𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 ⋆ 𝕶𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖞

𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

          It's a strange feeling, being alone.

          It's almost as if you've stopped existing to the world around you. Doing menial tasks, wasting time until you're ready to crawl into bed for another vacation into the depths of your psyche. Nothing you do has consequence to anybody else. It's existence in it's purest form, just doing whatever your heart desires whenever it chooses.

 
          Daisy finds herself alone on Sunday night.

          The upperclassmen have been shepherded to Abby's house, and despite their desperate pleas, Daisy has decided to stay behind. She doesn't want their pitiful glances, doesn't want to be treated like something that may break at any moment. She doesn't want to face Allison.

          Instead, she is kind to herself. Sunday night brings a delivery of bibimbap from the Korean place downtown, because it's something Daisy enjoys and hasn't allowed herself the pleasure of consuming recently. She fights the urge to empty her stomach into the toilet and instead distracts herself with one of Matt's DVDs. It seems the new kid has been taken away, too, because he wasn't in the dorm when she visited. She watches something pink and frilly, one of those movies that starts with a montage of getting ready for school and ends with the prom and a crown and a kiss. She takes a bath, uses some of Allison's scented lotion and Dan's hair oil.

          Bedtime is harder, but it makes Daisy feel better to lie cosy in her blankets for a few hours and pretend she's sleeping peacefully.

          A knock on her suite door wakes her from her thoughts. A gentle frown works it's way onto her face, and she grabs a plush rabbit to defend herself. She swings it open, and is met with the shadowed figure of Kevin Day. He pushes past her and walks into the room, finding a seat on the couch. Daisy's eyebrows drop deeper as she flicks on the main lights, closes the door behind her. She takes the seat opposite him.

          "Why didn't you go to Abby's?" he asks. He's drunk again; she can smell the liquor on his breath from here.

          She shrugs. "I like it here."

          He stares at her with blank eyes. It takes him a minute to find words. "So, Seth's gone. Striker line is down to two."

          "Oh my God," Daisy sighs. She scrapes her hands over the little tendrils of hair that have worked their way out of her braids. "I-- this is what you're going to talk about? How Seth's death is going to affect your game?"

          "Don't act like you haven't thought about it," he spits in retaliation, and her expression wins him a smug smile. "We have four backliners, two strikers, two dealers, two goalkeepers."

          "Good math."

          He shoots her a look. "How long will it take you to learn striker?"

          She's fumbling with the toy bunny in her hands, and it slips from her grip and falls onto the floor. "I-- what?"

          "How long will it take--"

          "I heard you," she says. Her mind is racing at a thousand miles an hour. "I... don't know."

          She's never played striker. Ever. She's been a defensive dealer when she was needed, played goalie for two games when she was fifteen, but never striker. Defence is her playground. Defence is where she feels safe.