’m…I’m okay with that.”
I mean it, too. Throughout the years, I’ve given up on searching for the answer to why August Burton, of all people, is the exception to the rules my mind and body have made.
Gus searches my face for any hint of hesitation. He must find what he’s looking for because he nods once and then stalks back towards his big blue tent. He really would sleep crammed up in his old truck just to make sure I’m not stuck in a position I can’t mentally handle.
I don’t know how to feel about that.
Gus waits outside of his tent, gesturing for me to enter first. When I kick off my boots and flop inside, I toss my pillow and blanket to the furthest left corner of the space, and crawl over the air mattress that’s so big it takes up about every square inch of this tent.
“Damn, is this a king size?” I ask, moreso to myself.
But Gus still responds as he enters and zips the front of the tent closed behind him. “It’s not like I’m really fitting on anything less.”
I’m hit against my will with the image of August trying to contort his massive build onto my pitiful full-sized bed that still occupies my room at my parents’ house. I chuckle and the next words that fall out of my mouth also feel against my will. “Remember that time when—” I freeze.
“I remember,” Gus says quietly. The silence hangs, and it’s so painful to attempt to sit through.
“We should get some sleep,” I attempt to recover.
He shakes his head, almost as if he’s shaking the memory out of his mind. Memories of days when it wasn’t a battle to share space. Times when the mere thought of one another brought us both a sense of peace. It’s funny how that works.
Gus finally lays down beside me. He grabs one of the pillows from behind his head and places it between us.
If I wanted to start an argument about how that’s immature and unnecessary, I could.
But for once, I don’t. I don’t want to spoil the moment.
He and I both know the real reason for the barrier.
I roll over, putting my back to Gus and mumble some form of a goodnight. I barely hear his reply as my eyes close and sleep finds me.
Rustling wakes me a lot sooner than I planned when I drifted off earlier. It’s still pitch black out when I crack one eye open. I quickly sit up when I realize the rustling noise is closer than I had originally thought.