34. Dazed and Confused

34

DAZED AND CONFUSED

DAISY

TWO AND A HALF YEARS AGO ― April 5th, 1973

I silently slip out of my bedroom window and climb down the pipe on the side of the house before jumping off, landing on the grass beneath me. My parents are sound asleep, so they'll have no clue that I've snuck out. Walking to the end of the street, I find Jerry's pale blue Volkswagen waiting for me around the corner.

I met Jerry at a party last week, and we made plans to hang out today. Though ‘hanging out' with a guy in his sketchy van that most likely has a mattress in the back only means one thing. But that's what I want. He looks like he could deliver me a fun time.

"Hey," I greet him as I get in on the passenger side. "What's up?"

He gives me a sly smile. "Sup, Daisy." His long blond hair reaches past his shoulder, and he's wearing a faded gray T-shirt with Jeff Beck on it. His skin is pale, just like mine, a result of the cold winter months and lack of sunlight.

Right when I close the door, he steps on the gas and drives away. He hands me a joint with his free hand, holding the other one on the steering wheel, and we make small talk as he drives.

He's a whole lot older than me―I'd say somewhere close to his thirties. We didn't talk a lot at the party last week, so I have no idea what he does for a living or any other information. Glancing over my shoulder to take a peek in the back of the car, I find a mattress, just like I'd guessed, along with a mess of clothes and empty beer cans and candy wrappers.

I narrow my eyes. Does he live in his van?

Not wanting to be rude, I decide not to voice that question. Why would it matter anyway? It's not like I want to marry the guy. I just want to get some dick and be done with it, slip back into bed with a lesser ache between my thighs.

Steppenwolf plays on the stereo as we make it to a clearing in the Desdemona Hill Forest and we finish the joint together before we get out. When we walk around the Volkswagen and he opens the back, he reveals what I already noticed. This dude is definitely living in his car.

Not gonna lie, that's kind of giving me the ick. I know I'm not picky about the guys I fuck, but I should at least have enough standards to not screw a homeless man, right?

Despite my furrowed eyebrows and disapproving look, he kisses me anyway, startling me as he pushes me into the van. The backs of my thighs bump against it, making me fall down on my ass. Crowding over me, his tongue slips inside my mouth. I try to tear my lips away. He tastes like booze and cigarettes, which I normally have no issue with. It's the fact that he also tastes like he hasn't brushed his teeth in a while that gets me.

"Dude," I groan into his mouth, placing my hands on his chest to push him off me. "Slow down. You're kind of overwhelming me here."

He doesn't stop, instead grinding his jean-clad dick against my lower stomach. "You're Daisy Burton. Don't tell me you're suggesting you want to be wined and dined first."

I push his chest harder, scrunching my nose because he reeks of sweat and weed. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on. It's no secret that you've fucked almost every guy in the city."

Red. I suddenly see red.

I dig my nails into his chest with force. "That's a big exaggeration and an offensive one at that," I spit. "Just because I like to have a good time doesn't mean you can just have your way with me. Fucking hell, Jerry. Get off me. Get off !" I knee him in the nuts when he still doesn't listen, and this luckily seems to help.

He stumbles backward out of the van, clutching his manhood. "The hell is your problem, Daisy?"

"You are. Just… fuck . Can you just give me a minute to breathe, bro?"

The only light we have is that of the headlights of the van, along with the dim lights inside of it. A slight peek of the moon above us is visible, but it's mostly hidden by the large trees.

Truthfully, I just want to go home. But I'm here now, in the woods with someone who doesn't seem to be able to take no for an answer. I need him to take me back, so I suppose I'll have to resort to friendliness and forget about what just happened.

"Let's just have a beer and we'll see." I sigh deeply as I sit on the edge of the van.

He narrows his eyes in irritation, but eventually agrees. He grabs two beers out of a cool box in the back of his van and hands me one, then takes a seat beside me.

We sit in awkward silence as we both stare forward, swallowing down our beers eagerly. The music of the radio is softly audible, mixing with the sound of crickets that reside in the bushes. "Could you take me home, please?" I ask, looking at Jerry's annoyed face. "I'm not really feeling it tonight."

"In a bit." He nods, still with the same scowl. "Let me have another beer first, alright?"

"Alright." I shrug, and he gets into the back to grab another drink. I'm about to light a cigarette when an arm slides around my throat, completely catching me off guard. I gasp out for air as he squeezes tight, throwing the cigarette away from me and using my hands to tear the arm away. "What the―" I choke out as I dig my nails into his flesh.

My feet kick at air, my legs hanging over the edge of the van. Panic floods my body and my brain, but I quickly push it away. There's no time for it.

It's not rocket science to figure out what he's trying to do. This motherfucker is seriously trying to choke me unconscious, probably so he can rape me.

Big mistake.

Instead of continuing to claw at his arm, I jam my elbow into his stomach. This makes the weak asshole let go of me and stumble backward in pain.

Jeez . What a little bitch.

Gasping out for air, I jump out of the van as I clutch my throat. But before I can get away, my hair is yanked backward and my body slams against the edge, the flooring digging into my back. I scream out from the pain before Jerry pulls at my scalp so hard that I have no choice but to move closer to him.

He forcefully pushes me to the floor, right onto the mattress. He straddles me with his legs as he goes for the throat again. Clawing at him is doing nothing to help me, so I reach for something in my jean pocket instead.

I guess this is the type of situation my dad and Uncle Stef have trained me for since I was a little girl. Let's see if our weekly fighting sessions will pay off in a real life-or-death situation.

I'm not sure what Jerry's endgame is. I think he just wants to choke me out so he can have his way with me, but I'm not risking it. He may be some kind of psycho and actually kill me for all I know. I don't know this guy. Maybe he likes to make skinsuits in his free time as a hobby. And I do have nice skin.

Once I've found what I'm looking for inside my pocket, I take it out and hold it tightly in my hand. It's my switchblade, a birthday present from Uncle Stef. It's pink and everything, with little daisies painted on it.

What a hilarious gift. I'm about to stab someone with a knife that has cute little flowers on it. What in the hell. I'm gonna have to see about him getting me a new one.

What am I even doing? I need to get on with it. What a strange and not at all convenient thought to have. Maybe somewhere in my brain I know that I'll win from this guy. Maybe that's why I'm not panicking as much as I should.

"You motherfucker―" I grit out as my vision covers with black spots. Before he gets the chance to succeed, I push the button of the knife, making the blade slide out of its confines. My time is running out, so without wasting one more precious second, I stab the bastard in the thigh. " Blaigeard ." Bastard.

He screams out in agony as soon as the tip of the blade disappears into his leg and he lets me go instantly. To my disappointment, he doesn't pass out from the pain and starts throwing shit at my head instead. Empty beer bottles, shoes and even a fucking empty pizza box. Seriously?

I manage to duck so most of it slams against the back of the van, the glass breaking into hundreds of tiny pieces.

"Really, Jerry ?" I spit out his name in disgust. "All this for some fucking pussy?!"

Blood squirts out of his wound, where my pink knife still resides, and the fabric of his blue jeans is stained with red. All he does is cuss me out for all I'm worth, but words can't hurt me―weapons can.

"To think if you'd just brushed your teeth or taken a shower, I would've easily let you hit it. You're not a bad-looking guy, Jerry."

This only angers him more, and he jumps against me from the other side of the van, pushing my head against the window. I spit in his face and he whacks me on my jaw with his fist in response. I yelp loudly, tasting blood in my mouth.

Shit. Maybe this is going to be harder than I originally thought.

He grabs me by my shirt, using the fabric as leverage to pull me against him before slamming me back against the van wall. The back of my head smashes against the window once more, and stars cover my eyesight, making me dizzy.

I'm in serious trouble. I need to figure out a way to beat this guy or it might actually be my end.

Pulling up my knee, I hit him in the balls, which gives me the advantage of sliding to the floor, getting out from his grasp on me. I'm almost out of the van before he yanks my ankle and pulls me back. I scream at the top of my lungs, but I'm very aware of the fact that it won't help me for shit. We're in the middle of the fucking woods.

When I kick him in his face with the back of my foot, he lets me go. "Fuck you, you fucking hippie!"

Gasping, I use my elbows to pull myself forward, but I'm stopped before I can make it any further. Because something sharp slices into my side.

Indescribable pain floods my every nerve, and I cry out harder than I ever have before. With wide eyes I look at the source of pain, finding out Jerry cut me open with a piece of broken glass from one of the beer bottles.

His own hand bleeds from where he held it, and both of us still for a second as the shock of it all settles in.

Fuck . How the hell did I end up in this situation?

This is what my parents always warned me about. This is why I'm in fucking therapy . Because I put myself in dangerous situations without thinking about the consequences.

I think this is my consequence.

I'm bleeding rapidly. He got me good―I think the wound is very deep.

He hovers over me, ready to put an end to this. An end to me .

With one loud, agonizing scream, I move forward and yank my knife out of his thigh, then thrust it upward until it lodges inside his throat. I pull it right out with the same amount of strength and watch as Jerry's eyes widen into large disks. He doesn't even scream―just clutches his throat in silence, the only audible sound his gasping breaths as he chokes on his own blood.

Saliva drips out of his mouth, landing on my face, and blood squirts out of his neck before he falls to his knees right on top of me. His body is heavy on my chest, and his weight puts pressure on my open wound.

I shriek as I use every last bit of strength to push him off me and onto the mattress.

And then I bawl my eyes out.

He's dead. Oh, fuck . He's well and truly dead.

I start hyperventilating and puke my guts out before I roll down into a ball as I try to soothe myself. It doesn't help though, because in this position I stare right into Jerry's lifeless eyes as he lies there limply, with the puddle of blood growing with each passing beat. His life's essence sinks into the mattress and the sheets on top of it, and I know I need to get the hell out of here before I get caught. The possibility of it is unlikely, since we're in the forest in the middle of the night, but I need to get out, nonetheless. I need to find a phonebooth so I can call for help.

I need my dad to come.

I just need my dad… He'll know what to do. He always does.

Thinking quick on my feet, I jump out of the van and slam the backdoors closed, then run over to the front and yank open the door. I get behind the wheel and turn the keys that are still in the ignition.

Turning on the little lamp above my head, I take a quick glance inside the mirror, noting my swollen cheek, where the bastard hit me, along with a number of various red shades from his blood. I find a tissue beside me and try to dab and get most of it off, but it's no use. I grab the steering wheel instead, pushing on the gas with so much force, the van shoots forward, sand flying everywhere as I make a sharp turn. I cry as I drive, forcefully blinking the tears away so I can see.

Once I've made my way out of the forest and reach a gas station, I park the Volkswagen right beside a phonebooth and jump out. Dialing the number with shaking hands, I hold the phone to my ear, begging my parents to be quick.

It takes a few beats before I hear Dad's voice on the other side of the line. "Hello?"

"Dad, please!" I cry out into the receiver, sobbing so hard my words are barely understandable. "Please, come get me! I'm in trouble!"

"Where are you?" he asks immediately, worry evident in his voice.

"The gas station closest to the forest," I choke out. "Dad. I'm in big trouble. You need to take Uncle Stef with you. There's a―" Another sob cuts me off. "There's a body. I drove here in a van. I―"

"A body? Fuck. Mo luaidh ," he says sternly. "Listen to me. You have a vehicle there?"

"Yes."

"You're going to get back inside, then drive back to the forest and park it out of sight right beside the only road that leads to the woods, okay? Uncle Stef and I will meet you there as soon as we can."

I hang up the phone before I run back to the Volkswagen and start the ignition. By the time I've followed Dad's orders, I'm shaking so badly that it's a miracle I haven't crashed the van. I'm still in one piece, save for the large wound on my side.

I forgot to mention that to Dad. There's so much adrenaline pumping through my veins that I barely even feel it. But I know I need to do something to stop the bleeding.

I take off my oversized Pink Floyd tee and manage to fold it up and push it against the wound. To my luck, I'm wearing a belt, so I take that out of the loops of my pants to wrap it around my waist, the leather putting pressure on my skin. It hurts like a motherfucker, but at least it'll help with the rapid bleeding.

After a few more minutes, I spot headlights in the distance and jump out of the driver's side. Running toward the road, I wave my arms high above my head to make myself visible. They spot me instantly, stopping the car right in front of my feet. My uncle as well as my dad jump out of the car to meet me, panic and confusion all over their faces.

"What the fuck happened?" Dad demands as he wraps his arms around my shoulders. I let it all out―the pain, the horrors of what I've been through…

The fact that I've just killed a guy.

It all spills from my mouth in a confusing soup of words, but they're able to make out what happened anyway.

Uncle Stef runs to the van to deal with it as Dad holds me even tighter to his chest. He's not angry with me, even though I snuck out of the house to meet with a stranger, defying my parents' rules―rules that were only put in place to keep me out of harm's way.

I'm such a fool. Such a fucking idiot.

"We'll handle it, sweetheart. You're safe now. It's going to be okay." He plants kisses on my forehead, then pulls away to look at my face. "You're covered in blood." He shakes his head in concern. "Are you hurt?"

"He cut me. I'm―I'm bleeding. I think I have to go to Mr. Greco. He can stitch me up, right?" I shudder and shake, and multiple swearwords leave Dad's throat as he finds the source of my bleeding.

Mr. Greco is a doctor on the mob's payroll. Dad has always kept me out of mafia business, but I do know everyone from all the weddings and parties I've been to in my lifetime. Usually, the men in Dad's circles can't go to the normal hospital, as most wounds are attained because of illegal activities. That's where Mr. Greco comes in.

"Yes," is all he says. I can see that he's reeling, nearly vibrating with anger. But most of all he's just worried about his little girl. Everything else will come later.

He slides his arms underneath the backs of my knees and armpits, then carries me to where Uncle Stef is busy cleaning up the scene.

Cleaning up the body of the man I've murdered.

Uncle Stef shakes his head as he looks at me, apprehension pulling his handsome face into a deep frown. "Oh, princess… What a mess you've gotten yourself into."

My lower lip trembles as I try to confidently say, "I kicked his ass."

"Yes, you did." He steps forward and squeezes my cheek. "You're a strong lady. You did well."

"She has been stabbed," Dad tells Uncle Stef. "It's not lethal. But she needs to be treated."

"Jesus Christ," he curses, then nods. Both of them are quick with thinking on their feet because of the type of business they're in, and they're great at compartmentalizing. We all know what needs to happen first. Get rid of the evidence―meaning the body and the Volkswagen. And I need medical care.

"I'll handle this," Uncle Stef says confidently, waving us away. "Go."

Before Dad can walk off with me still in his arms, Uncle Stef smooths his large hand over my hair and gives me a quick kiss on my forehead. "It's gonna be okay, princess. Don't you worry. I'll come over as soon as this is done."

I thought I didn't have tears left, but the waterworks start again. Dad takes me to his car and sets me down on the passenger side. "We'll speak about this mess later, mo luaidh. You're in big trouble. You damn near gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He grabs my trembling hand in his, smoothing his fingers over it before he kisses my knuckles. "Later. All that matters now is that you're okay. I love you. Always."

"I love you too, Dad."