Beloved Heart's Beat

Chapter One

Coughing.

That's all she could remember from the past few hours of her nights' sleep. It happened every five minutes; not that she's counted. It's difficult to count the moments in a pitch black room when you're trying your best to relax. But even though she hadn't timed it, as seconds passed and the coughing didn't come, she knew that it wasn't smart to get comfortable in her soft, warm bed.

As though on cue, her body tightened as another cough ripped through her entire being once again, while she forced her eyes closed. The trouble was, when she allowed herself to cough, she couldn't stop coughing. She'd kill to fall asleep.

Sitting up, she immediately felt an explosion rising in her chest, and a burning feeling in her lower oesophagus. It would happen. Struggling, she fell straight into what sounded like an eighty-year-old smoker trying to blow up a balloon. The cracking and bellowing of the mucus in her throat continued until she had run out of breath to sustain it, allowing her to fall back onto the mockingly comfortable bed and run her nimble fingers through her dark locks.

One good thing about the most recent coughing fit she'd had, though, is that it had cleared her throat and chest of the scratchy feeling that usually brought up smaller coughing fits that could drive a sane man insane. Thankfully, when she laid her head back on her cold memory foam pillow again and prayed for sleep, it came over her. Not quickly, but it happened.

In the morning, Daisy was in no better condition after her 5-hour rest than she was before she'd attempted to close her eyes, and resented her 6 am alarm violently. The angry slam of her wrist definitely proved this.

And even if she hadn't had the coughing fits to prove to her pillows, lamps, and other room items she was not feeling her best, she also had the accompanying dark purple bags under her eyes. Her hair stood in ugly angles because of her dreadful sweating, sleeping position and a nose that ran with no signs of quitting its marathon.

Daisy supposed that her condition wouldn't really matter for the plans she had today, she wasn't planning to look absolutely dazzling anyway, but getting on the train looking like she was about to hand out a viral infection wasn't one of the ideal tasks on her list. So, she took 10 minutes to lather on her makeup as though it was the antidote to an awful life.

Gold eyeshadow decorated her eyes, not because she found it pretty, but because it was the only colour that seemed to cover her puffy eyelids. She tried a subtle flick of deep black eyeliner too, and immediately the subtlety was lost. Instead, a bold line ran across her eyelid. Getting rid of the line seemed impossible as her gold eyeshadow looked to move with every attempt, so she tried to replicate the look on her right eye.

With that done, and her green eyes looking large and exaggerated, she moved on to applying pale foundation. She knew it was too light for her and it gave her a more deathly look than she'd already had, but it was the only thing to cover her angry, red skin. Then she applied concealer and face powder- all of which she needed to cover her 'not slept or showered in over a month' look.

Finishing her sickly glam look, she dusted a fair amount of bronze powder onto her cheekbones and nose — well, anywhere that she knew shouldn't have been as pale as it was.

When she'd finished and was just staring at herself in the mirror, she noticed something off. She'd done all of her makeup, she'd brushed her hair and teeth, she wasn't wearing the tattered pyjamas with little pink clouds on it anymore, so what was wrong?

She'd forgotten the mascara. Shaking her head at herself, she picked up her old mascara wand. The poor thing was overused and past its expiration date, but she applied it as best she could, avoiding the shimmering eyeshadow on her eyes and the skin below.