𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝖕𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 ⋆ 𝕶𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖓 𝖉𝖆𝖞

𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖞 𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

╔═══°∴,*⋅✲══〖✰〗══✲⋅*,∴°═══╗

     

New York is just as beautiful and horrific and homely and hellish as she remembers it. The city is filled with people she used to call family and places she used to call home, rows of shops she would visit and bars she would sneak into with friends and alleyways where she would do drug deals on behalf of her brother. LaGuardia was the last place of this state she'd seen, three years ago when Wymack came to ask her to join his team. The car they're in, a black SUV that Matt's mom sent, does nothing to hide the scenery they're passing with it's dark tinted windows.

 
Daisy's knees are bouncing in rhythm and she can't tear her eyes away from outside. Thankfully they avoided Brooklyn, instead taking the Queensboro Bridge to cross the river. Kevin sits at her side, thigh pressed hard against her own. She wants to shove him away, but can't bring herself to. She'd probably pitch herself out of the window if he moved. It doesn't take long to get from the airport to the Upper East Side (because of course that's where Matt's mom lives), and the car comes to a stop on the curb outside. Daisy is shaking so hard she can barely grab the handle of her case, so Kevin does it for her. She wants to punch him in the face.

 
"Oh my God, this is embarrassing to watch," Aaron says. Everybody looks to him, and he pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. "Here."

See, Daisy hasn't regularly smoked in a few years. Cigarettes aren't shit when you're literally doing heroin. But she takes one all the same, lights up the end of it, and burns through the stick in about twenty seconds. She smokes a second and third while the boys are unloading the van, and once her lungs are lined in tar, she looks around. "Where's Neil?"

 
"Did you just notice?" Matt laughs. "He had to go to his parents' place in Arizona last minute to see his uncle. Sucks, it seemed like he really didn't wanna go."

 
Daisy blinks. How the fuck did she miss that? PTSD does wonders for your spatial awareness, she muses. From her bag, a small pink and gold bottle of perfume to spritz on her body. She hates the smell of smoke on herself.

 
"What perfume is that?" Kevin asks, out of earshot of the others ferrying bags up to the front door of the large house before them.

 
She gives him an odd look. "Why do you care?"

 
          "I'm making conversation to keep your mind off of all this shit," he replies. "Sue me for trying, I guess."

 
"It's, uh..." she trails off, turning the bottle around to find the label. "Jasmine Brown Sugar. Allison bought it for me last Christmas."

 
"It's nice," he says. Daisy looks at him, face curled up in a scowl.

 
"You're so fucking lame."

 
Kevin stares at her. "At least you're back to normal."

 
Daisy wants to knock him on his ass, but instead she tucks the packet of cigarettes into her back pocket and walks up the steps to the front door. Her hands start quivering again so she shoves them into the pocket of her coat and balls up her fists, bites down on the insides of her cheeks.

 
Jonathan Cohen is currently eight and a half miles away from this location, and that's eight and a half miles too close for comfort. So, like a gravitational pull, Daisy finds herself stuck to Kevin's side. It's so unintentional that she barely notices it, but when his hand comes up at her back as something solid for her to lean on, she frightens herself a little.