Chapter 23
The Journal of Daisy D. Stiles - Twelve years ago
They forgot my birthday. Or just decided they didn’t need to bother with acknowledging it.
Again.
Thanks a heap, Mom & Dad!
Then again, I think my dad has forgotten my entire existence. Or he’s trying to. Probably less painful for him. That’s nice for him.
Sometimes I’d like to forget my entire existence, too.
The thing with depression is that some days, you forget it’s there. You don’t remember that nasty, dark, lingering feeling in the back of your brain that’s ready to pounce at any given moment. You experience real joy, and you find comfort in people and places that matter in the best kind of way.
And then you wake up the next morning with the inability to find a reason to keep going. You feel weighed down by hundreds of bricks. You wade through a never-ending fog, searching for your purpose.
You find a million and one reasons why waking up the next morning doesn’t feel worth it, and you cling with all of the hope in the Goddamn world to the one reason to stay. Because you do want to stay. You just don’t want it to feel like it’s always going to be this hard.
Why bother?
What is this even all for?
How can it get better?
It’s all-consuming and finding that one tether of hope and light to cling onto feels like the world’s most impossible task.
There’s no cure. You just cope.
I’ve been coping, in a way I would deem acceptable, for quite some time now. So it shouldn’t be a surprise to me that I’ve hit a snafu in my journey. The only problem is, I’m finding it difficult to pull myself out of this bed, and I don’t know how I’m going to explain that to August.
August, who woke up before the sun. August, who kissed the top of my head when he thought I was still sleeping. August, who—above all else—cannot see me broken like this.
I remove the pillow from my face and let my eyes adjust to the blinding light coming from the windows. I do some breathing exercises and run through my list of prepositions. A Dr. Saltore-approved tool.
About, above, across, after, against, among, around, at…
I get my bearings and attempt to sit up, falling back into the pillows almost immediately. I huff in frustration with myself, angry at my brain and my body for constantly failing me.
Maybe I don’t have to explain shit to anyone. Maybe I can just let myself become one with this mattress, sink into nothingness, and disappear.
That’d be nice.
It’d give me a break, for once. I wouldn’t have to think about how fucking screwed up I am. That no matter how much time passes, it never seems to get better. I don’t have to harp on the fact that I just keep figuring out new ways to hide it all, no one around me noticing.
No one except August. But I think I’ve pacified his worries enough over the last few days.
I hear the front door open below me, and I dive back under the comforter. Gus must have come back for something, something he forgot before heading to work. His lunch maybe? I’m sure there’s no reason for him to come back up here.
I should’ve stayed in the spare room. It was dumb of me to selfishly want to sleep in his bed.
Giant footsteps coming up the staircase force me to come to terms with the fact that quite literally nothing ever goes the way I need it to.
“Daze?” Gus calls, rapping his knuckles on his own bedroom door before entering.
I don’t answer. I don’t think I can. There are no words to be found.
“Daisy,” Gus attempts again.
One knock.
Then two.
I hear him sigh on the other side of the door. I can’t imagine how frustrating this must be for him, having someone he tolerates at best taking up space in his house—his bed—who now won’t even pull herself together enough to acknowledge him when he calls.
I’ll just wait until he can’t take it anymore and throws me out. Then I’ll figure out my next plan to achieve nothingness. I’ll figure out a how-to on becoming an inanimate object, void of emotions and feelings and pasts too fucked up to overcome.
“I gotta open the door, Daze. I saw the signs last night before we went to sleep. I know what kind of day today is for you. I woke up earlier to get my work done as fast as I could to get back here. I’m not leaving.”
He…what? I peel the blanket down an inch to get eyes on the bedroom door as it slowly creaks open.
Gus’s head pokes in, and my eyes well with tears seeing the dark circles under his eyes.
His forehead is coated in sweat, probably from doing too much in such a short amount of time to get back to me before something bad happens.
His hair is standing up straight in some places, and is just plain messy in others.
He’s exhausted. Being around me, dealing with me, is exhausting.
“Hi, darling,” he says softly. Gently.
Gus remains in the doorway.
I don’t deserve the patience he’s reserved for me.
“If you give me like, five minutes, I’ll be out of your hair,” I say through the sheets, my words muffled.
“You’re not going anywhere, and neither am I.” Gus pushes the door so it opens. He steps into his bedroom, closes the door, and sinks to the floor. “No one’s gonna bother us today, Daze. It’s just me and you, okay?”
God, he’s talking to me like I’m a baby deer.
I have to push him away, scare him so he runs for the hills. No one should be subjected to my company.
“I stay here for sex. I promise you I’m not delivering in that department today, so I might as well—”
“Save it, Daisy,” he snaps.
“What?” I ask, taken aback by his tone.
“You’re about to spout off some bullshit, and I’m here for just about anything with you today, I really am.
But I’m not about to sit and listen to you lie to my face.
You stay here because you’re safe. Because you know—” Gus stops.
I need him to finish. I need to know what else could possibly come after.
“You know this is more than sex.”
“What?” I drag myself up to sit against the headboard. “No, this is…We’re just…”
“Did I fuck you last night?” Gus cuts off my train of thought.
“No,” I admit.
“And yet, here you are, in my bed.”
“Yeah, but…”
Gus, with his hulking, oversized body, crawls the feet between the door and the bed, and positions himself on his knees by my side. He rests his forearms on the mattress, just out of reach. He blows out a breath that sounds like he’d been holding it in for a while.
“Let me in, Daze. Let me in your head. I’ll do anything.”
My hands shake as I twist the corner of the blanket around my fingers. August knows…things. He has a general idea of what happened to me, what could cause this kind of mood, or whatever you want to call it. And why, I guess, I am the way I am.
Or he did. Kind of. I never fully let him in like he’s asking, and maybe he forgot the pieces I gave him over time.
I wouldn’t blame him. I don’t want this shit either.
Dr. Saltore used to ask about my circle of trust. Who did I count on outside the walls of his office to help me carry the weight of my feelings? I always answered with no one.
I had one fleeting period of time where if Dr. Saltore had asked just once more, I would have said August. I thought maybe, just maybe, his dark and stormy matched mine in a way that could handle this.
After things fell apart, or rather, disintegrated, I told myself I’d never have false hope like that again.
Grappling with the idea of going back on that promise to myself, I chance another look at Gus. So many emotions swirl through his eyes and yet, I feel like I can pick out each and every single one. It’s so easy for me to read him when he looks at me like this.
He’s not Gus, my enemy.
He’s just…He’s my August.
My decision is made in the next second. I close my eyes to gather the courage to finally hand a tiny bit of trust to someone other than myself.
“It’s been eighteen years,” I begin quietly.
“Today marks eighteen years, and I still can’t bear the thought of existing when this day rolls around.
The other three hundred and sixty-four days could be downright perfect, not a single flaw.
But I look at the calendar and spot November twenty-eighth and suddenly, nothing else matters.
It’s me in that room with him, and there’s no escape. ”
Gus remains silent, but the change in the air is obvious. His back sits ramrod straight, and I notice him trying like hell to not clench his fists. He doesn’t want to seem phased. He wants to hide all of those emotions, not realizing I see him. Probably like he sees me.
“Some years I try to distract myself, like I can trick my brain. And it always works for a little, just long enough for me to think I might actually have a shot at being a normal person. Someone who didn’t—Someone who wasn’t—” I choke back a sob.
“Damn it!” I yell, all of my resolve falling away into nothing. I swipe at my soaked cheeks, tears continuing to spill down my face. “I’m so fucking broken,” I say into the comforter as I cover myself again.
“Daisy,” Gus prompts. “Daisy, look at me. Please.”
I don’t give in to the request.
“Can I touch you?” he asks. I feel a dip in the mattress as he puts weight on it.
I blindly reach my hand out, and when my fingers connect with his warm skin, I pull. Gus picks up exactly what I’m saying without words and moves onto the bed, wrapping me up in his arms. The next thing I know, he’s pulling the comforter up until he’s underneath with me.
My crying doesn’t relent, and I don’t feel moved to try to make it stop like I normally would. If this wasn’t the worst possible timing ever, I’d laugh at the sight of the two of us basically making a fort in August’s bed.
“I’m not going to tell you how you feel. But if you think you’re broken, I’ll carry all of the pieces.” He rubs the length of my arm, up and down, soothing me.
“I don’t want to carry this anymore.”
“Then give it to me,” he urges.