Daisy.

I woke up to sunny skies and humid breezes, much like I did every other morning. I stared out the bare window, looking blankly at the houses across the streets. I wrapped the thin white blankets around myself as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I shut off the alarm as I got out of bed, leaving the blankets behind. Even though I didn’t have a job that required me to report to an office every day, I did try to follow a routine, just so I could feel a teensy bit normal.

It helped.

Sometimes.

I made my way to my dresser and closet, picking through as I looked for something to wear. I threw a t-shirt and shorts and my usual flannel on the bed, along with the blanket, then went to the bathroom to take a shower.

Normally showers made me feel kind of calm and relaxed, but for some reason I just couldn’t. I felt tense and wound up, but I couldn’t figure out why. I stood underneath the warm spray of water, closing my eyes. I even started counting as I washed my hair and body, but that didn’t do anything either. I stayed there until the warm water quickly tuned ice cold. Huffing, I turned it off, stepping out and grasping blindly until my fingers curled around the towel rack and quickly snatched the cloth away, wrapping it around myself. Snuggling into it, I dried off as I walked to my room, making a face at the bright sun shining through the window.

I dressed slowly and sat down on my bed as I pulled on my sandals, trying to think of what I could do for the day. Maybe I could paint a little, I thought, pulling myself up with a light sigh. I wandered into my living room and sat down at my easel. I started dabbing paint onto my old, worn color palette, not stopping until I had all the colors I needed, bright pinks and blues and yellows.

When I looked around for something to paint, I spotted my library books on the floor next to the couch, stacked in a haphazard heap. I figured that I might as well return them. They were late anyway and I’d just forget to do it if I didn’t do it then. After I hunted down my shoes and sunglasses, I shoved the books in my backpack and went on my way.

My plan was a simple one—I’d go inside, return my late books to Marjorie, one of the few people I could talk to without turning into a stuttering mess, explain my issue—there is none, not one that applies here anyway, except for the fact that I tend to forget things sometimes—pay the fine—some three or four dollars, I guessed—then go upstairs, curl up in a nice chair or something, and then finally, I’d make a mad dash to check out the books I wanted to read. Maybe I’d even get some take out on the way home.

It was so nice outside that I didn’t even take the bus and instead walked, just so I could enjoy the summer sun on my skin. Maybe going out wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe. So far, it was actually turning out to be kind of fun. Sort of, if you don’t count what happened on the way home.

It wasn’t long before I was in front of the library, free and expansive and lovely, trying to keep the smile off of my face as I walked in.

I looked down to pull the books out of my bag, making sure I hadn’t forgotten any. One of the nicer librarians, Marge, was sitting with her back to me, talking to one of the women who worked in the children’s fiction section animatedly about something. I approached the desk after she left, setting my books down on the wooden counter.

“Hi, Daisy,” she said breezily, beaming up at me as she readjusted her thick glasses. “What’ve we got here?” Marge pulled the books towards her with a light huff, sighing as she swiveled to the computer to check the books back in.

“How much do I owe you?” I asked when she finished, pulling out my change purse.

“You don’t owe me anything this time,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head.

“But they’re overdue—”

“Forget about it, okay? I’ve got something for you.” She grinned at me, getting something from underneath the desk. She popped back up, wriggling her eyebrows as she pulled a new stack of books up. “We got some new Palahniuk…” I smiled, biting my lip. “And some new Green and more Vonnegut.” She pushed the stack at me with a cheesy grin. “I thought you’d call first dibs, so I saved some for you, Daisy.”

I couldn’t contain myself as I grabbed the books, rushing out a quick, quiet, “Thank you!”

If there was one thing I loved, it was reading. It helped me get my mind off of things, kept me somewhere else, intertwined and invested in the tales on the pages. It helped. Sometimes.

Up I went, curling up in one of the blue chairs next to the large windows that spanned from ceiling to floor. I set the other books on the floor and picked up the one on top, Fight Club. A familiar favorite, I thought as I settled comfortably into the chair. Unfortunately, I could only read for about an hour or so before I heard a loud thunderclap. Frowning, I peeked out the window, only to see that the city outside was being washed out by the storm. With a sigh, I grabbed the rest of the books and backpack, heading down the stairs quickly. Hopefully, I’d catch a bus before it got too bad outside. My wrists itched as I made my way to the checkout desk downstairs.

I couldn’t scratch so I wouldn’t, even if I was dying to.

I set my books down and sighed, going through my bag. Where was my card? I frowned, biting my lip.

“Peachy?” My frowned deepened as I looked up, confused, only to tense up and feel like I couldn’t breathe when I saw the guy from the bus. The completely disarming stranger who just struck conversations with other strangers because he could. I felt myself go rigid as he gave me a simple half grin, laughing. He grabbed my books, checking them out for me, oblivious. Since when had he worked here? Why hadn’t I seen him around before? He must have started working there recently. Otherwise I would have noticed him before. Or maybe he just worked in the sections I didn’t frequent very often.

How did this happen?

“Uh… h-hi,” I managed to choke out, eyes wide. I looked back down, hoping to hide behind my hair as I looked through my bag, trying to find my card. I started to empty out my bag on the desk, scowling a little and feeling just a moderate inkling of panic as I rushed to find it. I spotted the old wallet at the bottom of my bag and with a sigh of relief, I dug the card out and placed my things back where they belonged.

He brushed my fingertips with his as he took the card. As if it was even possible, my body went even more stiff, anxious and nervous. I didn’t understand why it was happening, but it wasn’t and I didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“Is this everything?”

“Y-Yeah.” He stamped the time cards and pushed them back at me, telling me that they’d be due in three weeks. “Okay. T-Thanks.” I grabbed them and shoved them in my bag, glancing up as the lights started to flicker, thunder booming outside.

I rushed through the doors, quickly soaked by the pouring rains. Huffing, I wrapped my flannel around my body tightly, looking down the street. Where was a taxi when I needed one? I shivered, shoving my hands in my shorts pockets. It wasn’t the best day to wear them, but it wasn’t like I could wear long pants in Phoenix without dying from a heat stroke. I had to keep cool somehow. I walked underneath the sign, sticking close to the door.

I looked down at my phone, waiting for a quick lull in the storm so I could run out and catch a bus. At some point, I thought to myself, I should probably invest in a car, but considering how easily startled I was, that wasn’t the best idea. The door open and shut and I jumped a little, surprised.

He was wearing a jean jacket and a grey hoodie underneath, pulling up the hood of it with his car keys in his left hand. I prayed and prayed that he wouldn’t see me and would just go—because he seemed like the type to say something about my standing there and I was pretty sure I’d just make a fool out myself once again if we did start talking.

I itched at the thought.

“Going somewhere?” I looked up from my rain speckled screen, ready to tell him that I was fine and that I was just waiting for someone, or something, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. My cheeks blossomed pink, embarrassed as I nodded shyly. “Aren’t you cold? C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.”

“N-No, really, I’m okay, I’m just waiting for the bus that usually comes around the corner. It should be here any second.” I smiled a little and he frowned, confused.

“I don’t think that bus runs until six today.” Of course it didn’t. Maybe I should start staying inside more often.

“Oh…” I felt the color drain out of my face, tensing up again as I rubbed my wrist against my wet shirt. “Well, um… it’s really not that far of a walk, I’ll be okay.”

“You sure? It’s supposed to rain all day.”

“Yeah.” I pulled at my sleeves in an attempt to not pick at my wrists, balling them up in my clammy palms. “I’m—” A rattling round of thunder cut me off. “—fine,” I finished quietly. He raised an eyebrow at me. “I guess I’ll take you up on that ride.” I followed him quietly, trying to convince myself that he was just friendly—which I guess he kind of was—and being a good person. There wasn’t anything wrong with that and I’d be fine. This kind of thing happened all the time and it was okay.

I’d be okay. Hopefully.

“Excuse the mess,” he said, laughing a little as we reached his little green car. “It’s not normally like this.” There were books and pens and crushed coffee cups and CD cases littering the backseat, along with the occasional sweater and t-shirt. I sat in the front seat, a shivering mess as he turned on the heat, fogging up the windows. I glanced over at him as he wiped down the side mirror, the ID card dangling from his neck telling me his name was Dash and he went to Arizona State University.

Dash.

I wanted to ask if it was short for anything or if that was just his name—Dash—but I didn’t want to seem any stranger than I probably already did.

The radio played too quietly for me to figure out if I knew what it was as he tossed his things in the backseat, waiting for the car to heat up. The wipers furiously rubbed the windows dry, only to have them grow wet and blurry again. I looked down at my lap, quickly inspecting everything inside my bag. I hadn’t forgotten anything, thankfully, and nothing had gotten wet either.

I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.

We pulled out into the downtown traffic and sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes. I made a concentrated effort to just breathe, snippets of our conversation just days ago slipping into my mind. I set my bag down at my feet, and then pushed my wet hair off my shoulders. I felt jittery and restless and nervous, which is never a good mix, especially around strangers. I tried not to think about my predicament and instead focused on rubbing my wrists together to relax. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about it.

“So, where exactly do you want me to take you?”

“Tempe, please,” I said softly, looking down at my lap. “It’s far, I know, so if you can’t, it’s okay. You can just drop me somewhere and I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said lightly, leaning forward to peer into traffic.

We slipped back into our silence. It wasn’t like I didn’t want to talk or make some attempt at conversation, but it was just kind of hard to, and adding the fact that I literally knew nothing about him, save for the fact that he worked at the library and was a student, didn’t make it any easier.

Nervously, I tried to wrack my brain for conversation topics, struggling to find something to talk about. The silence was eating away at me. Anxious wrists rubbed at the old jeans, fingers picking at the fraying hems.

“So, you, um, work at the library?” I asked, feeling lamer and lamer as the words left my mouth. Out of all the questions I could have asked, really? Wasn’t it obvious? He smiled a little, nodding.

“It’s part of my work-study deal with college.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s quiet and nothing ever really happens, so I have some extra time to study.”

“What are you studying?” He wanted to be a teacher (“Hopefully,” he added bashfully) and I told him about how I thought about it when I was younger, but I didn’t think I had the patience to deal with a classroom of unruly kids all day. I wanted to travel, so I did.

A lot.

I wrote articles about my trips. The magazine I worked for paid me well enough that I only had to go on a trip every two or three months, and most of the time, they paid for my travel expenses. I paid my bills and lived off the money I made from my articles.

We were talking—I was making conversation that wasn’t the slightest bit awkward—and laughing and it was fine. I felt fine. I was okay. I even felt a little bit normal. I honestly didn’t notice when it happened until I felt the blood trickling down my hand and onto my leg. I glanced down, only to see that one of my scars opened up. Had I been picking at them? Why couldn’t I just wait until I got home? Why? Agitated, I tried to wipe at the red, flaky trails before he noticed, but he noticed anyway—he was always so observant.

We were nearing my house, only a block or so away.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said simply, pressing my sleeve against my wrists.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine—look, there it is,” I said, trying to distract him by pointing at the off white, almost grey house across the street. It was small and maybe not as fancy as other houses on the street, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need much space because I lived alone.

“It looks really bad.”

“I’m okay.”

“Do you want a bandage, at least? I think I have some in here.” He reached into the glove compartment and rummaged around, pulling out some tissues and a few bandages. I willed myself not to book it, slam the door and run into my house. He was just trying to help me because he thought I could still be helped. He didn’t know me very well, so I could understand it.

“It’s really not that bad,” I mumbled as some blood pooled on my skin. “It’ll be okay, really.”

“What if it gets infected?” I held out my arm, looking down. “Just lemme help you, okay?” He rolled up my sleeve.

I was so tense I couldn’t even breathe right, shallowly taking in air and trying not to take my arm back as I looked at him, watching his green eyes look down. I stayed perfectly still, gnawing at my bottom lip nervously. He wasn’t going to hurt me.

I hoped.

I was waiting for it—the gasp, shock of horror, the, ‘Oh, you poor soul,’ look, the disbelief or disgust (or maybe a little bit of both), or maybe some pity intermingled with disdain and contempt. It was bound to, and it wouldn’t surprise me because everyone else who saw them did the same thing. Why would he be any different?

Oddly enough, it never really came. He didn’t say anything or look any different than he had before, as if a person bleeding out in his car was just an everyday sort of thing.

He diligently wiped it down and stuck a couple of bandages to it in an attempt to lessen the bleeding.

“Stay strong, Peachy.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled again, not knowing what to say. I rolled down my sleeve again and picked up my backpack. “I’ll see you around. And by the way, it’s Daisy.”

I walked lackadaisically to my front door—I was already damp and some more water wasn’t going to do any more damage—and pushed it open with a heavy sigh, shutting it behind me with my boot. Leaning against it, I sank down to the floor, looking down at the two bandages, blood already seeping through them. I thought about his touches and shivered, closing my eyes.