On the Outside Looking In

          Daisy Jones was used to being the odd duck out.

          All of her friends were partnered off – the light-haired 'angel' couple that looked like they stepped out of a Norse myth and the dark-haired 'devil' couple that oozed danger and adventure – but in the graveyard Daisy found her solace.

        Soon after college, there would be weddings and baby showers to attend for her friends but that didn't fit into Daisy's immediate life plan.

        Sometimes Daisy felt like an outsider within her group of friends but she'd learned long ago people couldn't be trusted so she kept her distance.

       She was too scarred by memories of the past to care what people thought. All it took was one night to change everything. A dark, ominous night, dangerous winding backroads through the mountains and terrifying strangers clogged her memories and unleashed nightmares she couldn't shake even in her waking hours. The only positive memory of that night was the mysterious savior that carried her to safety before disappearing into the night. Who had he been?

        Maybe her friends felt like they were the outsiders, blocked from knowing what had happened and how strongly it still affected her daily life.

        Oblivious to her discomfort they tried to build her up, telling her she was a dark beauty that could be the center of attention if she opened up and ditched the baggy vintage clothing she'd favored since the incident.

        Daisy crunched through the crisp, dull mid-fall leaves and smelled the scent of a bonfire from a nearby fraternity cloying the air. It made her think of Halloween, pumpkin spice lattes, and nights by the fire as the memory of summer clung to her for dear life. She lived far enough north to enjoy the fall colors but far enough south to escape the harsh wickedness of an impending winter. Here and there she passed a Magnolia tree rapidly losing its' blooms.

          Finally, she spotted him sitting on a headstone, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes as he sketched and the rings he wore on each of his long, slender fingers glittered in the late afternoon sunlight. Daisy often wondered if he played the piano – or maybe the guitar. The raven tattoo on his neck stood out prominently against his alabaster skin.

        His name was Larkin and they met at a rock concert at a crowded club on a rare night where she let the music carry her away and let herself forget everything other than the here and now.

        Daisy didn't know why they always met in the dark, gloomy graveyard but maybe it was better that way. They were outsiders and the only place they fit in was with each other.

        They never talked about anything of substance but that was okay with Daisy. It was an unspoken rule that they left their problems at the door, or gate as it were, and enjoyed each other's companionship.

       The graveyard had started out as Daisy's special place. She'd stumbled through the long forgotten graveyard as a freshman, lost on the sprawling campus. The newest inhabitant of the graveyard had lost his spot among the living sometime during the Civil War.

       Sensing her approach Larkin's head spun around to face where she stepped through the waist-high wrought iron gate leading into the cemetery.

      "Daisy," he said her name in greeting as he slid his sketchbook into the black satchel at his feet.

       Daisy hated her name. Girls named Daisy were supposed to be bright, bubbly, and perky; like the character she was named after in The Great Gatsby. Unfortunately, she was dark, sarcastic, and tormented yet somehow her name sounded sensual when it came from Larkin's lips. His husky voice made everything sound better.