Daisy | Simon Riley

|43|

There was blood in her mouth.

She was choking on it—on Dante's blood.

She wasn't biting him anymore. He was standing above her, smiling while she choked on hot, sticky—

Her eyes opened, the feeling of choking vanishing as she scrambled up and frantically wiped at her lips. The cast scraped painfully across her bruises, but it didn't matter.

"Daisy," Simon called out in worry, batting the light on as he jumped toward her. "What happened?" he urged, hands grazing over her body, looking for injuries.

She shook, "His blood, I was choking—it was a dream, I was choking on his blood," she explained tearfully before dropping her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, I'm fine," she responded shakily.

He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her lightly as she panted.

"When Dante was trying to get me out of the house, I bit him," she explained weakly, pulling her hands from her face and wrapping her arms around his torso. "Twice. It was disgusting. If I hadn't been drunk, I probably would have been sick," she mumbled.

"M' so fuckin' proud of you," he mumbled into her hair.

"I was dreaming about it," she added. "I was choking on his blood. Like the liquor—" her voice shook and she took a deep breath in. "It was just a nightmare."

"It's over," he hummed. "I promise, it's over."

"Yah... and he gets to walk away," she said bitterly. "He did all of that and—fuck it doesn't matter. He barely did anything, it doesn't matter."

Simon pulled back, forcing her chin up so she'd look at him. "What the fuck did you just say?"

His tone frightened her. Not for her safety, but that she'd somehow said something so insultingly wrong. All she could do was stand there wide eyed, unsure of what to say.

"They fucking hurt you. They touched you. For fuck sakes I would kill then just for breathing in your direction."

"Worse things have happened to people..."

"I don't give a shit about anyone else, they hurt you."

"But..." she started, before shutting her mouth.

"But what?" he asked incredulously.

"They didn't assault me," she whispered. "They didn't. They played with me a little, got a few hits... that's... he barely did anything. It could have been worse, others have been through worse."

"No, no—that doesn't make a difference. That man's hands were all over you, he kissed you, they threatened you, over and over that they would—Christ, Drew, no," he stammered angrily. "All of it fucking matters. Every fucking second you were with them matters... Don't do that," he added quietly, shaking his head as his hands cupped her cheeks carefully. "Please, sweet girl, please. It matters," he argued—no, begged.

He was begging her.

"It doesn't feel like I deserve to be so... unsettled about it," she admitted quietly.

"You deserve to feel however you feel, alright? They hurt you."

She felt herself crumbling, "I was so afraid, Simon. I felt so fucking helpless, and humiliated, and disgusting—no matter what I did, I couldn't stop them."

"But you got away. You stopped Beaufoy."

"Only because Dante let me go," she whispered. "He wasn't risking getting caught."