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Daisy is running across campus, fast. Her legs are going faster than she could ever imagine, and she's sure her sneakers are going to set alight from the friction of the pavement below her. Hair billowing out behind her, she makes her way across the campus at lightning speed.
Her phone is ringing in her hand, and she knows exactly who the call is coming from. She's ignoring it, though, because it's a pointless alert. Her last class ran way overtime and now she's late for her appointment, and it's raining again, and she's already feeling shitty enough without everything piling on top of her.
Wet sneakers skid to a halt in the foyer of Reddin Medical, just in time to see the short, older woman standing with her arms crossed over her chest. The façade breaks soon enough, and Betsy smiles at her.
"Five minutes late, Daisy," Betsy clucks, gesturing for the girl to follow her down the corridor. "Not your worst, but certainly not on time."
"I'm allergic to on time," Daisy rebuts. Betsy laughs in agreement. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise, I needed to run to the bathroom anyways. So, how are you?" Betsy asks once they've gotten settled.
How is she? How is Daisy Cohen doing? That's a loaded question, because it totally depends on what day it is, what time of day it is, what second of the day it is... it varies. This morning, Daisy woke up with her limbs flailing so violently she thought she was going to fall off of her bunk. The nightmares have been getting worse since her brother's attempted phone call, and the daily phone calls she's been getting every morning since. The three weeks since the first have flown by, and Daisy mostly fills the hour-long session talking about how her game has been improving. She knows it's not the hard-hitting psychoanalysis Betsy probably had in mind, but the woman can tell Daisy is doing better just from the twice-a-week sessions they've been having. Neither will tell each other they need a moment to cry after the sessions; Daisy from reliving past traumas and remembering things she packed away long ago, and Betsy because she can't believe the depravity of humanity and what an older brother would put his baby sister through for years.
The hour flies by, and Daisy sets off at a run back towards the dormitories. They've got a game tonight, only a few hours bus ride away, but Daisy is already running late. Today has just been a day, and Daisy sure as hell can't wait to get on the court and forget about it all.
The Foxes have been training harder for the last few weeks. They all know what's happening soon, and they all know what will happen when the day finally comes. Tensions have been drawing tighter as their match against the Ravens nears, especially with Kevin. More times he knocks on the girls' door, more times he and Daisy walk laps around the campus or sit in his bunk and watch old games on his laptop. She knows what his life before the Foxes was like; she knows how his anxieties flare when he's left alone. Even Andrew can admit that she's a good distraction for Kevin, even if he hounds her at every second of every day.
Which he's decided to do right this minute, as he stands in the hallway awaiting her arrival.
"Margaret," he says, in that condescending tone she knows all too well. Daisy rolls her eyes.
"I know you're too high for me to get this through your thick skull, but my name is Daisy," she snaps. She's half a second away from sending her fist at his head, and he knows this.
"How was your visit with Bee?"
"Pleasant," she replies. "Can you move? I sort of have this game to get ready for."
He analyses her. "What do you talk about with sweet Bee, anyway? Do you tell her more than you tell us? Do you explain why you wake up screaming your brother's name, or why you hate your name so much?"
"Fuck you," she hisses, reaching out to shove him. He must have been expecting it because, in an instant, she's shoved back against a wall with a small, shiny knife held to the vein at the side of her throat. He's tiny but mighty, and his strength holds her against the side of the hallway. "What do you want from me?"
"Tell me a secret," he says. "Just any tiny little secret. Just to keep me going. Just so I know you're not lying to us all and stringing poor Kevin along, just to get his heart broken when he finds out that Margaret Cohen is nothing but a lie on legs."
Daisy takes a deep breath, as far as she can with the knife pressed against her skin. She looks down at him. "I had my first kiss on my thirteenth birthday, after an old man with a lot of money took me out somewhere fancy in the city. He held my hand all the way through dinner, in our little private booth, and then he kissed me goodnight before paying my brother in cash."
Andrew's grip on her slackens just enough for her to shove him away and skitter away from his arms reach. He studies her, the eternal smile wiped clean off of his lips.
"Interesting," he says.
"Don't tell anybody."
"As if they would care," he retorts, before disappearing into his dormitory room. She finally chokes out the breath she's been holding in, pressing the heels of her hands deep into her eye sockets. Daisy will not cry. Not right now, not before a game.
Somebody is already in the shower when she steps into her room, and Renee is in the kitchen making a cup of tea. She pours a second mug of hot water when Daisy arrives, dripping rainwater onto the carpet as she trudges over.
"How did it go?" Renee asks her. Daisy accepts the mug of chamomile tea and holds it tight between her hands, inhaling the scent before even thinking about taking a sip.
"Shitty," Daisy says, and Renee knows not to ask anymore. "Kevin said he was dropping a game he taped by, did he--?"
"It's on your bed," answers Renee. "Copies of the Ravens games this season."
"Cool," Daisy echoes, then goes back to letting her tea steam her tired face. She's sort of glad the game is a few hours away, it'll give her time to rest before they get there. Sleep hasn't been coming easily lately, and when it does, she wakes up feeling worse than before she went down.
"You two have been getting closer recently," Renee says. "That's good. You both seem happier together."
Daisy scowls. "Don't make it weird. We just get each other, you know? Exy is everything to me, and he gets it."
"I just think it's sweet," Renee says. The shower cuts off in the other room, and she hops down from her perch on the counter. "I'm jumping in. Dan's washing in Matt's room, so you can hop in after me."
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There's a gun to her head. She can't really see it, because the world around her is dark, but she can feel the cool, hollow circle of metal pressed into the soft skin of her temple. The presence beside her, the energy that this man holds within him, is darker than anything she's felt before. It's oppressive; her entire soul feels like it's being dragged down to the depths just by being near him.
"You know what I'm going to say," he drawls, the words dripping from his forked tongue like honey, "and you know what will happen if you don't follow my rules."
"Okay," Margaret finds herself squeaking, even though she really wants to fight back as hard as she can and run further and faster than she ever has before.
There's a knock at the door. Two women in business attire stand in the doorway, blocking out the little sunlight that can creep into the dark room.
"Hello Margaret," one says, as the other says, "Hello Jonathan." They're a two-headed beast, attached at the hip and each holding a clipboard and wearing one pair of black heels that still manage to click on the carpet.
"We see that you're living in quite the situation, little girlie," one of the heads says. Margaret nods, clutching her arms around her small body to hold herself together. She wears a bright smile that contrasts to her dull clothing, her unwashed hair scraped into tight braids that disguise the grease at her roots. "Tell me, does your big brother treat you right?"
"He treats me like a princess," Margaret says. Her tone is happy, but the chipper lilt does nothing to disguise the shakiness of her words. She can feel the gun against her head even though it's gone, hidden away where the beast won't suspect. "I'm my big brother's little angel!"
"That's all we needed to hear," the other head says. The body moves back towards the door, and Margaret almost catches a glimpse of the world outside of the apartment. "It's not every day that you see such love between siblings that have been through so much. Wish your father well from us."
The door snaps shut behind them, and Jack is on her in a whirlwind of flying fists and sharp words. "You stupid bitch," he hisses, his devil's tongue flicking out as he speaks. "You dumb fucking cunt. You ruined everything, you're just as fake and useless as your lying, conniving, whore mother."
Margaret wants to stand, wants to fight back and run away. But her legs won't move. They're frozen to the ground.
"I'm going to kill you," he screams, stalking towards her with booming footsteps. The apartment is no longer the apartment, but a black abyss. Jack is a thousand feet tall, all giant clawed fingertips and shiny sharp teeth and limbs the size of tree trunks. He grabs onto the front of her shirt, holding her as she teeters on the edge of the never-ending black pit. "You're going to die like you were supposed to. You're going to do what I tell you do to forever or I will make your life a hell you couldn't imagine."
"It already is," she says, and he lets go.
Daisy wakes herself up with her own scream. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the sunset pink of the sky out the window, the worn leather of the bus seat below her. She scrambles, wraps her arms around her legs and squeezes herself into the smallest possible space in the corner of her chair. Renee sits beside her, wide-eyed, and reaches out to Daisy. The girl flinches at Renee's touch, and beyond the ringing in her own ears, she hears Coach ask Abby to pull the bus over. Everybody files off past her, the monsters giving her strange looks and the upperclassmen looking at her with sad sympathy. Kevin lingers by her seat, his eyebrows low over his green eyes, but Coach gives him a push towards the doors.
The older man drops into the seat Renee occupied moments ago. "You know," he begins, looking out the window at the rest of the team being ushered into the gas station by Abby, "after all these years, after all the Foxes that have come through... It still doesn't hurt any less to see you kids being cut up on the insides. It still breaks my old heart to hear you screaming and crying, dealing with all the shit I can't fix."
Daisy takes a deep, shaking breath, looks to the man beside her. "How do you stop it from getting to you?"
"I don't," he answers. "I feel everything you all feel. I pretend I don't, because you turds need something solid to lean on. But it still hurts every time. You're all going to give me an early death."
The girl hums in response. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Daisy trying to even out her breathing enough that she can speak again.
"I've been seeing Betsy," she says. This catches Wymack's attention. "It's-- she's good. It's been helping."
There's a small smile on his lips, so tiny that she barely catches it. But it's there. "I'm proud of you. Taking that first step is always the hardest."
"Thanks."
He reaches out and gives her shoulder a firm squeeze, then walks to call the Foxes back onto the bus. Before Renee can fill her spot again, Kevin has fallen down into the seat beside Daisy.
"You good?" he asks, digging through his rucksack to find the protein bar Daisy knows he's going to hand her. She accept it when he offers it, taking a small nibble from one corner. She shrugs in response.
"Not really," she answers. "But, like, it's okay. I'm doing better, even if I'm still not fine."
Kevin studies her, and nods. "We're still an hour out. I was talking to Neil before about something I saw Penn do in their last game, and I wanted to try it out tonight..."
They fall easily into conversations of tactics. It's exactly what Daisy needs: something so unrelated to her personal life, being merely Number Thirteen rather than Daisy Cohen, the screwed-up girl from the broken home. All thoughts about herself leave her head and it's instead filled with manoeuvres and play strategies. She can almost ignore the pang of fear that strikes through her heart when her phone buzzes in her pocket.
:UNKNOWN NUMBER: goodluck 2nite on ur game. ur gonna kill it xo
Daisy frowns at her phone.
"Cohen, I'm talking to you," Kevin says, but she bats her hand at him.
"Do you know this number?" she asks him, showing him the message. He shakes his head.
:DAISY: who is this?
:UNKNOWN NUMBER: annabel from the ravens. we met at the banquet :-)
"From the Ravens?" Kevin questions. Daisy shoves him with her elbow.
"Don't read my texts," she scolds. "We met in the bathrooms. She said she doesn't buy into the Raven cult, just that she wants a good career and they offered her a spot."
Kevin just shakes his head. "How did she get your number?"
"I assume Riko has his ways," Daisy says. "Speaking of, our game is next week. Are you going to freak out?"
"Probably," Kevin says. Their conversation is cut off by the bus pulling into the stadium parking lot, and Coach standing up to lead them into the depths of enemy territory.
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Betsy is staring at her. She watches Daisy picking at her cuticles and scratching her ankle, the girl's worn sneakers are abandoned by the bottom of her seat, feet tucked under herself. She's avoiding Betsy's gaze, after a series of questions that Daisy really, really doesn't want to think about.
"Well," Betsy says finally, patting her hands on her knees gently. "We can talk about that next time, okay? Was there any particular reason you scheduled an extra session with me today?"
The girl... doesn't really know. All she knows is that she woke up this morning with her body hurting and her mind buzzing and her mouth ready to talk. But now that's she's here, it's getting really hard again.
"I.. um," Daisy begins, twisting her fingers together into a knot and then letting them go again. "I, uh, just woke up feeling weird. I don't think I'm having a bad day, but I still don't feel... right."
"It's absolutely normal to have good and bad days," Betsy assures. "Life has it's ups and downs, but you feel them a lot stronger than others do, which is perfectly reasonable." She pauses, and Daisy frowns at her. "I.. given your past, I am wary to prescribe you to anything, but I do think that a mood stabiliser--"
"What, like what Andrew's on?" Daisy snaps, wrapping her arms around herself. "No fucking way. I'd rather be dead inside than like that."
"Andrew is on a very extreme form of one type of mood stabilisers, but I wouldn't even think about putting you on anything but the lowest dose," Betsy says slowly. "You're getting better every day. But I think that a little more help could benefit you greatly."
Daisy frowns at the woman, gazing at her like she'd stare down an opponent on court. Her eyes are narrow; her jaw is set. But Betsy stares back with the same ferocity, and Daisy is the first to relent.
"I'll think about it," the girl says, to Betsy's nodding approval. "I got another call from my brother this morning. That's why I came."
"Oh," Betsy echoes. "How... did that make you feel?"
"Like shit," says Daisy. Betsy almost smiles. "I want to answer and tell him to fuck off. I really do. I think I'm ready to do it every time, and then I chicken out. It's terrifying."
"What would it take for you to answer that call?"
"What?"
Betsy gives her a soft smile. "I mean to say, if he's locked away with no chance of getting out anytime soon, what sort of courage would it take for you to answer that call and tell him how you really feel?"
"Hmm," says Daisy. What would it take? Like, she endured years of his torture, lived through what she thought would be never-ending pain at his hand. What's answering a phone call compared to a fist around the face, compared with a lock on the outside of her bedroom door and one of his friends in her bed? "That's a good point."
There's a few moments of silence, and then Betsy says, "I would never cut you off, Daisy, but I do have another client coming in about ten minutes time."
"Oh, sorry," says Daisy, gathering her things. Betsy waves away her apology and opens the door, giving Daisy's shoulder a quick squeeze as she leaves.
What would it take for her to answer that call?
Daisy doesn't get to think anymore, because there's a six-foot-three idiot standing at the end of the hallway staring at her.
"Why are you here?" Daisy asks him with a scowl.
"I, uh, had PT ," Kevin says, flexing his left hand in it's brace. She knows Saturdays are hard for him, the exertion of the night before always wreaks havoc on his hand's healing process. Daisy almost feels sorry for him. "I was headed downtown because, once again, nobody in my dorm took it upon themselves to grocery shop for more than pot brownies and beer."
"That's a balanced meal," Daisy argues. "Where's your guard dog?"
"He doesn't come here with me. Reddin is his second least favourite place," Kevin answers. "Come on, I know you haven't eaten today."
"I had a protein shake before the gym!" Daisy shoves him with all her might, causing him to stumble to the side. "Fuck you."
"Just... shut up, for once in your life," he grumbles. "I'm literally offering to pay for your food and you're being a dick about it."
Daisy opens her mouth, but from another disdainful look from him, closes her mouth and settles for a pout. They set off for the short walk towards downtown, Daisy with her arms still wrapped around herself and Kevin glancing over at her every now and then.
"How did your session with Dobson go?"
Daisy just shrugs. "Fine. She's trying to get to the juicy stuff but I have a panic attack every time she asks. It's a real good time, you should tag along next week."
Kevin snorts. "At least you're making progress. You can see the difference in your mood on court."
She rolls her eyes. As obsessed as she is with her game, Kevin's fanaticism gets to her sometimes. Like, sure, they work well together on court. But she considers him a friend, one of her closest friends, and sometimes she thinks he doesn't see her the same way. She remembers somebody telling her once that to Kevin, they're all just means to an end. Daisy thinks that it could be true.
Downtown is busy, even for a Saturday. It's an effort to get through the bustling crowds, but as soon as they get past the cluster of bars and clubs that all sit together in one section, the people thin out and it's easier to move.
"Hey, look," Daisy points out in a shop window. It's a store of campus merchandise, and it's almost an assault to the eye of how orange the storefront is. A stuffed fox with beady glass eyes sits on a table in the middle of the display, a small orange pennant held in it's little fist. "How cute."
"It's tacky," Kevin snorts.
Daisy finds herself rolling her eyes once again. "You're so lame. Be happy for once in your miserable life."
"Whatever," he grumbles.
She stares at him, scowling at his blank expression, and then says, "I want ice cream."
"Well, I want a salad. And I want you to eat a salad too. At least, something healthy."
"I didn't almost-die to eat a fucking salad, Kevin," she says, hands on hips. "I'll settle for fro-yo. It's low-fat."
He groans, scrapes his right hand over his head and through his hair. "You're insufferable."
"Woah, big word for the athlete," she says. She's got a shit-eating grin on her lips, staring at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Come on. Pleeeeeaaaaase."
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It's late when they get back, later than Daisy had thought they would stay. A quick stop at a health café had turned into a dinner, which had then led to getting ice cream and frozen yogurt, which had turned into a slow stroll back to campus. Daisy had tried to leave him to go to the gym, but he'd gripped her wrist tightly and dragged her back to the dorms. He looks like he wants to say something as they stop outside of their suites, but he lets the door snap shut behind him without another word.
"Oh my God, finally!" Allison pulls her inside of the room when the door is barely open. "We watched you two from the window. How was your date?"
"It wasn't a date," Daisy whines, even though her wrist is still burning from Kevin's grip. She can't stop thinking about it. It's embarrassing.
"You were literally holding hands," Dan says, from her spot on the couch with Matt. "Where have you two been? It's been hours."
"We got dinner and fro-yo," Daisy answers. "He makes me eat because he knows I don't."
Allison has a look on her face like she might die if she doesn't get gossip, stat. "Did he meet you after Betsy? That's so cute, I bet he put on his best Under Armour for the occasion."
Daisy groans and flicks the button of Renee's electric tea kettle. "He had PT that finished at the same time, it was a total coincidence--"
"Dan, I get why you call her dumb," Matt interrupts, and Daisy's jaw steels. He looks to the girl, and laughs. "Kevin's PT is on Mondays. The physical therapist doesn't work weekends."
The red-haired girl's mouth almost forms a perfect circle. Her jaw falls slack, and everyone around her bursts into laughter. Her cheeks burn almost as bright as her hair and she covers her face with her hands. "Fuck you all," she says, pouring hot water over a tea bag and scowling at them all. "I don't like any of you."
The bedroom door clicks shut behind her, just as her phone starts ringing with the obnoxious pop track that Allison had programmed in without telling her. It's an unknown number. Daisy places down her mug before allowing her hands to start shaking.
"This is a prepaid collect call from Brooklyn Metropolitan Detention Centre. This call is monitored and is subject to recording. To accept charges, press 1. To decline, press--"
Daisy jams the first number. The tiny speaker on her phone trills at her, ringing for a few seconds before the call connects and she hears the phone being picked off of the latch.
"Maggie," a male voice drawls from the other end. Every word drips out like syrup, his vowels elongated and his consonants sharp. "You know, I've been trying to call."
Daisy's face contorts, holding in the sob that's scratching at the insides of her throat and trying not to scream. "I know," she wheezes. The cackle that comes from the other end of the line makes her warm blood freeze. Any feeling of joy or content she'd been feeling ten minutes ago has vanished, extinguished with eight words from the man she hates most in the world.
"And, you know, as great as it is to hear your voice, little sister," Jonathan says, "I'm not calling for a cute catch up--"
"Fuck you," Daisy finally manages to spit out. "I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to hear about you, I don't even want to think about you for the rest of my life. I hate you, Jonathan. I hate you."
This time, his laugh is real. Through the phone, she hears it bubble up from his stomach, expand in his chest, and expel from his ugly mouth. She imagines him wiping tears from his eyes. Imagines him resting a hand over his sternum like he used to when he found her pain funny. "Oh, Maggie. Ever the comedian. I'm only calling to let you know that our sweet Cohen reunion is on the horizon. I've missed you, little sis. I'll see you real soon."
So deep is Daisy's despair, that she doesn't notice the small plush fox resting on her pillow as she throws herself onto her bed to sob her broken heart out.
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daisy said how much do i need to suffer and i said how high can you count
as always, thoughts n feelings are appreciated!!! i love u all, my beautiful sunfish readers xxxx