eighties baby
summary: your parents throw an 80’s themed party in their mansion. you try your best to contain your infatuation for joel, your dad’s best friend. you and your friend get a little too drunk and joel decides to teach you a lesson.
content: joel miller x reader, no outbreak, little plot, dbf!joel, reader in her twenties
warnings: CONTAINS MATURE CONTENT. 18+ mdni!, age gap is 20s/50, piv unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), cream pie, doggystyle, dirty talk, choking
an: i’m baaaaaack ;) this was… wow! pls enjoy
“Your ass looks immaculate.”
You glance over your shoulder in the reflection of the mirror, locking eyes with your best friend. She’s giving you wild eyes while biting her bottom lip that’s covered in bright red lip stick. Her makeup was done very vibrantly compared to usual; blue eyeshadow with bright pink blush.
“You don’t think it’s too short?” You ask, popping a hip to accentuate your ass further under your very tight and very short mini skirt. Typically, you wouldn’t mind if a little bit of cheek was hanging out the bottom of your skirt, but this was your parents’ party, not your typical college party. Your best friend rolled her eyes and you and laid a smack down on your ass. You yelped in surprise.
“It’s perfectly fine. It’ll be dark.” She begins, then her voice lowers. “Plus, Joel will want to eat you alive when he sees you in it.”
You bite your bottom lip to fight back a grin. She knew you too well. You sighed and placed your hands on your hip, your head turning to the side as your further inspect your outfit in your full length mirror. You decided to go with an 80s glam rock look instead of the typical vibrant colors from the time period. You were wearing a tight black leather skirt and matching top, with knee high platform boots with silver chains on them. You had grungy black eyeshadow matched with a glossy red lip. You felt hot.
“I can’t be too obvious. You cannot let me get too drunk tonight.” You say sternly. You were talking more to yourself than anything. You knew if you drank too much alcohol you would make a fool out of yourself in front of Joel.
Joel was your father’s main man. They’d known each other for decades now. Joel was a stern man; the crinkles by his eyes from his fifty years of wisdom weren’t usually intensified by joy, more by scowls. You’d like to think at one point he was a light hearted man, but you can’t help but wonder what in his years turned him into such a sour puss. You could count on one hand the amount of times you’d seen him genuinely laugh. It was an extremely rare occurrence, but the times he had, it was the most amazing sound you’d ever heard.
“Fine. But this is your chance to act as unhinged as you want because in the morning you can blame the alcohol.” Your best friend winks at you, patting you once more on the bum.
“You’re a terrible influence.” You turn to face her. Your shorter friend stares up at you with a devilish grin and runs her thumb along your bottom lip, cleaning up your red lipstick.
“We should head down there, take a couple shots, scope it out.” She suggests, grabbing your perfume off your vanity and spritzing it on the both of you a few times. You nod in agreement, and check your outfit in the mirror one last time. You take a deep breath and grab your friend’s hand to leave your bedroom. The 80s music was already thumping from your parent’s massive surround sound speakers downstairs. The lights were off, with the sole light source being a couple lamps and some red lights your parents used for their annual Halloween party.
When you made it downstairs, the house was already packed out. The entire neighborhood was in your parents’ house. All of the couples in the neighborhood were in attendance, as well as their children (all in their twenties or older). If you squinted hard enough, it even looked like a college party. The lighting was just enough to see the basic traits of everyone’s faces, most of them being somewhat recognizable to you. You had just graduated from college earlier that month, so you were home temporarily until you found your full-time calling.
Your friend dragged you to the kitchen where all of the alcohol was stashed. On the island, there was a lineup of liquor with the appropriate mixers. She decided to pour you each a hefty shot of tequila, as well as a lime wedge. You absolutely hated any dark liquor, and unfortunately vodka had been tainted for you in your time at college, so tequila was the sole surviving option for you. You didn’t mind the taste of tequila, but the catch was its effect on you. Unlike other forms of liquor, tequila made you incredibly horny. After around 4 tequila shots, you had the tendency to shed off articles of clothing like you were battling a heat wave. This made you nervous considering you knew Joel would be in attendance; however, as your friend said, you can use the liquor as a scapegoat if it got that bad.
As you and your friend shot back your tequila, you began wondering where Joel could be. The party started over thirty minutes ago, and it was uncharacteristic of him to be late, meaning he was in the house somewhere. The thought alone made your skin crawl.
“One more.” Your friend called out over the music, pouring you each another hefty shot. Your eyes got wide. You knew you’d have to take a break from drinking after this shot, otherwise you’d end up butt ass naked in the middle of this party.
Another hefty shot later, and you were already feeling the buzz from the alcohol. Your veins felt tingly and your limbs felt weightless. You each made yourselves your mixed drink of choice, and decided to make your way out to the makeshift dance floor in your parents’ spacious living room. They had a portable disco floor, as well as a disco ball hung from the ceiling. No one took parties more seriously than your parents.
Your friend grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the dance floor, with “Talking in Your Sleep” by the Romantics blasting from the speakers. Your eyes wandered around the room trying to find the brown eyed man you’d be longing to see. Sure enough, you spotted him. He was sitting on the sofa, leaning back with his legs spread out in front of him. He had a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in his hand, resting on his thigh. You gulped when you noticed he was already looking at you. You quickly looked away and took a sip of the tequila sour you half-assed at the kitchen makeshift bar.
You made eye contact with your friend, and you gave her panic eyes to let her know you found him. She caught on almost instantly, and took that as a queue to scoot out of your line of sight. She leaned closer to you to say something in your ear.
“Go sit next to him.” She suggested loudly into your ear.
You shot her a look of unease. Wouldn’t that be too obvious? You shook your head no rapidly in response. It was too early in the night for you to do something as ballsy as that.
After about half an hour, your friend’s drink was empty and she was dragging you back to the kitchen. Your drink was still three-fourths full. Your stomach was bubbling with anxiety knowing that Joel had a direct view of you in your anything but conservative outfit. Besides, you were scared for your actions if you ingested any more alcohol.
Your friend took two more shots and mixed herself another strong cocktail. You knew she was going to be shitfaced in the matter of minutes. You rub your forehead and sigh. It’s going to be a quick night for her.
Your predictions were correct.
Forty minutes passed and her cocktail was gone, and so was she. She was so plastered that she couldn’t stand up straight, constantly grabbing your arm for support. You looked around the room and immediately made eye contact with Joel. He’s watching the both of you intensely, his head nodding over to the side as he observes your friend stumbling around. You’re fully embarrassed at how gone your friend was already. Your stomach flips when you noticed Joel was lifting himself off his spot in the sofa, making his way towards the both of you. He grabbed onto your arm, a look of concern crossing his features.
“Come on.” He said shortly, moving his arm from yours to hers, helping her stand up somewhat straight. “Let’s take her upstairs.”
You glanced down at your friend and her head was lulling to the side, her eyes fluttering shut. There was no salvaging her. You nodded in response to Joel and helped him practically carry your friend upstairs to your bedroom. After her nearly falling every few steps, you finally make it to your bedroom. You noticed Joel’s eyes wandering around the walls of your room as he took in the decor. You had various band posters still hanging in your childhood bedroom, many of them being 60’s rock bands that your dad showed you. You gently lay your friend down onto your bed, and almost immediately she’s snoring.
“Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry about this, Joel.” You mutter, looking up at him with apologetic eyes. You absentmindedly toy with your hands in front of you. Despite the shots you did take, you were still feeling nervous; the liquid courage wasn’t doing its job.
Joel stepped closer to you and shook his head. His brown eyes were soft and his eyebrows were furrowed.
“It was nothing, really.” He assures you, taking a glance back at your friend. He was amused at just how fast your friend fell asleep. He turned back to look at you and felt something flutter deep in his gut.
He had kept his eyes in you all night. He couldn’t believe how grown you were. Sure, he had known you since you were young, but you were a woman now. You had always been pretty, but now, you were stunning. He felt disgusting about it. Of all the women in his life, none of them compared to you, his best friend’s daughter. The entire night he had watched the way your latex skirt was fighting to stay over the plump flesh of your ass. Your top wasn’t much better; it left little to the imagination, your nipples peaking through the thin fabric of it. You were genuinely perfect in his eyes, and it was causing him the most intense moral battle of his life.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked quietly. His eyes were wandering over you, but he was saying nothing. It looked as though he was fighting something internally.
“What are you doing here?” He asked blandly, ignoring your question entirely. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.
“What do you mean?” You pondered, crossing your arms over your chest, unintentionally pushing your boobs up further, placing them in perfect display for Joel.
“You could be anywhere, yet here you are drunk at your parents’ party.” He said, glancing down at your chest, hoping you wouldn’t notice, but of course you did. You chuckle in response.
“I just graduated college, Joel. I’m home temporarily until I can find something full time. What’s the matter? Am I inconveniencing you somehow?” You asked with pure sass.
“Well not entirely, no.” Joel says, stepping closer to you. “You’d think you and your friend would have a little self control considering the environment. This isn’t college, sweetheart.”
“I beg your pardon? I’ve barely drank anything. For god sake I helped you carry her.” You get defensive, emphatically gesturing towards your friend that’s passed out in your bed. “And unfortunately she could’ve been way worse than this.”
“You should’ve stopped her before she was fighting to keep herself standing.” Joel scolded you, his brows furrowing further.
“Aww what’s wrong, Joel? You have no children of your own so you have to parent me?” You snarled, stepping another inch closer to him. Joel frowns, his fist clenching at his hip.
“You’re a little fucking brat, ain’t ya?” Joel growls, getting centimeters away from your face. He was so close that you could feel his hot breath on the skin of your face.
“And you’re just a dickhead, huh?” You fire back.
Joel grabbed you by the forearm and tugged you towards your bedroom door. Before you could protest, Joel was dragging you down the hall to a spare bedroom. He swiftly pulled you inside and locked the door behind you. He grabbed you firmly by the throat, squeezing just the sides as to not restrict your airflow.
“Bit of an attitude problem, eh?” Joel spoke sternly. You gulped, gawking up into his crinkled eyes. “Might just have to sort you out.”
“What are you doing, Joel?” You squeaked out, your hand reaching up to grab ahold of his forearm. His face moved closer to yours, his eyes moving down to your crimson lips.
“I can only imagine you put on this poor excuse of a skirt to try and get someone to pay attention to you in the way you’re craving. You’re a little fucking whore, aren’t you?” Joel growls, his free hand moving down to your skirt, pulling it away from your body so it smacked back against your plump thighs. You gasped. You didn’t know how to respond to that. Was this actually happening?
After years of secretly fantasizing about a moment like this, it was finally happening, and you were flabbergasted.
“Answer me. Tell me what you are.” His grip around your throat slowly moved up to your jaw, his fingers squeezing your cheeks, making your lips purse.
You groaned in response, a hand trailing up Joel’s torso to his chest, laying a flat hand against him. His heart was beating rapidly. You glanced down and noticed the bulge straining against his vintage Levi jeans. He was enjoying this a little too much. You forced your face away from his grip, grabbing his wrist as hard as you could.
“I’m not a whore.” Your words were laced with venom. You were frustrated. Not because of the substance of Joel’s words, but because you were so fucking aroused. If it were anyone else, you probably would’ve planted a firm kick in their groin or sucker punched them in the lip. His words were disgusting, but you were eating it up.
“No?” Joel cocked his head at you. His free hand snakes up under your skirt, his fingertips pressing against your folds. His fingers were met with moisture. Your panties were soaked through. His gaze fell to his hand, then back up to your doe eyes. He smirked devilishly at you, his hand moving to your face. With his thumb, he pawed at your bottom lip, pulling it away from your teeth.
“Your cunt says otherwise, darling.” He muttered, his breath fanning across your face once more. You swallowed hard. You averted your eyes from him, his gaze making you feel entirely too hot.
“My parents.” You blurted out, your gaze returning to his momentarily. He swallows, his thumb still sitting by your mouth.
“They won’t know.” He said. You retracted your grip from his forearm, and he took that as an opportunity to run his finger up the outside of your arm painfully slow. “What’s wrong sweetheart? Scared of your daddy finding out?”
Your lips parted, a harsh exhale escaping your throat. Your body was on fire, your skin littered with goosebumps from Joel’s touch. To any normal person, this situation would be incredibly alarming. Yes, your moral compass was clawing at the back of your mind, but you craved interaction. Your morals were out the window, your desires taking superiority.
“Yes.” You whispered, your gaze falling to Joel’s lips. They were tempting you.
“If you don’t want this, stop me.”
Joel’s hand moved from your arm back towards the bottom of your skirt, pushing it up over your thighs, your red panties on full display.
“Fuck.” Joel growled, his fingertips grazing your mound through the lacy fabric. He pushed your panties to the side, his finger running through your folds, collecting your arousal. “Stop me, angel.” He teased.
His fingertip ghosted over your sensitive clit, your legs jolting in response, a whimper leaving your mouth. His mouth hovered over the soft skin of your neck, his breath stirring up goosebumps.
“S’matter sweetheart?” Joel muttered, planting a soft kiss to your throat. “Tell me what you need.”
“N-need more.” You said, your brows furrowing in desperation. You glanced down at his hand between your legs, your lower gut fluttering at the sight. He applied more pressure to the circles he was dancing over your swollen bud, the pleasure sending your head to lull backwards. You whimpered more, your legs beginning to feel like jello.
“You sound so pathetic.” Joel spat, working his fingers faster on your clit. You exhaled unevenly, your hand coming down on Joel’s bicep for stability.
You felt that familiar white heat beginning to ignite low in your belly, your cunt throbbing steadily. Your eyes squeezed shut. You were close— but Joel knew that. He wasn’t going to let you come just yet. Without warning, Joel halted his actions, his hand leaving your folds. You could’ve cried in that moment. Joel grabbed your forearm and tugged you towards the bed, pushing you down onto the duvet.
“Joel, please. I need to cum.” You whined, your head falling back into the soft mattress. Joel purses his lips at you, his hand running along the smooth skin of your leg, inching closer to where you needed his attention most.
“Jesus, sweetheart. At least you know what you want.” Joel said, squeezing the flesh of your thigh with the rough skin of his palm. “Here’s how this is gonna go. First I’m going to taste you. Then, I’m going to fuck you until you forget how to think. Got it?”
You nodded pathetically, grinding your hips down onto the mattress, desperate for some sort of friction. Joel ghosted his hands over your thighs to the seam of your latex skirt, gripping it between his fingers. In a swift motion, Joel tugged the skirt down your legs and off your body, tossing it somewhere on the floor. He left your boots on, not quite wanting to get rid of them yet. Your pussy looks so pretty underneath the transparent lace fabric of your thong. It left little to nothing to Joel’s imagination. Your breasts were spilling out of your black top, your areolas peaking out. You looked breathtaking.
“Fuck, angel. I wish you could see yourself. So pretty for me.” Joel muttered, lowering his face to your groin, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. He ran his large hand up the back of your thigh, squeezing every few inches. You bite your lip and you stared down at his face as he littered kissed across your thighs. His salt and pepper beard added even more texture to the sensations you were feeling. He slipped his fingers underneath the fabric of your panties and slowly pulled them down your tights and over your boots, leaving your heat bare. Joel lowered his face down to your core, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin. He pressed a kiss to your pelvic bone, then ghosted his lips in a line down to your sensitive bud. He planted another kiss over your clit, taking his sweet time teasing you. Your pussy was throbbing at this point, desperate for any sort of touch.
“Joel please.” You pleaded, grinding your hips up towards his mouth. “I need your tongue.”
“Good girl.” He said, lowering his tongue to your folds, licking a wet stripe up your vulva, tracing a circle around your clit, sucking down on it gently. He moaned into your flesh, the vibrations sending a chill down your spine. His tongue began to work faster, flicking up and down and side to side over your clit. He brought his middle finger to your opening, ghosting circular motions over it, before slowly pushing it inside of you. You exhaled deeply at the sensation. He began pumping his finger rhythmically in and out of you, paying special attention to curl his fingertip upwards to brush against your g spot. As he felt your walls growing accustom to the girth of his singular digit, he added a second finger, pumping faster. Just from his fingers and tongue, you already felt fucked out of your mind. The pleasure sent shocks down your legs and up your spine, your head rolling back into the mattress in euphoria. A quiet moan slipped through your cherry lips, your fists grabbing the bedding for leverage to cope with the immense pleasure coursing through you.
“Joel.” You whimpered, one of your hands jetting down to grab at his hair as he lapped at your wet heat. His soft brown eyes flicked up to meet yours at the sound of your voice. Your moan went straight to his already throbbing cock.
“Christ, baby.” He groaned, lifting away from your core to unbutton his Levi’s. His hand fumbled with the zipper to get them off as fast as he could. The anticipation was killing him; he was so hard that it was beginning to hurt. He needed inside you immediately.
Finally managing to slide his jeans down his legs, his cock was straining against his boxers. The tent was revealing in itself; you already knew he was packing a punch. It felt painfully slow, but finally Joel slipped off his boxers, revealing his erection. Leaking at the tip, he brushed his thumb over, cleaning up the precum that had accumulated from tasting you.
You sat up from the mattress and grabbed his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his. Your lips moved against his in a passionate rush. You could taste yourself on his lips. Another whimper rose from your throat, the moan vibrating off his lips. The sound of your wet kiss filled the room as he lowered his body over yours to lay you back down against the bed. His hand moved from his cock to your breast, pulling it out of your top and giving it a firm squeeze.
“Fuck.” He muttered against your lips as you rocked your hips into his. You needed his touch desperately.
“Fuck me.” You breathed out, pulling away to look him in the eye. “Please.”
That was all Joel needed to hear. He reached down to take his cock in his hand again, guiding his top to press into your folds. He ran back and forth against your slick, his precum mixing with your arousal. His eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as he felt your wetness already beginning to coat him. His eyes lifted back to meet yours as he began to slowly press his tip into your entrance, the stretch already making you feel crazed. Your lips parted, an exhale escaping your lips as he pressed himself into your further. Your hands darted up to grab onto his biceps as leverage. He lowered down to your lips, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to them as he pushed his length inside of you to the hilt. Another moan escaped your lips.
“Y’okay?” Joel breathed out, slowly pumping in and out of you, allowing you time to adjust. You nodded your head, unable to form a coherent sentence.
“More.” You begged. “I need more.”
Joel ran his hand from your thigh up your belly, dragging his finger tip slowly to take in every inch of your skin. He reached your neck, wrapping his calloused fingertips around your throat, carefully squeezing on the sides. He leaned down to meet your lips, taking your bottom lip between his teeth momentarily.
“So fucking needy.” He grumbled against your mouth, his eyelids fluttering closed.
Suddenly, Joel began pounding into you. His hot breath fanned over your face as he rammed in and out of you, his length reached the deepest parts of you. You gasped, your hand reached up to grab his wrist that was busy squeezing your throat. Your eyes rolled back in your head and he slammed into you over and over. You were sure he was hitting you so deep that he was nicking your cervix. Just when you thought you couldn’t be more overwhelmed with pleasure, Joel’s free hand snaked between your thighs, his thumb finding your clit, ghosting gentle circles over the sensitive nub. You squeaked out a moan, the pleasure overcoming your senses completely. Your legs began to shake from the stimulation, your lower belly muscles tensing from the overwhelming sensation. Your breath was shaking, the oxygen feeling as through it had completely left your lungs.
“F-fuck.” You stuttered as Joel thrusted into you. “I’m close.”
Joel took this as an opportunity to slide out of you, wasting no time in flipping you onto your belly, laying a hard slap against your bare ass cheek. He groaned as your ass jiggled from the slap, his hand coming back down to grab a handful of your flesh. You pressed your face down into the duvet, letting out a moan. Your pussy was throbbing from the sudden lack of attention. You wiggled your hips, nonverbally begging for Joel’s cock. He chucked, slapping your ass once more before pressing himself back at your entrance, ramming into you fully, his hips meeting your ass in a rush. He grabbed a cheek with his rough fingertips, pulling your ass apart to get a full view of himself slamming into you. Your tightest hole was on perfect display for him.
“One day I’m going to claim you here too.” Joel growled, his fingertip grazing the ring of your asshole. You gasped, your forehead coming down onto the bedding, pressing your face down into the duvet to cover your moan. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me claiming your tight little ass as mine?”
You nodded rapidly, a straggled breath leaving your mouth. It was so goddamn hard for your mind to focus on anything except the feeling of his tip grazing the opening of your cervix with every thrust. Once again, Joel reached his hand down to toy at your clit, bringing you closer to your climax. The white heat hit you again as your legs began to shake under you. Joel wasn’t far behind you, and his pace wasn’t easing up.
His hips met yours hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the walls of the spare bedroom. If it weren’t for the music thumping downstairs, your sinful act would’ve already been heard throughout the entire house. Joel leaned down, kissing you against your spine, his hand kneading your ass.
“F-fuck, where do you want me? Your mouth? Or should I fill you up?” Joel grunted, his hand snaking around your front to firmly grab your breast, pinching your nipple between his fingertips.
You gasped, the stimulation for your nipple slipping you into the beginning of your orgasm. You didn’t answer him, the feeling of your impending climax completely taking over your body.
“Look at you cumming around my cock. Such a good fucking slut.” Joel growled, his pace somehow quickening further. His hand reached up to your hair, grabbing a fistful of locks and pulling your head backwards. His other hand reached around to your throat as he bent down to kiss you from the intense angle, your orgasm taking over you entirely. Your toes began to curl beneath you, your pussy clamping around Joel’s cock that was twitching deep inside you. Your pussy clenched down around his length, hugging it perfectly.
“Fuck.” Joel whimpered, his high hitting him like a train. Your spasming canal clamped down around him as he came in hot spurts, coating your walls deep inside of you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every ounce of cum from his length.
His thrusts slowed as his seed filled you up, his hands grabbing your hips for stability as he came the hardest he’d ever came in his life. He moaned as he slowly slipped his spent cock out of you, some of his release dripping out of your used up hole. The sight was intoxicating.
“Fuck.” Joel breathed out again, taking in the ruined state of your folds. He ran his fingers down your slick, mixing his cum with yours. You flinched at the sensitivity of your pussy, whining as he brushed over your clit.
You were spent. Your face was still pressed against the mattress, your ass still perched in the air. Joel’s cum was slowly leaking out of you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You were too fucked out of your mind to notice that Joel had left the bed to retrieve a wet rag from the attached bathroom. You winced as he gently cleaned up the juices spilling from you.
“You look so beautiful with my cum dripping out of you.” He spoke, running a hand up and down the back of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to your sore ass cheek from where he had smacked it.
You rolled over onto your back, your tender breasts jiggling from the movement. Joel leaned down and took a breast into his mouth, gently sucking on your hardened nipple.
“As much as I’d love to stay here and fuck you all night, I should go before your daddy starts to wonder where we went.” Joel said, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.
A pit grew deep in your gut at the thought of Joel leaving you, but you knew the nature of this interaction and it would be silly of you to expect any different. You gazed up at him and frowned.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Joel shook his head and straightened up, moving his attention to dress himself. He began buttoning his flannel that he’d taken off during your interaction at some point that you hadn’t noticed. You watched in silence as he pulled his boxers and Levi’s back up over his legs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Joel said after he was fully dressed. You were still laying on the bed completely nude attempting to recover from the mindblowing sex you’d just endured. Joel walked towards the door, turning briefly to look at your one last time.
“You might want to get dressed, sweetheart. Hate to have your daddy walk in to see my cum spilling out of you.” He winked, then disappeared out of the door, leaving you alone fucked out of your mind.
806 notes
·
View notes
Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 8; "My reputation's never been worse."
“This is so fucking stupid.”
I shoved my hands into my hoodie pocket, eyes rolling at the sight of the boys, noise makers between their lips, some jank ass sign unraveling in the wind.
“Your mom’s fucking stupid,” Max fired back with his usual goofy smile, words muffled from the noise maker in his mouth. His knocked his fist against my elbow gently as he passed by, moving to help Cy hold up the poster board.
They’d bought it at a random Walgreens, after having forced the Uber driver to pull over, abruptly. Then, with bumpy hands and terrible penmanship, they wrote out some sarcastic for Sam about returning home from prison.
“Don’t be a sour puss, dude,” Adam replied. His brows were furrowed, chin dipping side to side in disagreement to my negative statement.
I looked to him, watching as he pulled a cone shaped hat down onto his hair, the rubber band snug against his chin. The meer humor of the too-small hat on his head made his words lose any meaning. I wanted to laugh, but instead I shot back, my brows skeptically, sarcasm quick as air, “Who? Me? No, never!”
Adam scoffed a laugh. His hat was finally adjusted now, hands falling to his sides exasperatedly. “Seriously. Just try to be nice, for once. Sam said Daisy’s, like, so sweet.”
My skepticism only darkened my gaze, sarcasm sinking into genuine wonder, “So, what, we’re gonna be dancing around some child all summer?”
It was a valid question. When Sam asked us about Daisy joining the tour for the summer, everyone else just jumped on board. I, however, took a little convincing. What business did she even have here, 5,000 miles from home? It’s not like she had any professional connections to touch on, nor was London that interesting. Or, maybe I was just being a pessimist, again…
To say the least, I had trust issues. Or, in my therapist’s more light turn of phrase, I was cautious, careful to new people because I had a lot on the line with my career and had been through numerous situations with others that ended up with me, well…in therapy.
Max battled with the cardboard sign as the wind seemed to be winning the war. He struggled to get the words out as he scuffled to straighten its edges, which seemed to take more work than it needed to,
“She’s literally only 5 years younger than you.”
“So, a child?”
“So, a 23 year old, grown woman. She’s really smart, Sam said. I’m sure you can have some fun conversations about the elements and shit.”
“Sam’s biased,” I murmured, focused now on the cigarette between my pointer and middle fingers. I dallied with lighting it, displaced energy in the act. It was early. I was tired.
“Sam’s one of your best mates,” Cy shot me a look. “Listen, just give her a chance. Stop moping just because you think some woman’s gonna take away from our guy time this summer.”
I straightened up, offense hitting my features like a stone wall, “When did I say that? I’m just worried we’re gonna have to cater to some child while we’re trying to literally do our jobs. She’s gonna be pursuing around like she’s in some Taylor Swift video while we’re going to be trying to earn our income. It’s just…weird.”
I’d never mention that fear to them- the fear I had of this trust. I think maybe if they all looked at me a little more closely, they’d see it. They’d see the fear in my eyes. But, I was really good at displacing my anxieties onto a separate, less pressing issue.
If I was ever terrified the sky was going to fall, then, suddenly, I was lashing out about the uncut grass in the front yard, randomly. Gotta love unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Cy was still looking at me all judgmentally. I knew he wanted to lecture me further, but he simply reached over, patted my shoulder, and said, “Just…try not to be a dickhead, okay? Let the girl enjoy her summer.”
Max continued on, blabbering about something or the other. “I’m, like…Ollie, have you ever even seen a Taylor Swift video? I am pretty sure not a single fucking one takes place in Europe. They’re all super conceptual and abstract. Honestly, you might actually love some of ‘em. What’s that older one? With the trees and shit?”
“Out Of the Woods?” Adam was quick to fill in the blanks. I looked to him out of the corner of my vision, gaze narrowed. Of course he knew which one it was. He held his hands up, defensively, “What? My little cousin loves her.”
“Mhm,” I nodded, slow.
He trailed off, looking away, “And, maybe, you know, I do, too.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
Max latched onto Adam’s help, continuing his rant about Taylor Swift, of all things. “Fuck! Out of the Woods! It reminds me a lot of the Fall for Me video! There’s, ya know, water…lots of running…self-deprecation. Fuck, a Sleep Token/Taylor Swift collab would go so hard!”
“Shit, could you imagine some real drums on one of her songs?” Cy perked up at the thought, fingers thrumming against the corner of the sign that he’d now laid his clutches on. “Sick!”
“Oh, God,” I rubbed my forehead, itching more and more to finally light up my cigarette, puff out a few smokey deep breaths. “I can feel the glitter and sparkles starting to fucking suffocate me! Can we please talk about something else?”
“Whatever, Ollie,” Adam flicked his hand towards me dismissively. He went to change the subject when his phone dinged from his pocket. He pulled it out, in one fluid motion, and read whatever text he’d gotten. “Shit! They just got their bags! Quick! Hold up the sign!”
Max shuffled around, all energetic, trying to make everything look perfect. He quickly tried to put a party hat on my head. I had to shove his entire body into Adam to stop him from getting the string down over my chin.
“Fuck off!” I cursed, brushing out the torso of my hoodie. He giggled, annoyingly, knowing he’d successfully gotten on my nerves. Again.
Max turned his attention away from me and to the two people who had just walked out of the airport, suitcases rolling behind them, backpacks looped around their shoulders. I noticed Sam, first, his head dipped down into his phone, curly blonde hair mopped up atop his head. He was dressed, head to toe, in all black. It was a welcome site, the fifth member of our posse back in our home country, our original stomping grounds, even if he wasn’t from here.
I let a smile overtake my features, excitement bubbling in my cheeks. It was actually really good to see him.
I wouldn’t have even paid any attention to the girl standing beside him if she didn’t stick out so much, like a sore thumb. Her bright pink sweater, gray sweatpants, the purples and greens swirled around her suitcase. Every single thing touching her was just…so colorful. Even the expression on her face, wide grin, cheery eyes- though they were circled by tireless bags- it was all so glaring.
I narrowed my eyes skeptically.
As Sam fumbled about on his phone, she stepped forward, excitedly taking an extra noise maker, my left over party hat, from Max. She barely got the hat on before Sam was looking up, our small crowd erupting into joyous ruckus that caused him to nearly drop his phone.
I don’t know why, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. I watched her, carefully, as she went through the motions of greeting everyone. Adam was his shy, introverted self. Cy was charismatic, Max obnoxiously flirty.
And she was just…constant, through it all. Upbeat, grinning, encouraging to every single average word that my friends told her.
And then she was looking at me, offering her hand. My head shook slightly as if to unscramble my consciousness. I glanced between her hand, her own gaze, unsure of what to do or say. I had been too busy watching. I barely brought myself out of that entrapped stare before my name came fumbling out of my mouth.
“Oliver.”
She seemed a little put off, taken aback, after I blatantly ignored her outstretched hand. But, I didn’t want to shake it. I was afraid that, if I touched it, she might shock me, sting me, scorch me with that bleeding sunshine she seemed to have sticking to her skin.
Besides, I couldn’t trust her, right? Right.
I turned my head away, feeling somewhat ashamed for the way I brushed her off. There was a rejected twinkle in her eyes, one that I could not handle. Moving on from that interaction, or in an attempt to do so, I tilted my chin down, glazing my eyes to the concrete. I shrunk beneath the cover of my hood.
I didn’t need to feel bad for anything. I didn’t even know her, nor did she know me.
As the others finished up with their exchange of greetings, the group itself began making its way back to the Uber, with Sam and Daisy now a part of the flow.
The car ride back was objectively short, though it felt longer than the time on Apple Maps said. I rode in the back with the guys, pressed up against the door due to the lack of space. My long knees jutted out awkwardly. The bone of my leg ached from knocking against the door with each bump in the road that the car hit.
I stared out of the window, hoping the painful time would pass quicker. The ugliness of London stared back at me. A small, curious part of me kept darting my eyes towards the front seat, where she sat. But I stilled my gaze on the city.
That was maybe part of the issue- I just didn't understand why Daisy was so interested in visiting this place anyways. It was boring, bland. I associated the cloudy gray skies and rainy summers with some of the worst times of my life. This city looked the way I felt for most of it, too. The people were shit, too. Rude, always in a rush, unforgiving and untrustworthy.
What adventure could one find in this wet, concrete maze of hell?
Bored, I moved my attention back to the interior of the car, still resisting that urge to look forward. Adam, Cy, Sam, and Max were a cacophony of lost conversation, catching up, rumbling laughter. I listened for a moment, intently awaiting her to throw in her two sense. She seemed like the type to talk somebody’s ear off. Perhaps I could read between her sentences, find out her motives, her intentions, find something to use against her, so I could easily hate her and put distance between us-
Oh.
She was sleeping.
Her body was slumped against the door, neck pillow twisted around to support her forehead from the glass of the window. She cradled her hands to her stomach, the blanket she had just up underneath her chest.
The curve of her face caught my eye the most, the simple stillness of the lines around her lips, the peaceful flutter that ruffled her lashes every so often. I wondered what she dreamt of- rainbows, sunshine, lollipops. I bet she was the type of person who would respond, "World peace," when asked what she would wish for if she had a genie.
God. I really was an asshole. Here was this stranger, this beautiful, seemingly kind stranger, trying to catch up on sleep after traveling nearly 20 hours…and here I was, creating an entire persona around the two facts I actually knew about her. Maybe I should give her a chance, like the guys said. Maybe I should let her in, even if it was barely past the surface, and try to be amicable.
Maybe she wouldn’t sell my name to the paparazzi. Maybe she wouldn’t leak photos of me online, or call news sites to gain traction on social media.
I nearly flinched as she shifted in her slumber, so lost in my thoughts that the disruption was a panic. Her lips parted, just so, as air deflated from her lungs. The hair that curled around her face ruffled from the gentle gust.
Though she looked like Sam, she really was beautiful. Sure, Sam was attractive, in his own way. But, uniquely, Daisy was…honestly, gorgeous, all doe-eyed, rose lips, freckled cheeks.
I kept staring at her, analyzing, accidentally memorizing.
As I felt myself sinking, into my seat, into myself, into this stare I had on her, I straightened up, shoved myself back in the door.
The poor girl wasn’t even awake.
And I was being far too open.
When we reached the hotel, everyone piled out of the Uber. I went to step out, myself, to begrudgingly helped with luggage. But after I cast a casual glance over my shoulder, I noticed Daisy was still asleep. As though she were his responsibility, I found Sam and went to vocalize the issue with him. But he was busy with their bags.
None of the others were really familiar enough with her to consider her.
No one but me, I guess, because I was reaching out my fingers, touching her shoulder, telling her, "We're here."
I swept myself away before she could wake up and look me in the eyes.
-
"Where's your sister?" Cy inquired, poking at his dish with the fork in his hold.
Sam shrugged as he continued shoveling french fries in his mouth. "Sleeping, I think. She was fucking exhausted. Could barely get herself to bed this morning.”
"Poor girl," Max pouted his bottom lip. "Has she ever traveled this far from home?"
"Nope."
"Damn. Good for her, then. It's hard to just leave everything behind, to leave your everyday life for this type of thing for this long," Max continued.
I listened intently, though I made it seem like I wasn't even conscious of the guys seated at the table with me. Where they thought I was mindlessly stirring my drink, I was reading between the lines of every vague fact Sam dropped about Daisy.
"Well," he held a hand before his mouth as he chewed, swallowed. He sat back as he began to unload more information about his sister, "No offense to her, but she doesn't have much of a life. She works, like, two-three jobs at any given time. She works at some clinic during the day, waits tables in the evening, then does some stuff on campus here and there."
"Shit. Hope she's taking care of herself," Adam commented, thoughtfully.
"She does. I think. I don't know. We don't really get much time together anymore. Ever since mom died...I don't know. It's been hard to stay connected."
"This summer's gonna be good, then, for you guys to get to see each other," Cy touched Sam’s wrist with his fist, encouraging our friend with his response.
"Yeah," Sam's eyes seemed a little distant then, like there were foggy memories, regrets clouding his consciousness, "Yeah, I hope so."
Max went to speak again when Sam's phone went off. He pulled it out, scrolling through the texts he'd received. "Speak of the devil."
Sure enough, Daisy came padding into the hotel bar. Her hair was damp, twisted up behind her head by some clip. Her features were more prominent this way, skin shining with the care she must have just put into it. As she approached us, her perfume breezed off her skin, off her stupid Taylor Swift hoodie, right past my nose.
It smelled so sweet that I had to look away, focus on something else.
Everyone else greeted her, asking about how she slept, how she felt. I was inattentive, attempting to make it seem like I hadn’t just been thrown off balance.
I needed to do something, say something to her, to be welcoming. To make it seem like I wasn’t such a dickhead, even though I pretty much was. So, I worked on some phrases in my head, hoping to catch her in a side conversation, so there wasn’t so much tension with the others listening in.
But, she walked out of the bar as quickly as she'd come.
I found the air to be cooler without her occupying the space.
I shivered and turned my chin towards that freeze.
-
Later that evening, I found myself on the hotel roof.
It was one of my favorite spots, no matter which city we were passing through, which state I found myself to be stuck in. I could go up to the highest floor, even if it wasn’t too far off of the ground, tune out the stress that came with work, and relax into the peace and quiet.
It was one of the healthier coping mechanisms my therapist and I had been working on. I was an antisocial person, to say the least. And when I’d had to be around others for too long, working literal overtime to just function like a normal person, I’d become irritable, withdrawn.
So, stalking off in the late hours of the evening with a book in my hand and some lyrics in my head became a usual, practiced ritual that I was comforted by, especially on tours.
The breeze of London flew past my face, braising goosebumps on my neck. I tucked my chin into my hoodie more. There were these tiki lights, all around me and the intimate seating area I occupied, but the little bits of light did nothing to help me see the book in my hands.
I tucked it away after straining for a few moments and settled on just resonating with myself for a bit. I watched the flames of the fire pit before me, listened to it crackle and pop. I was so focused on the peacefulness, that I hadn’t even noticed the elevator ding, nor the person scuffling across the concrete of the roof.
In fact, I didn’t even notice her until she was sitting across from me, these little alcohol bottles in her hands. The movement of her sitting before me flitted my gaze up, edges of my vision blurred slightly from the intensity of the flames. My hearing focused after. There was music streaming from the speakers on her phone, some Taylor Swift song I didn't recognize. I withheld the urge to roll my eyes and studied her movements.
She read the label on the mini shot of Jack Daniels with squinted eyes. I'd never seen someone pay so much attention to a simple liquor Maybe she'd never drank it before. That would be a strange fact, considering she was 23. Every 23 year old I knew had gone through every liquor known to man.
Then, she drank it and I realized why she was so observant. Her face turned up in this grimace, lips puckered, brows furrowed. She just couldn't handle her liquor. Her examination of the bottle was really just a hesitance to consume it in the first place.
I stifled a laugh and instead found my words, urged to tease her for this occurrence, "Gonna share?'
Maybe I should have intruded her peace more gently, or maybe I should have said something sooner than I did. Either way, I had spooked her enough that she jumped.
Her once shocked grimace twisted into a deep frown, like she was annoyed I had disturbed her. "How long have you been sitting there?"
My grin widened, though it didn't seem like she found much humor in the situation. "Long enough to know you can't take a shot." I held out my hand, awaiting her to hand over one of the bottles.
She didn't do that Instead, her face hardened a bit and she made another comment, “Sorry I’m not an alcoholic. If you want one, you have to come get it, by the way. I’m comfy now.”
I was taken back by her crudeness. Everyone said she was so kind, so sweet. I'd even overheard her niceties earlier, at the airport, at the bar. Had I done something?
Instead of setting the record straight, communicating, though, I became defensive to her jabs. As I reached for one of the bottles, I said, "Comfy with this trash music playing?"
Funnily enough, this made her face sink more, if at all possible. Her frown was deep as a river, and murky as one, too, "Real men listen to Taylor Swift."
I tried another joke, hoping it would salvage the wreckage we were feeding, "Hey, haven't you heard? I'm a vessel, not a man?"
I don't know if it did, but she at least continued speaking to me. "So, vessel, what are you doing up here? Can't sleep?"
I tossed my hand in her direction, speaking with my casual satire, "Obviously." I looked away from her, breathless. I was trying so hard, so incredibly hard to seem careless, chill. I didn’t know why I couldn’t just, actually, genuinely not give a fuck.
I reached for my cigarettes, too stressed out to handle a head that was some sober from nicotine. After a long drag, I felt that familiar buzz of a clear head, the temporary reduction of anxiety.
Cigarettes were always a killer ice breaker, helpful in even the toughest, most awkward conversations. So, when my eyes popped back open and met hers, I offered a hit.
If her face had been disgusted before, it was even more so now. "That's okay, thanks," she almost sneered.
I pursed my lips. Okay, I wasn't the only one killing this conversation. She acted like she was just too good for anything that I had to do with. Like if she were to take a drag from this cigarette, she'd be infected with my sickness.
I voiced the concern with my snide tone again. Her response nearly made me choke on my own spit, “More like my mom died of lung cancer because she smoked for thirty years.”
As quick as possible, I stomped the butt into the ground. "Sorry."
She hummed some sort of response, looking away so uncomfortably. I wanted to grovel, to beg for her forgiveness in the case of such a small moment of misunderstanding, but I settled on another painful jab at a nice conversation.
“I’d ask what you’re doing up, but I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep after the day you had.”
She responded in that same dry tone, "Yeah, no."
Annoyed, I began to wonder where all this sweetness had gone. Earlier, with the guys, she had spoken like she'd known them for forever. Here, with me- she acted like I'd spit in her coffee this morning, like I was holding her at gun point just to have this conversation.
I gave up on trying to be overly considerate and shot straight to the point. I wanted answers anyways, and now I had a good reason to search for them, "What's your deal, Daisy?"
"What the fuck does that mean?" She responded.
I shrugged as I crossed my arms over my chest. What did she want it to mean? "Why are you here?"
Instead of just answering the question, she countered me, echoing the question. Good fucking game, Daisy Hallett. Good fucking game.
I stretched my body out as I thought, unsure of how to answer. What was I here for? To do my job, obviously. So, I told her that. But, I should have known she would pry deeper. That were her job, after all, to observe, analyze, pry.
“That’s not what you’re here for,” She rejected my words, shaking her head just slightly, “That’s what everyone else is here for. What about you, Oliver?”
I started making music for myself, not anyone else. In the darkest, most terrible parts of my life, it had gotten me through to the other side with ease. It was my biggest coping skill, sitting at a clear number one on the list my therapist and I had outlined.
Getting paid for it, getting to tour and travel cities…that was all a plus. Touring, performing itself, were two things I was still trying to get used to. It was awesome to get to play my music life for others, to help them through to the other side, but it was sometimes…overwhelming, a hard pill to swallow.
So, I answered honestly this time, “To…worship. To celebrate my music, myself…life.”
She was impressed by this answer, pleased, and I could tell this by the stretch of her lips. That sweet, enticing smile did something to me.
As she held up the shot bottle in a gesture to cheers, I returned the smirk. We danced on the edge of some invisible line.
"To life."
I wanted to hear more of her voice, more of...her, more about her. So, I scrambled and said, "Wait, what about you?"
“There’s no deeper meaning to anything I do,” she waved me off.
I understood her more in this moment than I sometimes understood the people closest to me. She was like- she was insecure, she was scared. She was a little kid with monsters under her bed and in her closet.
So, I affirmed her existence with words that seemed so simple, yet would have meant so much for me to hear, too. “Oh, Daisy, there’s always deeper meaning to everything humans do. Think. What’s yours?”
This threw her off balance, yet somehow kept her from falling off the edge. It made the gears in her head turn, made her question her own thoughts. "I guess…I guess…to find that deeper meaning. To find what I’m looking for, maybe.”
She still didn't seem too sure, but I knew that, once this summer ended, once the leaves turned brown, and she returned back to a place called home, she would know it in her bones.
And I think, maybe, I might know it, too.
Sooner, rather than the later that I hoped for, we were in the elevator. Hours of breathless conversation sat, stale in the air on the roof, abandoned as the steel doors trapped us in silence.
The more she told me, the more terrified I was of her very existence. She was smarter than me, and very good at returning snide comments. Her wit was so profoundly intelligent, that I found myself silenced on more than one occasion.
Above all this- she was a disruption- she was chaos. She made me think differently, harder. She made me laugh.
I was drawn in by all of this, by her eyes, by the way the corners of her pink lips curled up into her cheeks. It took me a second to realize that she was staring back up at me, that our shoulders were turning to face one another, that my fingers were grazing the sleeve of her hoodie.
"You're very pretty, Daisy," the words fell out in a dangerous whisper. I loved the way she blushed, the way the tip of her nose scrunched, and she fell back onto her heels a bit.
I would have kissed her, I knew that for sure, had the elevator doors not opened up, had we not parted ways there, in the barren hallways. And I would have sought her out, would have reached for a simple phone number, another moment on the roof, another conversation about life and college and her favorite fucking color...
had I not made it back to my room and looked myself in the eye, through the smudged reflection of the bathroom mirror. The painful eye contact brought me back down to Earth, reminded me of the ugliness swirled up inside my chest, the bitter desire of my own self interest, selfishness.
I was...I was the chaos. I was the disruption. Here was this beautiful, interesting, smart girl...and here was me, this man-giant, who could barely hold a conversation without feeling like he was going to have a panic attack. Besides all that, her brother was my fucking best friend. I was his boss.
This was territory that I could not enter, not without a guilty conscience and someone's broken heart.
So, I would proceed with caution, although it ended up making me seem like the worst person in the world.
-
I knew I could no longer keep up the act only a few weeks in, all thanks to Whitney Houston and this stupid pink fucking dress.
I watched her parade herself all night, guzzling drinks like they were air, batting her stupidly prim and perfect eyelashes my way. She knew exactly how to get me going- how to lock me in, most of all.
And I was playing right into the fucking game, weak signs and Achilles heels all exposed from the second that she stepped out of that hotel room.
When I saw that knowing, vivacious smirk- I knew tonight would be different.
It wasn't until she was passed out, in my bed, with my hoodie on, that I realized I was falling for her.
I had been able to subside the hunger that I felt, the hunger I felt to speak to her, to consume her with my eyes, my teeth, my hands, my body- God. It was easy to push all these thoughts away when she wasn't there- but then, she'd show up at breakfast or dinner or in my dreams and thoughts and desperations and I'd spiral again.
It didn't help that I was letting it get to me so much- and she was literally trained in analyzing behavior. I exposed my curiosities with even the slightest dip in my gaze or lift in my shoulders. There was a moment, during breakfast, when she told us of her plans for the evening of one our first shows-
that she wasn't coming to.
Max had to go and make a stupid joke when I just barly glanced up from my plate, "Even Ollie's hurt!"
I stopped coming to so many social gatherings, at least where she was concerned. And, then, I got all the space I needed when we took off on the buses.
Everyone flocked to her side, wanting even a second of her attention, while I kept to myself on the other bus. Because I thought the guys might leave me alone about it, I could almost reside in absolute peace.
But, then, Ronnie came knocking on my bunk.
It was early morning. We were stopped for gas, somewhere in Northern Italy. The bus was deadly silent, with nothing but my own quiet breath and the hum of the outside world to keep e company.
Ronnie came in, bounding, like she always did. She slammed the bus door shut, jarring me from the focus I'd had on the game of Mario Kart pulled up on my Switch. Next thing I knew, she was ripping open the curtain to my bunk.
"Why the fuck are you rotting in here like a mummy? I'm close to wrapping you up in toilet paper and shoving you in with the suitcases!"
I rolled my eyes as she spoke and slouched my shoulders away. The hood of my sweatshirt dipped enough that she was no longer in my view. "Sam needs to stop gassing up your jokes. It's getting to your head."
"You're literally just jealous because your jokes are only ever mean and borderline tone-deaf," Ronnie grabbed the lip of my hood and tugged it down over my face.
I wriggled away from her, Switch dropping towards the inside of the bunk. I shoved her hands away. "Says you, Miss Jimmy Carr."
Ronnie's jaw jutted open a bit, "Now that's fucked, Ollie."
I went to jab back again, but she held up a hand, head tilted like she was a tired, annoyed mother of a band of men babies. "Stop while you're ahead, dude. Back to what I came in to harass you about- you need to come join us! We're playing Mario Kart with peaches- Daisy, sorry. You guys would get along sooo great. I know you're, like, weird about new people, but she's so fucking funny. Please, please just come over, hang out, be chill for once in your life."
Peaches. They had given her a nickname. Peaches, as if she weren't already sweet enough to sour the cuts on my skin.
I huffed and puffed at the rant as I pulled my hood down the back of my head. "First of all, I don't play Mario Kart-"
"I literally hear the music coming from your Switch," Ronnie pointed with a dead stare at the device, muffled humming rumbling from beneath my blanket.
I met her eye, absent any shame of my white lie. I took a breath and dove back into my rejection, "Second of all, why the hell do you guys give out the cringiest, most ridiculous nicknames? Like, peaches?What even is that?"
"It's called joy, magic, and fun, you grinch," Ronnie pinched my elbow. I flinched away from her touch again and she snickered. "If you don't like Daisy, just say so. I won't tell anybody. I'll just resent and judge you in silence- silent words, not punches."
What did she mean, that I didn't like Daisy? I knew I'd been passive towards her, but I never made it so obvious-
The expression on my face must have read confusion or shock because Ronnie popped a hip and crossed her arms.
"Listen," she added, "I know that she probably irks you. I get it. You're the bad boy, dark soul type and she's this ray of fucking sunshine and, yes, peaches. Just- give her a chance before you rain all over her parade."
"I literally never said I had a fucking problem with her. Why does everyone think I hate her guts when I've literally only ever had one conversation with her?" I frustratedly spoke, words rushed together.
Ronnie stood back a second, reading the scrunch of my brows, the way I pushed myself up onto my elbows. Then, her offended frown morphed into something knowing, as though bits of information clicked in her head.
"Oh," she rhythmed, grinning now, "I see what's going on here. Hey, she's gorgeous.”
"Oh, my God, here we go," I stood from my bunk, now, unwilling to just lay there and listen to her try to evaluate my behavior.
Ronne didn't follow me as I made my way to the back room, "Ollie...just remember who you are. And who she is."
And this sentence alone threw me for the biggest loop.
I didn't even know what she meant by that, but as well I knew Ronnie...it was definitely more than met the eye, deeper than any surface level warning anybody else could give. Not only did I know Ronnie well, but she could read me like a book. She knew what to say to make my skin crawl.
Who I am...who Daisy is.
Analyzing the statement from top to bottom, general to specific, it was simple. She was my best friend’s brother. And I was his boss.
It meant more than that, though.
Ronnie meant that Daisy…Daisy was delicate. Daisy was meat, fresh off a shattered bone, and I was a hound.
I was always the hound. The Albatross, even. A winged creature always coming in to swipe shiny things off of stormy shores.
Ronnie didn’t want to harm me with the statement, but she sure as hell wanted to humble me.
And that she did.
Each time I found myself aching to find Daisy’s gaze, I’d shrink back into myself. Remember my place. Remember who I was.
And, then…that damn Whitney Houston song. That damn pink dress.
Ronnie knew I was slipping, when I first spotted Daisy, in the doorway of her hotel room, long legs on display. I caught my lips beginning to party, drool beginning to pool in my teeth. This appreciative smirk came upon my face until I met Ronnie’s frown.
And I moved on.
I kept trying to move on, to fly away, leave the gold necklace on the beach for some other lucky, hopeless idiot to clean the sand off of, treasure for the rest of their sorry days.
I paid for her meal, as some sort of reparation for the damage I must’ve done all evening, being the hungry being I was while she toyed with the lock on my cage.
But, I just couldn’t
.
Especially not when she was running from the bar, sickness visible on her face. I could’ve left it where it was- Max was shuffling after her, ready to help, ready to hold her hair up.
Before I knew it, my feet were racing me out of the door, my hand was on Max’s shoulder, a kind smile was reassuring him that I could handle it, that he could go back to having fun.
My hands were in her hair, my neck was cradling the crown of her head, she was reaching for my wallet, letting us into the hotel room, laying down on my bed. I was giving her my hoodie, placing a bandage on her leg, caressing her fruity skin.
And then…just like that, as quickly as the rain began, like when you can see it in sheets, pounding into the Earth, just there, off in the distance…then it’s splattering on your windshield, the sound jarring you from your tired drive, the blur harming your vision of the road.
It was raining in my hotel room.
I didn’t have an umbrella.
I spent the entire night, laying there on the bed beside her, faced away, tensed up. Every breath she took stopped my heart. Every wrinkle from the white sheets made my eyes blink.
I was spending so much of my thought process trying to remember the taste of her fleeting lips on my own, pressing my fingers to them as though they were stained from her, as though I could close my eyes and taste them, again and again and again.
Then, in the morning, she returned my hoodie. There was this…look…this distant, worried look. Had she remembered? Had she remembered the words I said? Was this going to change anything? Everything?
At breakfast, I ignored her persistent eyes, the gaze burning into my soul for answers. When she told us she couldn’t remember anything, I was little relieved.
If she didn’t remember, I could put distance between us, try to forget it myself- try to forget the way her fingers buried themselves into my hair. Try to forget the feel of her nose, pressed into my cheek, her chest, warm against my own.
While I was able to put physical distance between us this week, being that work kept us busy. But, the mental, emotional yards were harder to climb.
Once we made it through the airport, to Italy, I began my practice of celibacy, against the thoughts of her, against us.
I think part of me knew it wouldn’t last. I think part of me didn’t want it to. I think that’s why I was there- in the elevator, headed for the roof, in hopes that I might find her there. I didn’t even know if it was a place she frequented, but my intuition told me it was a good place to look.
And I was right.
I acted shocked when I first saw her, like it didn’t help my blood pump, seeing her, feet in the water, hair curling around her forehead.
She looked so…tense. Stressed. There was this permanent furrow in her brow. Did she really not remember…anything? At all?
Though it was a relief, I wanted to jog her memory (I wanted to kiss her).
I asked Daisy, barely glancing over at her in the seat beside me. From the corner of my eye, I watched her chew upon on her bottom lip, “Not really.”
Why did it feel like a lie?
She must’ve remembered something. Sure, she had been drinking, but…she was smarter than that.
“Okay,” I choked, snatching another look at her.
I noticed Daisy turn her chin to return the gaze and I looked back at the city. I couldn’t look into her eyes, look at her face. I’d crumble.
“Is there something I should be remembering?”
It was timid, shy. But bold.
Bolder than I could bring myself to be right now.
Unable to find my own words, unable to form my own lie, I echoed her.
“Okay,” she copied.
The moment swelled in my mind. I wanted- needed her to remember. I wanted her to feel the ache in my bones at the thought of our lips pressed together. Wanted her to feel the longing
Maybe then, she’d be the one to break, and I could blame it on her. Make her out to be the bad guy, going after me.
What a fucked up thing to think about.
Before I could catch myself, I blurted, “You don’t remember-“
At the same time, she went to push further on the topic.
I excused myself, motioned for her to continue. But, of course, she let me go instead.
“You don’t remember coming back to the hotel?”
I knew I was confusing her.
“Not really. you’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me? Something important I should be remembering?” her knuckles, clasped together, were turning white.
I shrugged and pretended to be unaware, “I don’t think so.”
“Why did you tell me to come sit with you?”
She really knew how to make a guy question his own thought patterns. It would make her a really great therapist- but it just made me want to run.
To hide. To slip away from this disruption in my damaged peace.
I sighed, thoughtful, though still unsure, “I don’t know. Thought it would be nice. Like when we were in London-“
“Like when we were in London and you proceeded to pretend like we never did this? Like when we were in London and you kept interrupting me, so I couldn’t tell everyone we had been up on the roof together?”
So, she was pissed.
I knew she would be. She acted like she didn’t care, but I saw through the disguise. It reminded me of me.
I shrugged, putting on the same play, “Like that.”
I guess that was the comment that sent her off the edge, though. She was too guarded, too respectful of herself to take the bullshit I pushed. “I’m gonna go to bed.”
That wasn’t it for me. I needed to know what she knew. She obviously remembered more than she was letting on.
I slid into the elevator behind her, “Daisy-“
I swear to God, the rhythm of her breathing palpitated when I said her name-
“I need you to be honest with me. What do you remember?”
“Oh, cause you’re such a conscientious person yourself?”
I pulled at my hair, stressfully, “I really don’t think we’re on the same page right now, Daisy. Please, if we could just talk about this, if you could just tell me what you remember-“
Gears seemed to click in her brain. Something I said, the way I moved, the flash of the stars in her eyes, something had triggered a memory in her head. Something suddenly made sense.
I tried to help, though I was probably just being an asshole. “I want to figure this out, okay?”
I wanted to figure her out.
Whatever clicked was- it fucked things up.
“Oliver,” she frowned, “I can’t play this game with you.”
Game?
What game?
I was only ever playing defense- keeping to myself, keeping her away from my heart, trying to maintain distance. She had kissed me- I was the one to turn her away.
My shoulders fell, “What game? Daisy…I’m confused!”
“So am I, Oliver!”
Fuck. The way she said my name-
“I’m- you’re fucking with my head!”
Like she wasn’t fucking with mine?!
I went back to my original question, hoping to continue digging there, instead of worrying about this new hole she was unburying, “What do you remember?”
“It doesn’t matter, Oliver! I just don’t want to do this with you. Max is right. I should listen to him.”
What the fuck did Max say? Why was he involving himself in this? How did he even know about- us- when we didn’t even- what?
What was happening?
“I’m not doing this with you.”
The doors opened, and she was leaving me. In her dust. In the swell of her words.
I retreated back to my room, throat tight, chest contracting for any gulp breath I could get. I fell back against the door like there were bullet holes bleeding out of my chest. I wanted to just...be honest. To be honest with her. Tell her what I really thought, what really happened, how I felt about her.
It wasn't the boundaries holding me back now. All my senses of morality and respect for our situation were dead. It was me. I was the iceberg. I was the gun.
I found my way to the bed, lay there like an empty casket. Dead, hollow, shards of wood. Why was I so afraid of her?
Maybe she'd be good for me...better than the last relationship I had, that much I could already tell.
But, maybe she didn't want me for that.
Maybe she wanted to scalp me for my money, for my fame, dish out the gossip to the tabloids.
Maybe she wanted to love me.
Maybe I deserved something good. Maybe I deserved to take a risk on something. Maybe I needed to.
I was outside her door, before I was really conscious to my own movements, knocking, waiting.
For barely a second.
She was opening the door, standing there in this barren light like an angel.
"Daisy."
I was kissing her.
Whatever she wanted, whatever she needed, whatever cruel fate she may prophesize or goodness she may expose to my paled skin- I didn't care.
Because she was kissing me.
-
I hadn’t been with someone for over a year.
That was what was so jarring about the entire situation.
It made me cautious, held me back. I’d been on a dating ban since I switched to my new therapist, who wanted me to focus on myself more than I always did on another person.
And for a while, it was going well.
Until Daisy disrupted that.
I knew, for as long as she was alive, breathing my air, I just could never be alone.
Usually, when I dated someone, when I was with them…I still felt that loneliness because I would give so much. And that person never returned it.
Daisy did, by a tenfold. She was…present. She so easily showed up, made time for me, chased me down when I went into those bouts of self isolation.
It was difficult to let her in…to let her join me in the dark.
But she made it feel less lonely. She made me feel…whole.
I started going to breakfast more often, started including myself in the group activities. Not only did she make me feel less alone, but she made me feel like I needed human connection.
“It’s warm, isn’t it?”
I scoffed at my therapist’s words, so simple for something so complex. “Warm. It’s hot. I feel like I’m on fire.”
“Good. Burn,” she responded. “You’re in the light now, Oliver. How do you feel about it?”
“Wow, what a question,” I teased.
Dr. Grime sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. The movement was delayed, due to the time zone different, the laggy wifi in the hotel room. “Seriously, Oliver. Is it…do you feel like you want to snuff it out?”
“Of course I do,” I shuffled on my bed, “you know me. Something good comes and I feel like I don’t deserve it. But…I think it might be okay if I hang around in this for a while.”
“I think so, too,” she smiled. “I like how your language has changed, too. You’d tell me, ‘I don’t deserve this.” Now you say, you feel like you don’t deserve it. You’re recognizing rational thoughts from emotional ones. That’s very important. I’m proud of you.”
I offered a strained smile in response, uncomfortable with her praise. It was appreciated, though, and gave me body a sense of accomplishment.
Maybe I was getting better.
“So, this Daisy,” she leaned forward, more intrigued with the personal aspect of my love life, like some maternal figure.
I chuckled, shaking my head approvingly, “Daisy.”
“Do you…love her?” Dr. Grime poked.
I blushed, deeply, but quickly shoved the thought away, “Oh, no. No way. I…I barely know her. That’s- that’s crazy. Definitely not. No.”
My phone dinged in rhythm with the end of my sentence. It was her.
Daisy: soon as sam goes to bed, i can be over
My eyes lingered on the text, more concerned with this situation now than the accusatory, knowing tone of my therapist’s words.
“Mm,” she paused, “no, of course. So, is this just…a casual summer fling for you? A way to get over everything this, figure out what it is you want out of a relationship? It’s important to have something like this, a stable ground to work up off of for the future, considering you don’t have a great idea as to what love should be like.”
“Maybe,” I shrugged, toying with my phone. I stared at the message, reading and rereading the message again and again.
What…was this.
What was this to me?
What was this…to her?
We’d established some boundaries, mostly that I couldn’t really commit to anything to serious. And she said that had been okay.
Was I still okay with that?
Was that still what I wanted?
I was so obviously falling in love with her, but I would never tell anybody that.
Especially not her.
But it didn’t matter if I loved her- did I want her that way? Did I want this to last past the summer?
I did.
And that’s what scared me the most.
Loving her beyond the swept up dream we were caught in, back home, domestically. Loving her casually, routinely, in the kitchen back in my apartment, through school, sharing plants and bath towels.
I wanted that.
I wanted her…her ends and odds.
I lied, “No. I don’t want that right now. Got tour going on, new album soon. You know. Busy.”
Long after therapy ended, I stared at the message. The sun had set, the day had died…and I just couldn’t think of anything to say.
I think if I were to be around her right now, I might blurt out some passionate, mindless thing that I couldn’t bring us back from.
I needed to do…what I always did. Be alone. Ruminate in my thoughts in the darkness of a foreign hotel room in a strange city. All alone.
This felt…easier. Comfortable. What I was good at.
Yeah…this was easier.
The next day, I couldn’t stay from her any longer.
I needed her and she was needed that, too- however we could get each other.
So I pushed aside the feelings I had for her- put up all my walls and boundaries, and took her into my arms-
We would have this summer, even if it killed us.
–
"Hiya, Ollie, dear!"
My mother's voice was a sweet symphonic sound to my tired ears. We were in near opposite time zones, hundreds of miles apart, and I missed her more than anything. Touring usually took everything out of me and she was the one, separate, stable person I could turn to.
We'd only called once or twice the past few months due to my obsessed perversions with a certain best friend's sibling who had been taking up all of my time- not that I was complaining about who.
It was only recently that my mom and I had established such good rapport. Since I was young, she'd struggled to wrap her head around my career choices. Now that I was fully devoted to the act, and quite successful, she pushed aside her disagreement with it and chose to just keep supporting me.
Though I couldn't always answer, her calls were welcome.
"Hi, mum," I sat up in the hotel bed, my back sighing in gratitude at the change in posiiton. i had been rotting in here for a few hours, a little bored since Daisy was out with her friend. I could've went and hung with the guys, but I honestly needed some time to myself.
That time was starting to really feel like loneliness, though. I guess before I met Daisy, they were empty hours full of empty feelings. Now, I was waking up to the reality of my existence. I'd made it so dull.
"Are you in Paris yet? Or are you still travelling?"
"We made it a few days ago," I replied. “Show’s tomorrow."
"Oh, I love Paris," she remarked. I could hear her lovely grin through the tone of her words. "I remember when we went there on a school holiday. My favorite part was the Eiffel Tower. It's so big. Now, I hear that it sparkles. You'll have to take a photo for me."
"Sure, mum."
"Have you gotten out much or are you holing up in your hotel room?"
Sheepishly, I scratched my neck. My response was delayed a bit; we both knew the answer. “Uh...I’m getting out there. Ya know, hanging out.”
“Ugh, Ollie,” I could nearly hear the roll of her eyes through the phone. “You know need a lady friend. Someone to drag you out of your bed. I mean, how many times do you get to see Paris. And get paid for it!”
At the mention of a ‘lady friend,’ I blushed. I hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her about Daisy, and damn did I want to. Though we weren’t even officially together. I didn’t know how to explain that to my mom, so maybe I’d just shy away from the topic, talk about something else.
But I guess my lapse of silent thinking made her think that there already was a lady friend.
“Oh?” she questioned with a cheerful lace to her tone. I didn’t say anything, my brain was unable to come up with anything in response. Acting defensive always made people think the opposite of what I said. Should I just tell her? Get it out of the way? Let her lecture me about my poor choices.
“Well, I won’t badger you. When you're ready,” she was already responding.
I was surprised that she was going to leave it there, to say the least, which only furthered my sentence. She usually pushed until I gave her some semblance of the truth. As she was getting older, I’d realized she gotten more relaxed and didn’t push as much as she used to. I think it was partially due to the guilt she felt for everything between us growing up.
So, I just went to move the subject along when she jumped back on it, “Just- please don’t tell me it’s that Fiona girl. I’m so sorry if it is. I just can’t sit around and watch you be treated so poorly by someone so...so awful. Again. Her personality is just- wow. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. I went to school with her mum, and she was awful towards me. Apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree-”
I had to stop her while she was ahead. I guess some things never really, truly changed. "Mum, please! I’m not seeing Fiona again, I promise. I’m not...”
I wasn’t offended that she thought I was. It was just...more or so shocking. Shocking that she thought I’d put myself back in that. I had, a handful of times before. But...I was different now.
I guess she hadn't been around me these past few months, but I had truly changed. This past May’s Oliver very well could’ve let Fiona waltz back into his life. But July’s Oliver? He would’ve been hesitant.
And, even more so- Daisy’s Oliver...Daisy’s Oliver was a changing man. Daisy’s Oliver was a better man.
And I wanted to tell my mum that, I decided. She needed to know- it would ease her mind, along with my own. I know she was always worried for me. So, I told her-
“No, I’m seeing someone else. Her name...her name’s Daisy,” that felt good to admit, to put into the Universe, that I was seeing her, and she was seeing me, even if there were no labels attached.
“Daisy?” she perked up at the name. “That’s a pretty name. What’s she look like? You got any pictures you can text me?”
I realized quickly that I didn’t. In the near two months that we had been sleeping together, consuming one another’s souls, we hadn’t taken a single picture. It was probably for the best, just in case they somehow fell into the wrong hands. But- there were so many moments I could’ve- should’ve- captured. Moments of Daisy, hair whipping past her face on the roof, the lights of Italy glowing behind her like she had angelic wings. Daisy, in my hotel room, in the early morning before she had to sneak away. Tired eyes and an even more exhausted smile as she laughed at something stupid, I’d done in my sleep.
I wanted one. I wanted a picture of her, a picture of us, whatever I could get.
For now, all I had was my memories to help me describe her to my mum. It was easy to do so, considering she was etched into the very nerves in my mind.
“No, I don’t,” I breathed out, “but she’s beautiful. She’s got this-this- God, I can’t even describe her to you. Her hair’s darker, like yours. She’s got these brown eyes. Shorter than me, of course. You can always tell it’s her, though, just by the way she carries herself. She’s got this energy. You’d just have to see it to believe it.”
“She sounds amazing, Ollie,” she sighed distantly then giggled, “Well, if she’s so pretty, where are the pictures? I need to see her! Need to see what this talk is all about.”
I chuckled in response, “I know, I know. I suck.”
“It’s alright. I’m sure it’s difficult, with you on tour and her...what does she do, exactly? Where is she from? Would I know her?”
Here came the long winded, shameful explanation of everything between Daisy and me. The feelings that weren’t feelings, the girl who wasn’t mine, the upset sea tumultuous between us. Her brother. Sam.
I tried my best, “Well, she’s working towards her counseling license. So, she goes back to school in the fall. But right now, she’s on tour with us. Her brother works- um...Sam’s her brother. She just wanted to do some traveling before getting tied down for the next few years.”
“Sam? Sam Hatlett? She's his little sister?” There was a bit of shock in her tone now like I imagined there would be. Sam was like a brother to me, and mum knew that. In fact, she loved Sam. She always had.
When she first met him, she’d pulled him under her wing like a mother bird, like she could just feel that he needed her. So, to imagine that I might go after his little sister is rightfully shocking. It was close to home.
“I know, I know. Again, I suck,” I laughed, though I felt so tense. Rubbing my neck didn’t ease the tension in my skin.
“You don't suck, darling. It’s just a precarious situation, I’m sure. How does Sam feel about it all? Was he weird when you first started dating Daisy?”
When I first began to tell my mum about Daisy, I doubted whether or not I wanted to be completely honest. But I easily fell into the comfortability of her warm conversation and realized I could not bend the truth. Not only did she deserve to know it, but she needed to. I knew, too, that she wasn’t going to judge me, tell me I was making a bad decision. It took three times with Fiona for her to begin voicing her opinion.
Above all, I didn't need to jump through any hoops to win her approval. I didn’t have to play a role, fill a part. I was me. And she loved that man.
I realized, subconsciously, that this was how I felt about Daisy, too. Comfortable. Easy.
Loved.
I explained things to my mom, carefully, making sure she knew of the endless boundaries Daisy always ensured we had and the sweet, delicate moments that made everything worth it. I nearly fell into myself, swept up in the reminiscent beauty of it all. God, I missed her, even if it had been only two days since I’d seen her. Her friend Sasha was in town and took up all her time.
I didn’t know what I was expecting my mom to say, so I held my breath after I finished saying, “But, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s just a summer thing or what. We’re both kinda in weird positions, so we’re not too worried about that, I guess. We’re just...having fun, ya know?”
As the insecurity rose up my throat and choked me out, I sighed out the rest of the air I had in me and added, “We’re not, like, in love or anything.”
I hadn’t expected her to laugh, that’s for sure.
But she laughed. My mum giggled, like things were well and truly hilarious, like I had just told her a joke. I waited there in silence, waiting for her to make fun of me for being so stupid as to let this situation occur. Laugh at me for being terrible at love and life. There goes Oliver again, breaking hearts, getting his heart broken. He can’t even be in a stable relationship! Laugh, laugh, laugh.
She said, “You are crazy, Ollie,” but it wasn’t meant in a harsh manner.
It wasn’t condescending, it wasn’t mean. She wasn’t making fun of me. She was...she was laughing because it was funny.
“You are usually so good at going after things. I mean, look at you with your music, darling. I said no, how many times? I insisted you do something, anything else. I never supported you financially. I never...I never supported you. I was the odds you were testing yourself against and looking at you now! I mean,” her voice cracked. A sniffle followed. My muscles eased from the discomfort I felt into something that wanted to reach for her through the phone, hug her.
“I know your father and I didn’t give you the best example for love. I know we weren’t some movie star-couple that everyone always knew would last forever. We fought. We weren’t there for you when we should have been. Your father left you. And then I held all these stupid expectations up to you, to try to make you better. And you! You’re successful!”
“And I give you all the credit for that. You are...my pride and joy, Ollie. My life. I am so proud of you, darling. But it breaks my heart, still, that you have not been able to find happiness. That you must spend so much time repairing what I broke. We cannot blame everybody else- you can...you can blame me, Ollie. I know I am to blame. And that is okay.”
“So, forgive me for laughing, forgive me for calling you crazy and stupid and wild, darling, but- it's right in front of your face, Ollie! She’s right there in front of you. Daisy. Darling, if you’re still questioning what love is, what it’s supposed to feel like...please let me knock some sense into you! You are wasting so much precious time on believing that it can only leave. It doesn’t have to stay for long for it to be important. If she leaves at the end of the summer, you will regret not telling her.”
I didn’t have to ask her what she meant; what she knew I’d regret not saying. I knew it, I knew it as well as I knew Daisy’s face, even more clear in my memory now.
“You can beat around the bush some more if you’d like, or you can carry on with this facade you’re so deeply transfixed by. Darling, I know it’s hard to let the chaos subside, to let the goodness in, but as I am getting older, I am realizing that it is bright. It is...comfortable. It is good. You deserve to have a lifetime of that. Don’t waste any more time, Ollie. Please tell her, please let her tell you. Please just...hold what you have.”
I had borne a hole into the wall, but snapped out of my still position when I felt a tear roll down the side of my nose. “H-how? How do I tell her?”
“However you need to,” she chuckled lightly. “Although, here’s a hint, Ollie: you are in the City of Love. Take advantage.”
I knew our call was ending and didn’t know when we’d get to speak again. So, like she had told, I took advantage of the moment and I held what I had; “Mum, just so you know,” my voice came out as a whisper, a gentle patter of rain on the roof.
“Yes, Ollie?” she whispered, too, like there was a gentle card deck stacked between us. I think maybe there was- I think there was always some sort of tension lingering from the harsh moments we’d beat into each other; the fighting, the leaving, the crying. I don’t think she ever felt like I’d forgiven her, as if I really needed to. She had been growing up, too, after all.
“I love you, you know that?”
“I know, baby,” I felt relieved that there was a smile in her tone, “now, go. You have some more dreams to chase down. And, Ollie?”
“Yeah?”
“Get some pictures for me.”
-
I was lucky that, the next day, everyone was busy with their own plans on opposite sides of the city. So Daisy and I were able to spend some time together, outside of this drywall prison. I was a pretty good listener, too, and remembered all the spots Daisy had gushed about seeing in the little time we’d had together these past few weeks. I was being given the perfect setup to do what I needed to do: we were going to be alone, in the most romantic city on planet Earth. I could finally tell her how I felt.
Of course, so much of me shook with anxiety. What if- she didn’t feel the same way? She didn’t want to risk it? She didn’t want to commit to someone this close to school? Let alone someone who lived across the world from her? These weren't my only fears. There were so many revolving around my career that I could’ve drowned beneath their weight.
Yet, each time I looked at her, I was anchored to her shoes. I couldn’t drift out to sea. I was grounded.
Though my fears about how she would react sank, it took another amount of effort to get the words out.
I could’ve done it right away, gotten it out there, cleared the air, so we could enjoy each other even more. That would’ve been the best way: I would've gotten answers, started the day out on the right foot. But, when we got out onto the streets, I was swept up in the busy buzz of the crowds. It was loud in the cafe we grabbed breakfast at, loud on the sidewalks, overly crowded by the river. We finally found a place to sit, breakfast sandwiches and drinks in hand. Though there were still throngs of people all around us. So what good was the City of Love when it was full of ignorant tourists?
The anxiety of what I wanted to do was making me feel grumpy. I shut down a little bit, unable to really engage in much conversation, let alone tell her how I felt. I think it just looked like exhaustion to Daisy, so she didn’t really notice. I did- I was hyperaware of every short sentence, every avoided gaze.
All of these people are going to be standing here when I tell her. They’re going to watch her reject me and they’re going to know. They're going to know I’m not good enough. She’s going to walk away from me, leave me stranded in the park, alone with my own rejection and denial. I’m not good enough I’m not good enough.
I thought about what my therapist would tell me, ways to snap myself out of this maladaptive pattern of behavior. My brain lies, she always said. It makes things up, creates false realities based off things others have said to me, or moments of true insecurity rooted in no sense of truth.
Daisy would want me, even if I wasn’t good enough. That was the one assurance I could tell myself to shake off the weary thoughts.
And if she didn’t- well, I don’t think thinking about that was going to help me very much.
So, when we got back into the hustle and bustle, shopping around the city, visiting the sights, I opened myself back up.
I didn't know if I’d ever find the confidence. I was on the precipice again, after lunch, when I began spewing cheesy pet names as a sublimation for the words I needed to say. It shocked her at first, hearing such sweet things coming from me. And that stung a little. Was I that monstrous towards her that simple affections made her brows shoot up? Was I that bad? I repeated them once, twice, just so she really knew I meant it.
The day went on and on and I cowered in on myself even more. There were plenty more ample moments, but I just kept letting the clock tick down. I knew we were running out of precious time. If I didn’t tell her now, we would go straight back to secret moments in a hotel room, balancing on a tightrope, pretending like the moment the leaves changed color, we wouldn't be losing each other.
I just knew Daisy wanted that about as much as I did.
Just when I was giving up hope, I found my moment, finally. Just after we had stopped to view the Eiffel Tower, some street side scam artist grabbed some pictures of us and was trying to convince me to spend $200 on the copies. At first, I brushed it off, until I caught a small peak at the images on his camera. Before he could spout another line, I was giving him $100. He gave me three photos.
Where my words may fail, these pictures couldn’t. You wouldn’t have to know Daisy and I personally to well and truly and see how infatuated we were with each other. I wasn’t even worried anymore that she wouldn’t want me. I was worried she wouldn’t want the risk, the jump, the caution of a fall.
These would be to convince her to leap. These had to be.
I stopped us outside the hotel, knowing if once we stepped inside, our memories might as well be cleared of the day's events. We would be going back to normalcy, to the real world. Our friends would be waiting there, we would allow the gap between us to grow. I would swallow my words and choke on them.
“I love you,” I pictured myself saying. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you, I love you in London, you in Paris, you at home. I love you from the hotel rooms we’ve indented to the streets we’ve wandered. I love you in the plane, on the bus, in every inch of this world.”
But it just wouldn’t come out.
I tried to encourage myself by thinking of who I was just a year ago. By thinking of how I was a year ago, the person I was dating, the situation I was caught up in. Fiona, the endless hours of fighting, of begging. Crying, screaming, the blood sport we played. Hunter and prey, me the victim and yet the one wielding the sword. I thought of Daisy when I first met her. The scent of her in my nostrils, like a clue that I was to hunt for as long as I could run. Of her in my teeth, when I first caught up to her incessant running. The satisfaction I felt, how disgusting that was. How horrible it was that I loved the taste of her blood on my lips.
And how much better I could breathe knowing that I had let go, that I had put my claws away and instead threaded a needle to stitch her skin close. How beautful that was- the beast retracting, the mask falling away. A true creature coming to light, renewed and willing.
Tears welled in my eyes. The words were there, finally, waiting just atop my tongue. She was leaning closer, clutching my hand, clutching those photos like a rosary, like she would sacrifice herself for me. I would, too. I would I would I would I would.
I think I hesitated a moment too soon, or I think she could tell what was happening. I think tha- that, I think that she was running again.
I think she wanted me to chase her or to stop, or she was placing traps in the woods, waiting for the wolf with a bow in arrow.
Because she was pulling away. And our friends were calling our names.
I didn’t have time to think, wrapped up in the swell of the arrival of our friends.
But I felt the death of the moment. It was heavy. It was rotten.
Later, I sat alone in my dressing room before the show, the photo I had kept between my fingers. I swear I could hear her breath, echoing from inside the paper frame of us. Swear I could feel her hands on my arms, grasping as though the wind would take us away from each other. Her lips on my cold ones, warm and fueling like a kindled fire.
I wondered if she threw the photos away. If she stared at them, with resentment. If she wanted to burn them.
Yet, I could’ve lived and died in that moment if I had to. If I was never able to tell her how I really felt about her, I’d be content to waste away, hanging on her lips like a vine, rotting from indecision and cowardice.
Eventually, Sam poked his head in to let me know it was time to go on. I flinched when he first spoke. It drew me back to reality in harsh, cold lighting. I drew the photo from my face, met his eye, and nodded.
I was lucky he didn’t ask any questions about my reserved response, though I knew he was aware that I was getting into character as this vessel. Part of me wished he had asked, though, if only to have someone to share the darkness with again, if even for just a second. And maybe outing Daisy and I to Sam would force me to tell her everything. Force some sort of decision to fall from the loitering hammer that hung above us.
Sam left. I set the photo down on the counter, not even thinking straight enough to put it away somewhere. Then, I hung the mask on my face, edges of my eyes darkened, just like my mind.
Part of me wished I didn’t even have to perform tonight. Every time I put on this disguise, I was reminded of those dark parts of me, the parts of me that were too much like this creature the costume made into. When I’d first come up with the character, I felt so strongly that I was just like Vessel- nothing but a pit of black, music transporting through me like some god had planted it there. I hadn’t been aware of my very real feelings. I just sat there, in that emptiness.
Things were different now.
Maybe I just needed a break from it all, from the costumes and the concerts and Daisy. Well, not Daisy. Not her. Just...everything involving her.
But never her. I just wanted her always, everywhere.
I didn’t get to have that, though, the break nor Daisy.
In fact, all I got was a slap in the face. When I went on stage, I spotted Daisy in the audience.
For a split second, there was a lift in my heart, a fire in my bones. She was here. She hadn’t pulled away- she wanted me. She wanted me.
Then, as the lights flickered, I noticed the look of guilt on her face and the hand around her waist,
She was here...with someone else.
I felt myself retracting, cocooning, not for growth, not for birth into something good, something with fluttering wings...but into that moth. Into that darkness.
Into that vessel.
In my fury, I laid claim to Daisy in all the wrong ways. I held her by the throat and let her dangle from my lips, reminded her how desparate she was for me, reminded her just how much she relied on my game. It had never been and never would be our game. I was the villain. I was the hunter.
She was my prey.
I was losing hope for my own reconciliation, for my own change. Maybe I would just always be detached, dark, monstrous. Maybe I would never be able to commit, to give in, to be someone’s something.
Maybe I was just this vessel, and maybe this vessel was just me.
Maybe I was never good enough for Daisy, but just enough to satisfy her furious need for that bad.
And that was enough for me.
-
Things got worse when Fiona started blowing up my phone.
I wasn’t sure how she had gotten my number. I had changed it back in March, when I’d ended- really ended- things with her. And, with my career, it wasn’t like I’d just handed my number out to any person on the street. I had, maybe, ten contacts on my phone.
Daisy was one of the few I responded to.
But, somehow, someway, Fiona had gotten hold of my number and began blowing my phone up with messages. I blocked her the minute I noticed, after a show when I had time to get on my phone. Then, a few days later, she started messaging from a different number.
They were innocent claims- she kept saying I had left things at her flat and needed to come pick them up. But I knew her better than that. She was trying to use this to weasel back into my head, my heart. She’d convince me to come pick everything up and then, when I was there, she’d start crying. Start saying how much she loved and needed me. She’d convince her into her bed, and we’d start spiraling down into that same old waltz we both knew too well.
After I blocked this contact, I guess she evolved. She started using an unknown number, so I couldn’t even block the contact. I called my manager immediately and told him I needed to get a new phone number. Apparently, all the stores around us were closed for a few days, which just so happened to be my fucking luck. But he promised to get something for as soon as possible.
In the meantime, I just had to ignore her.
So, I booked a last-minute therapy appointment.
I glossed over everything with my doctor, telling myself that things with Daisy were hopeless. She obviously thought me to be disposable. I mean, I had watched how quickly she’d pulled away, how quickly she found another empty face in the crowd.
I didn’t want to admit that shameful situation to my doctor. I didn’t want her to know I’d let myself fall again.
Instead, we talked about Fiona, about the temptress knocking on my door. My doctor kept reminding me to, “Stay strong. Know your worth.”
Easy words for someone in a healthy, happy marriage.
All it would take was one more wrong look from Daisy and one wrong text from Fiona, and I’d end up back off the cliff.
So, I clung to the guys. Daisy had been...not so distant but detached. Cautious. She was taking the lead, so I followed. We still hung out, still fucked like we had been doing. Still had these meaningful, deep conversations that made me wonder, over and over, what the fuck was going through her head. But honestly, I now spent some of that extra time with Max, Cy, Adam, or Sam. We were due to begin working on the next album and I had plenty of ideas floating around in my head.
It was peaceful, quaint. Something I’d missed. Maybe I wouldn’t be ready to start dating again if something like this caused me so much stress.
Adam was texting me now, wondering if I wanted to hang out sometime this morning, talk about the album. I told him I’d let him know what time, considering Daisy was in my bed. And Fiona was blowing my phone up like fucking crazy.
The whole situation threw me off. She wasn’t really concerned about it, but made numerous, passive jokes about me having a secret girlfriend. I don’t know if it was because she really, truly wanted me to be exclusive to her, or if it was just something to do with her pride.
Signals were still mixed, even after we’d had a conversation about how committed we were to each other. Part of me wondered if it had just been an act, her agreement to never see anybody else, her admittance that she was, “mine.” If it had just been something brewed from the heat of the moment.
But, when I answered the phone, set it back on the nightstand, I swear to God I saw something in her eyes shift, like she had been bothered at the thought of me with someone else.
Or it would be shitty in general if I was seeing someone else.
I weighed telling her, every single, how I felt about her. I don’t know that if I told her I loved her it would change anything. I had all but done so, and she still was unmoving. She still had gone and found that faceless nobody in the crowd.
Today, I felt like maybe I should. Tell her.
As soon as she had left, someone knocked on my door. I didn’t think it was Daisy, considering Sam would be waking up soon and she needed to get back into bed. When I looked through the peephole, Adam was there, staring over his shoulder sort of strangely.
“Hey, dude,” I started as I opened the door, then turned to make my way over to the bed where my book bag was. I reached in for my notebook, continuing, “so, I’ve got a few good ideas rattling around-” probably a few too many about Daisy, “that I wanna show ya.”
He slowly entered the room, shutting the door softly behind him, “Yeah, uh...” he approached me sort of hesitantly, distant confusion in his pupils, “I think we...should talk about something first.”
He didn’t seem too sure of himself and the words he was saying were cautious. So, my tone slowed, hardened “What-what’s up?”
He finally met my eye and I felt like a sword had been shoved down my throat, “I just talked to Daisy...out in the hallway.”
I set my book bag down, hands having been frozen around the straps like someone cursed me into the stoic, icy position. All I could think to say was, “Oh.”
Adam nodded half-heartedly, “Yeah. Oh. I... don’t know what to say, really. I knew you guys had been...like, it was obvious. To me and I think Max, at least. Sam is kinda clueless and, he and Ronnie are totally sleeping with each other.”
Well, that was obvious. So obvious that I could have snorted, but I was too focused on the wild realization that everyone basically knew. All of that sneaking around, trying to be secretive- well, it didn’t fucking matter. And it didn’t seem like it really mattered that much.
“Are you gonna, like, scold me or something?’ I sat on the edge of my bed, running a wary hand through my hair.
“No, I’m gonna tell you that you’re fucking stupid.”
“What?” I looked up from the ground, shock widening my eyes.
Adam finally softened his expression and chortled, though it was short before he was in on me again, “You’re stupid, Ollie. I don’t think you’re doing it on purpose. I think you’re just...Fiona fucked you up. And I’ve watched you slowly start to heal over these past few months. Daisy has everything to do with that. And...she fucking loves you, dude. She thinks the world of you. And you’ve both, I guess, been dancing this dance with each other, walking around the whole thing. I just told her, like- stop thinking less of yourselves. You both deserve something good. You’re both worthy of each other. So, stop being fucking stupid and just tell her.”
My face was hot. I clenched my hands together, knuckles turning white as all these rampant, loose feelings released in my chest, in my head. “She doesn’t love me.”
Adam chuckled again, “That’s a bold fucking statement. She just told me herself how much she adores me.”
“Well, yeah, she likes me, that’s obvious,” I waved him off, “she wouldn’t be sleeping with me if she didn’t. But...I think I’ve made it clear so many times how much I want her. And she, just, doesn’t care. Or she turns away.”
“She’s scared!” Adam exclaimed, making me flinch just slightly. “Sorry,” he spoke quieter, like he had shocked himself with his tone of voice. “She’s scared, Ollie. She’s...she doesn’t know who she is. That’s why she came here. That’s why she pulls away, why she seems unsure.”
“Well, I know that,” I scoffed, “I know her better than anyone. You haven’t seen the way she...how she denies it. I know she denies it. She denies us- me.”
“Okay, tell me,” Adam nearly popped a hip at this, a sassy tone overtaking his authoritative one. “Tell me how she denies, what she says and does that makes you think she doesn’t want you. Tell me that she doesn’t love you.”
I thought, long and hard. I could've mentioned the very recent time when she had been dancing with another guy, at our concert, a prowling look in her eyes. Or, of the time when I was on the brink of telling her how I felt, then she pulled away. Or-
Wait.
Am I fucking stupid?
I’m so fucking stupid. I am the dumbest, stupidest idiotic idiot to have ever existed.
It was all right there, clearing up now like I was wearing new glasses. I had a new perspective- I had an unbiased, outsider’s view of the world I had been suffocating in. And Adam’s view was- a breath of fresh air.
I was so obviously the one turning away from her.
From the beginning, I’d been denying her, us, for fear that she wouldn’t want me that way. For fear that someone would find out, for fear that I might die if she ever looked away from me. And I’ve been covering it up with the excuse that I was broken, or hurting, or-or...worthless.
I knew differently. I’d known it differently for a while now but had been unable to act upon this rationality. I was too emotional, too, in my head. And that made me seem manipulative, and asshole-ish, and- fucking stupid.
Adam watched me carefully, watched me as I processed these past few months. My eyes were narrowed, confused, though they widened as the information unfolded in my mind, as the notches clicked together.
“You’re…right.”
Instead of worrying myself with the evidence that she, too, was afraid, I felt my head flood with memories, as tangent on my skin as the cool air of my hotel room. Memories of her devotion, her promise, her love. Memories of us in the stale morning, sharing stories of her mother and that little apartment back in America. Memories of us on the roof, atop the world, atop the feeling, a private sanctuary where even just the flash of her eyes should have told me everything that I needed to know.
I was going to tell her I felt the same. I was going to pull her up to the roof, one of our most sacred secrets, and pour everything out onto the barren concrete between us. And I knew she would say that she loved me, too.
It was delicate and I would have to handle it as such. Any sudden movement, and we’d be falling apart, all over again.
But, then Max was bombarding my hotel room, spewing some nonsense about Daisy and Ronnie getting tattoos. He was dragging us to Sam’s hotel room. I was practicing the lines in my head, over and over, a prayer.
Daisy was looking at me with these doe-innocent eyes, like she, too, was praying to some old god. Altering herself for a breath that he may resurrect what was dying between us even now.
I found more words, new words- lyrics, pummeling my skull in wondrous discovery. It was right there- everything was- My phone wouldn’t fucking stop ringing and I thought that I might explode into atoms.
I ignored the call, watching as Daisy’s face fell each and every time that it did. She well and truly thought that I was seeing someone else.
Enough was enough.
I took a step towards her, fully intent on putting a rest to the strangeness and awakening what was already there. But, then my phone rang again.
And Sam began making some joke about Fiona calling me, a knowing, devious smirk on his features. He didn’t know- how could he know? I couldn’t be upset with him, but I wanted to strangle him into the carpet.
But I couldn’t focus on that anger for too long-
Because Daisy was leaving like we both always left, one too many times, in one too many silent glares of this something that we just may never get right.
The delicate threads of us bent and snapped.
49 notes
·
View notes