Counting To Fifteen [Grey's Anatomy]

chapter fifty one - a talk

Daisy laid still under the pink sheets on Calypso's bed, the linens providing her much needed comfort as she mourned.

Caly's pastel comforter had been peeled back, pooled at the edge of the bed. The thick material of the heavy blanket made Daisy feel like she was suffocating, and thin silk sheets were the only linens light enough that Daisy could lay under.

Daisy thought about August, and the manner in which he had left her. Daisy thought about Calypso, and the manner in which she had left her.

Everybody kept leaving so suddenly without rhyme or reason, and it was so infuriating to Daisy.

Linens didn't abandon, at least. Daisy was particularly thankful of that fact as she gripped the pink sheets tightly in her right fist, using her left hand to tuck Calypso's wool bunny against her chest.

Head split open, blood trickling out onto pavement. Daisy hadn't screamed as she watched the big car make harsh contact with the tiny girl on the pink bicycle. The sound had been sickening, and Daisy had only stood horrified with wide eyes as the car sped away. Red blood spilled on a canvas of black tar, and a mangled piece of scrap metal that had once been a bike had been flung aside onto the sidewalk.

You should've just let Mark teach her how to ride a bike.

You don't have to be the one to do everything.

This was preventable.

This was your fault.

Daisy didn't blink, nor grimace. She didn't reach up to rub her head like she usually would when her brain was being negative.

Daisy's face remained blank as her eyes were stuck on the dull white paint that coated Calypso's bedroom wall.

This was preventable.

Daisy had merely wanted to teach her how to ride a bike.

This was preventable.

Mark was teaching Caly to read and teaching Caly to tie her shoes and Daisy wanted to be useful for something.

This was preventable.

Daisy wanted to be the cool big sister for once instead of the strict bore. Calypso had pouted, claiming that helmets didn't look cool, and they messed her hair up, and Daisy had wanted to be the cool big sister.

This was preventable.

This was your fault, Daisy.

"Daisy."

Mark's voice cut through silence as Daisy ignored him, choosing to focus on the thoughts in her head.

Were helmets even really that helpful? It was a hardened piece of plastic—wouldn't Calypso have succumbed to deadly injuries no matter what she was wearing?

"Daisy."

But it would've at least lessened the injury. Maybe she wouldn't have fractured her skull, and maybe then she wouldn't have lost so much blood, and maybe then she would still be alive.

Daisy contemplated the reliability of helmets while she laid still, the small bunny still clutched against her.

Mark let out a quiet sigh when Daisy ignored him for the second time, watching the unresponsive girl from where he was stood in the doorway.

"You have to talk to me at some point, you know."

Daisy had come home the night of August's death and slipped back into her deep state of sadness, days consumed by doing nothing and wallowing in the shadows of Calypso's bedroom. She hadn't talked to Mark since August died, and she had no intention of using her tiny amounts of energy to have a useless conversation.