15. Daisy

CHAPTER 15

Daisy

S loan's hand has been dangerously close to Daisy's thigh for the last half of the movie. She eyes it, hoping it doesn't make contact. Being friendly, or at least civil, with Sloan is new territory, but she can't let it move into anything more. The idea of Sloan touching her makes her feel things. Things she doesn't want to feel, or shouldn't want to feel. Regardless, all Daisy knows is that she doesn't want to explore it. She can't open that box.

Her relationship with Stella didn't end on the best terms. The fact that Stella came to her when she called and was concerned about Daisy's well-being speaks volumes about the kind of person Stella is. Kind. Compassionate. Supportive. Essentially, Stella is the kind of person that Daisy longs to be, and perhaps, with a successful event, she could be closer to that imaginary entity.

That's not to say that she and Stella didn't get along well. They did—well, when it came to sex anyway. Their chemistry was all bubble-bubble with a healthy helping of toil and trouble. If they weren't fucking, they were screaming at each other for one thing or another, usually for something that was Daisy's fault. After continually feeling like a failure, Daisy pulled away completely, and Stella couldn't take only being in a relationship for sex and not having an actual partner, so she ended things. Not that Daisy could blame her. She wouldn't want to be with her either.

The night they split, they fucked hard and fast, letting their anger and passion mingle one final time before Stella left, leaving Daisy alone. Ironically, that was probably the best sex Daisy had ever had. The way that Stella curled her fingers inside her…mmm.

Sloan lets loose a breath, pulling Daisy from her thoughts about the last time Stella touched her, which also happens to be the last time she was touched, period. Daisy turns her head slightly, keeping an eye on the slender finger getting closer to her, and says, "You alright there?"

"Hmm?" Sloan hums.

"You good?"

"Yeah," Sloan responds unconvincingly.

Daisy eyes her questioningly, waiting to see if Sloan will say anything else. When she doesn't, Daisy turns to face the TV again.

As the credits roll, Sloan fidgets, her hand sliding up her leg slowly, the motion causing Daisy to imagine what that hand would feel like on her. She sips her water, and Sloan's pinky finger brushes ever so slightly against the edge of Daisy's shorts. A spark of heat rushes up Daisy's leg with an intensity so fierce it causes her sip of water to go down the wrong way. She leaps from the bed, sputtering, hoping to smother the internal fire Sloan has clearly ignited. It's only when she turns back around, clearing her throat with a hand to her chest, that the fire inside her dissipates, leaving simmering embers in its wake.

Sloan's chocolate eyes stare back at her, filled with concern. "Are you okay?" Sloan asks, reaching toward her.

Daisy steps away, keeping distance between them. "Yes," she says, clearing her throat again. "Some water went down the wrong way."

"Drinking can be a complicated activity," Sloan jests.

Daisy places her glass on the nightstand, still trying to collect her thoughts and settle the small waves of heat rolling inside her core. How could a simple brush of Sloan's fingers set her alight? "I… I think I'm going to go to sleep."

"Oh. Okay," Sloan answers. "Are you comfortable sharing the bed?"

"Umm…" Daisy swallows, feeling a blush creep up her neck at the thought of sharing a bed with Sloan. "I think it's best if we sleep separately."

Sloan seems to deflate, even if only minimally, but Daisy catches it. "Oh. Sure. I can take the sofa then."

"Okay." Daisy can't look at Sloan. She hears the hint of resignation in her tone and knows she should at least offer to take the sofa or the floor out of politeness, but she can't bring herself to. Not when she doesn't actually want to take it and not when she knows Sloan will try to counter an offer. While spending this weekend with Sloan was not what she wanted to do, in the mere six hours they've spent together, Daisy has to admit that maybe the Wilks heir is not as bad as she initially thought. In these brief hours, Sloan has proven herself to be kind, caring, and eager to facilitate this event they need to put on. Perhaps, Daisy wonders, she has been too quick to hold old grudges.

Sloan grasps the top sheet and a couple of pillows off the bed and lays them on the sofa, setting up her makeshift bed. Daisy watches as her arms gracefully fluff the pillows, then walks across the room and takes a spare blanket from the closet. She stands beside the bed, entranced, everything moving in slow motion. Sloan unfolds the blanket and shakes it out before settling onto the sofa, making the best of an awkward situation Daisy has created.

"Would you mind turning out the light before you get into bed?" Sloan asks. While the words are pleasant, Daisy can't miss the frustration underpinning them. She does as requested, reaching over to turn the lamp off. Climbing into the bed, pulling the extra fluffy duvet over her, Daisy wonders if, yet again, she has done what she does best. Fuck everything up. She closes her eyes with the misguided hope that tomorrow may be better.

When she wakes the next morning, her brain betrays her by immediately instructing her eyes to open and search for Sloan. Daisy pushes herself onto one elbow, giving herself a better vantage point. Doing so allows her to locate Sloan still asleep on the sofa, lying on her side with her knees curled toward her chest and a few stray strands of her chestnut-colored hair falling gently over her serene face. It's sickening how she can look so perfect even in her sleep. Not a drop of drool or anything. That witch!

Daisy flops back onto the bed, huffing out a frustrated breath. Sloan has the audacity to be both somewhat nice and beautiful. But she certainly wasn't always like that, was she? Daisy folds her hands over her chest, letting her mind wander back to her childhood and her interactions with Sloan and her troupe of ugly sidekicks. As she wades through the memories of ridicule and ostracizing, she picks up on something she hadn't noticed before. All these years, and she'd never realized that Sloan was never the one actively involved in her pain. She was there, yes, but she was in the background, acting as what Daisy always assumed was the puppeteer. What if she was in the background because she didn't really want to be there and was waiting for her friends to finish so she could carry on with her day? Or maybe she simply didn't care enough to become involved? But even if so, does it make her any less at fault? She was still there, laughing as her friends singled Daisy out and called her names, pretending to hex her. She sat by as they pushed her to the ground and threw grass and dirt on her as they chanted, claiming they were trying to protect themselves from her.

Daisy's mind zooms in on a specific event that solidified her years-long distaste for Sloan. They were in high school, probably about fifteen or sixteen, and Daisy had learned the truth about her parents after overhearing Gladys, the former Premier Witch and Petra's grandmother, discussing the Hales and their punishment to a fellow council member. She learned the harm they were causing the community and how their exile and the no-contact order with Daisy were the only solutions to ensure that the community and Daisy remained safe. On this particular day, Daisy was walking alone, Petra having left to go to her next class. As Daisy walked to the back of the school, she happened upon Sloan and her troupe of ghouls. Sloan stood back as the group cornered her. She didn't say anything as they stole her bag and emptied it, nor as they used magic to restrain her while they went through all of her belongings. They used their power to create impressions of personal letters she had written to her family and then broadcast them on walls around the school. Sloan did nothing. She watched as Daisy begged and cried for them to stop. At that moment, the sound of her spirit breaking was likely heard throughout the school. At least Daisy assumes it was because it was the loudest sound she had ever heard.

When they finally released her, Sloan stood by as the rest of her troupe walked off. As Daisy plays the memory back, something she hasn't thought about in many years, she sees the hesitation on Sloan's face, and she catches the smallest flinch as she moves to step forward to help Daisy collect her things. But she doesn't follow through. Perhaps fearing a similar fate if her ghouls were to catch her? Instead, she wears a tiny smirk that Daisy can now see was fake, but at the time, she'd understood it as satisfaction.

Daisy wipes the few tears from her eyes, catching them before they roll down her cheek. She sniffles, trying to collect herself, hoping Sloan doesn't wake before she can compose herself. She's hated Sloan for so many years, and while she still feels justified in those feelings, she's starting to wonder how valid they actually are. But Daisy's been made to think so little about herself for so long, thanks to Sloan and her ghouls, so she doesn't know what else to feel.

She knows she is not the same person she was ten-plus years ago and doubts Sloan is either. Looking back on these events, she can see the flicker in Sloan's eyes and the small gestures showing she wasn't happy with what happened and was fearful of her own retribution.

Daisy lets loose a long breath. Her brain is telling her to give Sloan a real chance, and her gut is telling her not to get hurt. How does she move on from so many years of hurt? How can she trust that Sloan isn't trying to trick her into making a fool of herself?

You can't.

"But what do I do?" she whispers to herself. Apparently, she's not quiet enough as Sloan starts to stir. She wipes her face again, hoping she isn't too blotchy.

You would want to be given the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she is worth the same?

Sloan groans from the sofa as she rolls onto her back and stretches her arms above her head. The sound sends goosebumps down Daisy's spine and settles in her core as her brain determines she must hear that sound again.

Fuck me.