Counting To Fifteen [Grey's Anatomy]

chapter fifty eight - golden birthdays

Daisy woke up to a quiet and empty apartment on her fifteenth birthday.

It felt odd for a moment. A bit lonely, a bit eerie to be by herself.

But she broke into a smile at the thought that she was fifteen, on the fifteenth.

Daisy wished she had a life sometimes, she wished she had normal things to do so she didn't obsess about such tiny details.

Alas, Daisy didn't have a life. For the time being, this was her hyper-fixation. This was her life's hyper-fixation, truly. She was turning fifteen on the fifteenth, and she felt more satisfied than she had in an embarrassingly long time.

A day filled with her number, her safety.

Daisy made her bed in the manner she always did, with the sheets peeled back just an inch and her pillows propped up.

As calm and at ease as the girl felt, she still did have to open and shut her sock drawer before exiting her bedroom as an extra safety precaution. Fifteen times today, just for kicks.

Upon opening her bedroom door and walking into the airy living room, Daisy was sort of disappointed that nobody was there.

She had been hoping that Mark would pop out of thin air, and there would be a "surprise" shouted, and he would have lied about having to work. Someone would be there, at least, and Daisy would find a new love for birthdays.

But Daisy's footsteps echoed loudly across an empty apartment, and she knew not to expect Mark until dinner time. He was even going to attempt to get out of there two hours prior, he had told her. Daisy thought she should be grateful she would get him for a sliver of the day.

Pulling her from her gloomy thoughts were fifteen daisies that peeked out of an opaque vase on the counter, yearning for Daisy to notice them.

Daisy naturally preferred roses or tulips, but Mark always thought that the daisies were too funny. An opportunity that couldn't be passed up, or so he claimed.

A vase of daisies and a birthday card, accompanied by a small gift bag that was so stuffed with cream-colored tissue paper it looked like it would explode. The gesture was so kind, and Daisy was genuinely touched.

Yet at the same time, she had a strong urge to push the vase off the end of the countertop. Shards would spray in all directions across the dark hardwood floor, water would gush out, and the daisies would begin a slow process of dying without a home.

Daisy shuddered at the thought that had come out of nowhere, wanting so badly to push the flower vase over for reasons she wasn't sure of.

She took the intrusive thoughts as a sign to go get ready.

Daisy wanted to look pretty, picking out the laciest blouse in her closet. The foreign powders she pulled from her bag were intimidating because she hardly ever introduced them to her face.

But Daisy was going to see Carter, and she wanted to look pretty. If not for a boy, at least for the number fifteen.

The girl let out a laugh at the thought. A quiet and joyful sound, because fifteen. Daisy was so overjoyed with the thought of becoming her very favorite infatuation. It wouldn't just be a number, it would be her.

I'm fifteen, Daisy would respond for a whole three-hundred sixty-five days when asked her age. She was fifteen, she would have the privilege of being the number for a whole year. It was the simplest thought, and yet it evoked enough joy to make Daisy want to cry.