Daisy.

I walked into my house and shut my door behind me giddily, humming as I set my things down. I peeked out the window and blew a kiss at him, waving him away in the window. I sighed as his car pulled away, walking into my bedroom.

I sat on the edge of my bed and kicked my shoes off, flicking on the TV for background noise. I felt hungry as I checked my messages, holding the phone up to my ear. I pottered into the kitchen, searching for something to eat. I had to throw away all of my leftovers, seeing as they had spoiled in my absence, and start new. I settled on making some macaroni and cheese, letting the noodles boil as I lightly cleaned around the apartment. It felt nice to be home, away from all the craziness in New York City, but I still felt kind of lonely without Dash.

It didn’t make any sense.

What happened at the hotel the night before shouldn’t have happened, but I couldn’t make myself regret it, at all. Mostly because he was uncannily good at it—how on earth did he get so good at it?—but that was beside the point. Why did I let it happen? Why didn’t I push him away and tell him not to and that it just couldn’t happen? I wasn’t saying that he forced me, because he didn’t, but it still felt like everything was moving too fast and like I was losing control of everything.

I wanted it back.

I thought I was in control, but I obviously wasn’t.

But if losing control felt that good—and I imagined that maybe it could feel even better—with him, of all people, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. And it wasn’t like he was so bad, and for some reason he seemed to see something in me that I was pretty sure wasn’t there, and he was just good and trustworthy and—wait, what? What was I saying? I rubbed my face, shaking my head. I couldn’t trust anyone, not at all—not anymore—and what happened at the hotel was a fluke that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

I couldn’t trust anyone, not even Dash. I hadn’t, not for a long time, and I thought I was happy that way. Trusting him was something I found myself doing easily despite all my reservations, and I didn’t know why. My problem was that he was so charming and disarming and wonderful and pure and good and sweet and kind and I couldn’t make myself say no to him. Most of the time, I didn’t even want to.

Why was I freaking out? It wasn't like we had sex, right? He still saw things he shouldn't have seen but it was okay because he could work wonders with his fingers and tongue. Wow. I shook my head. That still shouldn't have happened. It wasn't like he forced me or anything, but I still think I may have jumped the gun.

Just a little.

But what was I supposed to do? The article was stressing me out big time and I was tired, and he was there, all himself, and I just couldn't help it. It was a one time thing. I got it out of my system. Good.

Shaking my head with a sigh, I poured the cheesy noodles into a green bowl and poured myself a glass of water, shuffling along to my room. I got up, walking to the kitchen to get a fork as the first and only voicemail in my inbox played. I leaned against the counter, picking at my nails.

It was silent at first, and all I could hear was something rustling against the phone, like wind or something. I frowned, thinking it was just another hang up—I was getting a lot of those as of late for some odd reason—until someone spoke, voice soft and poignant and scared and so familiar I could have fainted.

“H-Hi, Daisy. It’s, uh, well, me. Hope you haven’t forgotten me yet, though if you did, I-I can’t say it’d surprise me. I-I—I just—I need to talk—we—we need to talk, please. I miss you and I need to s-see you,” Valentina wept, her voice shaky and thick as she cried quietly for a few moments. “P-Please call me back.”

I almost dropped my phone as she hung up, feeling weak and scared and just sick as I sunk to the floor, hearing someone ringing the doorbell. I couldn’t even pick myself up, I felt so horrible. If it had been Dash or Marina or even Valentina, they would have knocked, not rung the bell. Whoever it was left after that. I hung up my phone idly, holding my knees to my chest in an attempt not to fall to pieces.

It was my fault.

All of it was my fault.

If I had just been better, stronger, quicker, braver—just more, period, things wouldn’t have happened the way they did. Valentina would be okay and I’d be okay and we’d be okay, together. But I wasn’t better or strong or brave or quick—no, I was cowardly and spineless and lost and let her get carried away and ruined. It was me, it was all me. If I had just half a backbone, maybe Valentina wouldn’t be as messed up as she was. But I didn’t have a backbone, not even a teensy tiny trace of one, and Valentina was as messed up as messed up could be.

The tears came hard and fast, choking me as I struggled to breathe and relax, fighting against myself. I wanted to convince myself that it wasn’t my fault and that we were both grown and we made our own decisions, but when I heard her sound so sad and empty and broken, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. The happiness from my trip finally dissipated and gave way to gut-wrenching sadness. I sat and cried on the floor for what felt like forever, but it was really more like the better part of an hour. I dragged myself up shakily, grabbing a fork and stumbled to my room. I sat down and tried to eat, but couldn’t.

Valentina probably hadn’t eaten in days.

I pushed the food away, trying to breathe. I just needed to relax. Maybe a shower could help. Maybe. With shaky limbs I walked to closet and turned on the light, looking for something to change into after my shower. I threw my pajamas on the bed, sitting down once again.

I would have called her, but she usually called me from payphones and I doubted she was hanging around there waiting for me to call back. I pulled myself to the bathroom and turned the water on as hot as it went, stepping inside.

I was a mess, but Valentina was worse.

And it was my fault.

It happened before I could even stop myself, five thin pink lines trailing ruby red down my thighs, swirling in the drain. I stared at them numbly, trying to breathe as the water and soap stung the fresh wounds. I didn’t feel any better, and so I finished bathing stepped out, cuts stinging. I brushed my teeth, slipped my underwear and shorts up my legs, then pulled on a sweater. I wrapped my arms around myself and sighed.

I missed Valentina, but I couldn’t have her in my life, not like that, all strung out and high. That person wasn’t my sister, and that’s the only person I wanted back. She was the only person I could trust, but when she did things like that, it felt like I had no one left.

Not a soul.

I curled up into a ball in bed, pulling my knees up to my chest, ignoring the pain that flickered on my inner thigh. I changed the channel to a courtroom drama, hoping to be lulled to sleep by the late night commercials.

I didn’t deserve it, any of it, Dash or Marina or Sunny or anyone, not when Valentina was suffering the way she was.

I spent the next day in bed, only getting up to take a shower and nibble on a sandwich before putting it in the fridge and curling back up under my sheets. I turned my phone off, not wanting to hear from anyone but Valentina, but I severely doubted she’d call me so soon.

The day after that was much of the same, but I did work a little bit on my article. I was trying hard not to think about everything and everyone, but failed miserably, memories playing on a continuous, tortuous loop. I turned on my phone, seeing that I had missed calls from Marina and Phoebe, but those went ignored. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth when it rang, an unfamiliar number popping up on the screen. I spat out the white paste and rinsed out my mouth before I answered it, gnawing on my lip.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Daisy? It—It’s me,” she stammered.

“Hey,” I answered hesitantly, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes and fall in streams down my face, throat thick, chest heavy, fingers shaky and clammy.

“What’s the matter, reina?” she asked. I smiled at the pet name, feeling warm and sick all at the same time. She sounded worried about me, and for a moment, the tables were reversed, and she was helping me instead of me helping her. I felt like throwing up. It was wrong, it was all wrong and I— “Are you crying?”

“N-No,” I lied, hiccupping. “Where are you? Are you okay? Do you need something?”

“I—I can’t talk very long, Daisy.”

“Where are you?” I asked, desperate to know, just for my own peace of mind, so I wouldn’t have to worry about her and where she was and if they were treating her okay.

“I’m okay,” she soothed. “Dry your eyes, baby. I’m okay.”

“Where are you?” I needed to know. It kept me up at night, and all I wanted to know was if she was okay and eating and warm and dry.

And sober.

Sober would have been nice too.

“Shoot—I—I gotta go,” she rushed out.

“Valentina!” I exclaimed.

“Shh, Daisy, I’m okay. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whimpered, wiping at my nose with a shaky hand, feeling like I had just gone back a few years and we were back in our old house and she was telling me that I’d be okay because I loved her and she loved me and we’d be alright one day.

But we obviously weren’t.

“Bye.”

“Valentina!” I exclaimed as she hung up.

I cried myself to sleep after turning off my phone and throwing it across the room.

The next morning didn’t bring any sort of reprieve. In fact, I felt even worse than I had the evening before. I slept straight through the alarm. I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, and left with two new additions to my collection on my left wrist, then dressed. I pulled a t-shirt and leggings on, shuffling into the kitchen. I made myself some coffee and drank some, closing my eyes against a fresh round of tears.