TANGLED PLANS

2

I'm not crazy.

There was an actual time when I thought he truly cared about me, and maybe he liked me. Not as his best friend's shy younger sister, but as more.

My mom passed away earlier today. It wasn't a surprise—my mom had been battling with cancer for the better part of her life, and it had gotten so much worse these past few weeks. She went away when all of us were in the hospital room with her, but it still hit hard.

She was gone, and there was nothing I could do to change that fact.

I pull the blankets over my head to drown out the noise of my brother slamming things downstairs. He wasn't taking this well either. I mean, there wasn't any other way to take it. How else do you react to your mother leaving you? There wasn't a logical response to that. My brother, Brayden, chose violence.

I chose tears. So many. In the past eight hours, I have accumulated a pool-sized amount of tears. I'm not sure how I am still capable of crying this much.

I hear a knock on my bedroom door, and I pull the blanket on even tighter over my head. I couldn't deal with anyone tonight; I wanted to be alone. That would make me feel better. I wasn't a violent person, but I feel as though I can hurt someone right now.

Like someone who just took a seat on my bed.

I rip my blanket off my head, ready to hit someone, but when my eyes meet a pair of brown ones, I deflate. "Hi," he whispers, and I feel myself freeze. Why did I do? He scratches the back of his head and says, "Your brother wants to be left alone."

That made sense. He probably would hurt anyone who goes next to him right now.

My brother's best friend looks at me and then frowns. "Daisy," he whispers, and then leans closer to me. I let him place his arms over my shoulders and pull me to his chest. He feels warm, and his touch is comforting. He feels so much bigger than me, and I feel safe in his arms. He makes the hurt I'm feeling subside, even if by a little but the tiniest bit is enough for now.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he whispers in my ear as his hands brush at my unkempt hair. "You're okay," he continues, and I feel my sobs even come in more now. His whispers do not stop, not even when I fall asleep in his arms. He only pulls me down on the bed, and when he goes to leave, I wake up and ask for him to stay.

For a moment, he thinks about it, his lips pursed up in thought as he looks at the open door. The hallway is dark; no one is there. His head then turns to me, and I watch as his eyebrows pull down in sadness. "Stay, please," I whisper to him, and he reluctantly nods.