meet me at midnight.

1.

A:N: Daisy pictured above.

Mornings were not my favorite time of the day. Give me an evening filled with stars and I was there. I loved evenings. It was when I felt most relaxed. Mornings when my alarm blared at me, alerting me of my obligations to classes and my part time job were the worst. Most mornings my anxiety would pile drive into me and I wanted to stay in bed and hide under my pink comforter.

I could hear the sounds of the stairs creaking as my step-dad Lionel made his way towards the kitchen. I stared at the ceiling, waiting. Would he knock like he always did? He could hear my alarm from the bedroom next door. He paused on the stairs and I heard his footsteps padding towards my room. He knocked, three times in succession.

"Daisy, get up." He snapped.

His voice had that rasp to it. I wondered if that's what his troops had heard when he'd come around to wake them up. I got up. I was slow in the mornings, sluggish sometimes. My body felt like it was made of lead.

"Daisy, you answer me, you hear." Lionel said.

"S-sorry, yeah I'm awake." I said.

This seemed to satisfy him and his footsteps retreated. I walked to my wardrobe and opened it. I had a fair amount of nice clothes, things I'd bought with money saved from my job. Things I couldn't wear, but dreamed of wearing. I put on a sweater and a pair of jeans. I grabbed my backpack and made my bed.

My room was sparse. I had a bed, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Everything was tidy and in its place. I paused by my bedside and touched my fingers to the photo of dad and I on my bedside table.

"See you later, dad." I smiled.

I left the room, being careful with my door. The hinges weren't what they used to be. Lionel had removed my door several times throughout his time here and that had left the hinges loose. I walked downstairs, being careful not to step on the creaky steps. Mom was probably asleep. She wouldn't wake up until twelve.

Her shift at 7/11 didn't start till 2. I got into the kitchen. Lionel was at the table, reading the New York Times. I helped myself to coffee.

"One cup." He said, not looking up from his paper.

"Yeah." I said.

"Yes, Sir." He snapped.

"Yes, Sir." I replied.

I sat at the table, sipping the coffee and staring at the newspaper. Lionel seemed to decide he needed to talk to me. I was still sipping the coffee and staring into space.

"When can I expect your rent payment?" He asked.

"This Friday." I said, softly.

My wages from working part time at IHOP gave me about $350 a month. Around $160 was given to Lionel as my share of the rent. The rest was mine to spend on college supplies for my art degree. I saved some of it in secret, stashing the money under a floorboard in my room. Lionel had searched my room and hadn't found my stash.

"I hope you're thinking about your future, my girl." Lionel said.

I nodded. I had started my art degree at UC New York a year ago. Mom had encouraged me. Dad was an artist. He had always wanted me to study art ever since he pinned my scribbles in his office as a child. I finished my coffee and got up, putting my cup in the sink.

"It certainly wouldn't be too late for you to change your degree," Lionel said as I washed out the cup. "Your mother encourages the art degree, but I feel it's a waste."

I stared at myself in the window. My brown eyes fogged a little, but I pushed the sadness down as far as it could go. I'd been pushing it down since dad passed, since mom remarried. I bit my lower lip. I put the cup away, glancing at the fridge. Dad used to put my art there. The fridge door was empty now.