petalbruised

[petalbruised]

“Eh, you’ll be fine. I think. Maybe.”

     This isn’t a good idea, she knows that. But she ran out of good ideas weeks ago when the devil in the details slipped away. So from time to time she dips her hands into an old box of ideas, fumbles around in the junkyard of mismatched puzzle pieces and ends up somewhere she shouldn’t be with someone she shouldn’t be with.      Henry isn’t easy to be around. Not because of his personality or the way he looks. If she sits and thinks about it, his personality is addicting, and his face isn’t too bad either. The fact that he was so close to Sena is what makes it hard. It’s the elephant in the room, the secret bursting at the seams. Why wasn’t Daisie upset that her so-called-best-friend had passed? Why didn’t she hold onto the hem of his shirt with shaking fingers and and bated breaths when the news came out? She avoids him because she needs to avoid the questioning. Not that she wasn’t capable of weaving intricate lies. With him, she’d just prefer not to. And so she finds herself staring up at a small window of a derelict apartment block cracked open ajar in the dead of night with him by her side. This was what he did for fun. He needed some of that. Right?      Chasing new ghosts to forget about old ones.

     Whatever she had pictured when she’d agreed to ‘go on an adventure’ didn’t include Henry with a handful of her ass while she attempted to scramble through the smallest window known to man. If things were the other way around she doubts he’d even be able to fit the width of his shoulders through the gap let alone his whole body. “Hold on--” she breathes through clenched teeth, attempting to shimmy through the space.  Maybe she speaks too late, or maybe he can hardly hear her through the rain falling in subdued anger because he doesn’t stop. “Henry--” The final shove is what sends her tumbling through the gap and collapsing into a heap on the floor in a mess of tangled limbs.

“ Eh, you’ll be fine. I think. Maybe.”

     It takes her a second to find her bearings, and another few to dust herself off and stand herself up. There’s a twinge of pain in her ankle that she tries to ignore but ultimately ends up limping closer to the window. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she asks, somewhere between angry and shocked. Haloed in the half light, Daisie opens the window from the inside, pushing it out so that he could gain entrance. “Get in, asshole.”

[petalbruised]

“Oh, God, you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot.” (from hye ♥️)

She moves and the wind moves against her. Something blooming. Something bruised. Perfidious petals pulled but rampageous roots still stuck firmly, pulling it's power from the earth herself. Mother nature is a healer but Daisie is caught in the concrete jungle. She finds herself kissing the cold hardened ground more than she'd like to admit. A misstep, breath held and haphazard. She aches in a bruised knuckles and paper cuts kind of way. Demolition of a dangerous kind. There are ways to kill yourself while still keeping your heart somewhat intact.

“Oh, God, you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot.”

It feels like a crucifixion. Head hanging low, the exposed air spitting salt into the wound. Blood in the cut. Face paling, almost as if it knows. It knows that it is unwanted. That momentarily, it does not belong. This is not Daisie. This isn't the sweet little girl who used to go to church every Sunday. This is something darker, something rotting, something turning bad. It's the whistling of a steam kettle left on the stove for too long, a minute away from exploding. Daisie squeezes her eyes shut. Thin pallid lids doing little to drown out the light.

The sky ripens with caramel colours, an abundance of careful light splayed out in all of the strangest spots. God laughs at her, but the devils in the details. "Oh God?" she asks through a bleeding half-smile. "God can't save me now." in fact, she's sure he doesn't want to, sure that if she were on fire he wouldn't spare a single drop of rain for her. "But you can--"

They've been here before. More times than Daisie can count on her fingers. A flower on the brink of death. Chewed up and spat out. There's work to do yet.

[petalbruised]

‘Something's Wrong’ Sentence Starters

Something’s Wrong With My Muse

“Oh, God, you’re bleeding. You’re bleeding a lot.”

“Stop squirming, I’m trying to help.”

“Hang on, I got you.”

“Just lean on me, I’ll help you walk.”

“We should get that looked at.”

“Don’t tilt your head back, you’ll make your nosebleed worse!”

“Just sit up and breathe, ok?”

“Eh, you’ll be fine. I think. Maybe.”

“Whatever you do, don’t go to sleep. Stay awake.”

“Oooooo. That looks painful.”

“Oh, thank God! Don’t scare me like that!”

“How the hell did you do this to yourself?”

“Hey, hey, stay with me, ok?”

“You stopped breathing.”

“Oh look, it’s alive.”

“Take deep breaths, you’ll be fine.”

“Arms shouldn’t move like that…”

“What happened to your leg?!”

“Yep, that’s broken alright. How’d you manage that?”

“Here’s some ice for that.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Yeesh, you look like shit.”

“Wait, you were mugged?!”

“Is that a stab/gunshot wound?”

“Ok, ew. I’m not cleaning that up.”

“Easy, easy! Just lay down, you hit your head.”

“You probably have a concussion, so I wouldn’t be moving around too much if I were you.”

“I thought you were dead!”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?”

“Can you walk on your own?”

“You’re getting blood on my clothes!”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Something’s Wrong With Your Muse

“Is that three fingers you’re holding up?”

“I’m so sorry for getting blood on your clothes!”

“I’m not sure I can walk on my own.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, my pain’s at least an 8.”

“You thought I was dead?”

“Do you think I have a concussion?”

“I hit my head; now I don’t feel so good.”

“I’m so sorry. Do you mind cleaning up?”

“I think I’ve been stabbed/shot.”

“I just got mugged!”

“Do I look as bad as I feel?”

“Could I maybe get an ice pack for this?”

“Thank you, by the way.”

“I think my leg is broken.”

“I can’t feel my arm.”

“I’m going to need more than deep breathing to calm me down.”

“I’m not dead yet!”

“Oh, God, I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding a lot.”

“Are you really trying to help?”

“Please help me.”

“Can I lean on you? I don’t think I can walk.”

“I think I need to get this looked at.”

“I can’t get my nose to stop bleeding!”

“I can’t seem to catch my breath.”

“I’ll be fine. I think. Maybe.”

“Please help me stay awake.”

“This hurts just as much as it looks like it does.”

“Sorry - did I scare you?”

“I don’t know how I managed to do this to myself.”

“I don’t know if I can stay awake.”

“I stopped breathing?”

Note: Revamp of an older sentence starter post found here.

[petalbruised]

[petalbruised]

caught in the in-between.

     Sometimes bad things swoop in like hurricanes. They turn everything backwards upside down and inside out, without any warning and then they’re gone again. A natural disaster. The world restoring natural order. Sometimes they swoop in like hurricanes and we give them names. Because without names they are without meaning, and without meaning they are forgotten. Yes, sometimes they swoop in like hurricanes, but sometimes they do not. Sometimes they linger, like dark clouds, building and building until they burst and pummel down. One after the other. Unfortunately for Daisie, it wasn’t a hurricane. It was something like a storm. An onslaught. Obstacle after obstacle, with her endurance quickly depleting. Flame once bright now flickering and threatening to fade.       What was it? Five days? Five days of downing whatever bottle was closest until she could sleep. Until she couldn’t feel. Couldn’t scream. Five days of numbing the nagging, the ache, until she couldn’t fight, or break, or hurt. Without the consequence of why. Why? Because she was convinced the people that mattered all knew the reason why. She was convinced. She was just another fucked up human being, trying to fit in, trying to do the right thing, trying to make someone actually love her for all her flaws.. Trying, trying, trying. But failing. And why?      After the events that had transpired at the pool, at Lux, and thereafter, she had convinced herself that it wasn’t possible. She wasn’t capable of being loved. How could you love a broken bone? A crack in your windshield? An injured, oozing wound that won’t seem to heal no matter what you try? How could you love someone so broken, they hurt you until you no longer feel? Daisie inhales, sharp, there’s a pain in her ribs. It hurts, but not enough. She looks over her reflection in the cracked mirror and continues to think, lets her mind wander down a dark path. A bottle of pills in one hand, the lid screwed off and rolled somewhere under the vanity. Sweet little Daisie K puts one into her mouth and then drinks. Drops the rest atop the works pace and finishes the bottle                                                                *       *      *      She wakes to someone frantically searching for a pulse. Checking she’s still breathing. She hopes the answer is no but they come away with a yes. She leaves in handcuffs. They say it’s just a precaution. There’s blood on her hands and they’re worried, but they should be scared. It’s not all hers. “It’s just a precaution” they reassure her, but she knows she deserves more. Worse. She deserves it all. And then they ask her “What did you take? WHAT DID YOU TAKE?” and she doesn’t respond. Not until she’s put in the back of the car and they ask her again. “WHAT DID YOU TAKE?” but here’s the thing, she doesn’t need to take anything. She doesn’t need pills to kill herself because she’s already dead. “Why?” She can drink to numb the pain, but even when she’s sober she’s gone. A shell of the woman she used to be. “because they won’t stay-- so why should I?”

[petalbruised]

the devil’s playground.

One.     It’s instantaneous, the way her fist--already raw and burning--connects with the woman closest to her. There is no need for words in the moment, her body talks instead. The pounding bass line of the song playing in the background almost matching the beat of her heart. It’s the adrenaline pumping through her veins, the anger bubbling up and spilling over. The darkness nagging away at her, beguiling her to do its dirty deed, and for the second time that night, sweet little Daisie K succumbs. The blonde drops like dead weight. Body slumped against the cubicle frame. Blood seeping from her nose with no one to stop it. It’s the audible crack that makes the second girl (cursed with thin, shitty hair)  squeal like a farm animal. Two.        Daisie laughs. Thinks it’s funny how things can change so quickly. How, one moment someone could feel so tall, so powerful, like they could crush the world in their hands if they tried, and the next the weight just becomes too much to bear.  She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stops for all but a second, though it feels much longer. Hair a wild mess, thick, full and bouncy. Like a lions mane. The time she takes to admire what she’s become is enough for pig-nose to slip away, unscathed. What a pity, she thinks, throwing a glance over her shoulder to see the back of her. Maybe she stares for a second too long, hands balled into fists at her sides, body tense but somehow lax at the same time. Like it’s natural. Like this is normal for her, like it comes as easy as breathing or blinking.  Three       Yes. Maybe she looks back for a second too long because the moment she looks back she’s met with a weak slap across her cheek. It burns just a little, but not enough. “Really?” she asks, almost offended at the lack of effort given. If she were to grade it, it would have gotten a big fat F. The bob haired girl lifts her hand again, this time Daisie catches her wrist mid-air and pushes it down. Almost as if she’s giving her a chance to gather her bearings and leave before it’s too late. Almost, but not quite. “Look--” she says, letting go of her wrist, only to strike her cheek, so hard that it burns her own palm, so hard that there’s tears in the girls eyes. “it’s not that hard.” patronising, Daisie laughs, pushing the girl back as she moves forwards to hit her again. Back, back, back until her back is up against the wall, and she finds herself with her hands wrapped around her throat. It seems to be her go to. It’s where her hands feel at home. Squeezing, she pulls her down to knock her head against the basin. Once, twice, three times in close succession until she clawing at her wrists begins to falter. And then once more for luck before letting go altogether, and watching as she slumps, dazed, against the bloodied basin.      But she’s not finished yet. Bending at the hip, she gathers the collar of her dress, and pulls back an elbow, ready to push her balled fist against her cheek, stops only after Eliot pulls at her arm, only, she doesn’t realise it’s Roa, and retaliates but turning and pushing her square in the chest. Daisie watches, as Roa stumbles backwards, knocks her head and falls on her ass. Daisie is left standing somewhat shocked,  fully unsatisfied and unaware of anyone else around her. 

[petalbruised]

submerged.

Daisie goes from watching through a live security camera feed to being stood in the doorway in a matter of minutes. Heart racing, lungs burning, and still, there’s a fire boiling her blood, bubbling up and threatening to spill over any minute. She thinks about shouting out to get his attention, wonders if he’ll ease up on Casey if she does but ultimately decides against it. She’s been ‘training’ with Casey for weeks now, gathering evidence, snooping around, but she’s paid enough attention to know that the girl can hold her breath longer than the average individual--you see it’s all in the details, and that’s what Daisie pays attention to. The little things that are often overlooked. 

Seeing Casey thrash around under the water sets her teeth on edge, yet somehow, she is composed enough to take a second to look around for something, anything, she could use. Daisie settles on picking up the mop left haphazardly in the corner, both hands closing tightly around the middle of it before quickly travelling the distance. “Hey--” she only talks when she’s right behind him. He turns to look at her as she brings it back and then forwards again with all the force she can manage, but it’s not enough for him to ease his grip. fuck. He’s confused, but he has a job to do and he can’t stop now. Won’t stop. But what he doesn’t realize is that Daisie won’t either. Pulling it back again she deals another blow, then another, and another, and though it’s not doing much damage it’s annoying enough for Jung to let go of Casey and rise to his full height.  He towers over Daisie, reaches for the broom and pries it out of her hands only to throw it into the pool. “We’re closed.” he says calmly, though his expression reads otherwise. She doesn’t know what to say, in that moment. There is no witty remark or firm rebuttal. She takes a step back, before taking on forwards, flat palms outstretched she pushes against his chest in an attempt to push him into the water. It works. He falls, but not without taking her down with him too, grumbling a barrage of incoherent expletives as he goes. The chlorine burns her eyes. She surfaces surprisingly fast, looking around to see Casey clambering out of the pool. She follows suit, or at least attempts to, palms pushed flat against the wet tiles to push herself up but as she does Jung closes his hand around her ankle and pulls. Daisie jolts back, losing her grip on the slippery surface, head banging against the edge before she’s pulled under. From the surface, blood and bubbles. Beneath, carnage. She can’t hold her breath as long as Casey, and so panic sets deep within her. This isn’t how she wants to die. Fighting against him gets her nowhere, all she’s doing is using up energy, using up air, and so she stops. Lets him think he’s won, floats up to the top as he surfaces and stays there until he climbs out. She can only imagine what’s going through Casey’s mind. When she manages to get her breath back Daisie moves to the edge of the pool and climbs out, coughing and spluttering. She hears an annoyed “For fucks sake” slip from Jungs mouth and somehow manages to grin. Running at him full speed, the force of her is enough to knock him off his feet and onto his ass, head smacking against the ground hard enough to stun him. “Give me something--” she says, looking towards Casey for a moment. “anything..” she doesn’t care at this point. Jung begins to sit up, a hand pressed to his head, he’s more than just annoyed now. For the second time he grabs at Daisie’s ankle to pull her down, this time she falls onto solid ground. “Casey!!” but he’s already clambered on top of her, large hands closing around the column of her throat, squeezing tight, tighter, tightest. And for the second time she gets a taste of what suffocation feels like.  Small hands reach up, scratching at his hands in an attempt to peel his fingers away from her throat, and then again, up towards his face when that doesn’t work. Daisie scratches at his face, pulls at his hair, kicks her legs underneath him, he only leans back when she pushes her fingers into his eyes. “You fucking bitch--” he spits, reeling back, both hands pressed against his eyes, rubbing at them. She takes it as a chance to push him back, and instead clamber on top of him, sitting on his chest, knees pressed against him she closes her hands around his neck, lifts his head and smacks it down against the ground. Sees the shock in his eyes as she does so, and then dares to do it again. Twice would have been enough but she doesn’t stop there. She can’t. Again, and again, and again, until there’s a pool of blood around them and he’s no longer struggling back. Fingers still squeezing, until Casey pulls her away.   

[petalbruised]

[petalbruised]

[petalbruised]

npdheart:

I just love using anger as a coping mechanism instead of letting myself feel sad cause thats Pathetic™

[petalbruised]

fountainbled:

⋟        It was late at night and the world had become clouded. Her eyes had momentarily fallen shut as she took the hit, unwilling to come off her high as she watched the smoke circle above her. Normally, it would help her fall asleep, but today was a different story. The knocking on her front door was registered quite late, but once noticed, it was only a matter of seconds before she managed to climb to her feet and lazily stumble down  the stairs. 

It was late at night, far past midnight, a time silence was supposed to fall and no woman should conquer the dark alleys. She, however, was no different. A rebel. The darkness her friend. ‘Play with me’. A whiney voice from the other side of the door had her halt midway. There, minutes past, before Sena finally opened the door. 

“You sound like a cat in heat.” Sena mumbled as she opened the door further to grant her way inside, the bottle in her hand not going unnoticed. While the storm raged on inside her mind and she struggled finding the right words to say, she moved back.  “I was asleep, what are you doing here at this time of day? Stupid drunk too…”

“And without me, too.”

     When the door shifts beneath her Daisie straightens up, holds all her weight herself instead of depending on the oak. “maybe I am a cat in heat” she laughs, stepping in and past Sena. She loses her slippers by the door and continues down the hall and into the kitchen as if it’s her own place. There was never really much food at Sena’s house, but it’s worth a shot. She needs to fill herself with something, and if it’s not dick, it’s food, or alcohol. But she’s trying not to become her father. “where’s all the chocolate?” she’s already searching through drawers, and cupboards. “the crisps?” she moves to the fridge, but not before discarding the half empty bottle on the countertop behind her. “ice cream?”       She looks a mess. Hair out of place, skin pallid, knuckles red and raw. But she’s functional. Finally pulling out something to eat, she pulls herself up onto the aforementioned counter and looks at Sena. “on a scale of one to you’re fucking insane..” she pauses, digging the spoon across the surface of the ice cream “how likely do you think it is that I’m being watched?” towards the end of her sentence she falls silence, mouthing the words only. She pauses, eating some of the ice cream before brandishing the spoon in Sena’s direction. “how high are you?” she can smell the smoke. 

[petalbruised]

feralglory:

Don’t do it, Chester, don’t you fuckin’ do it. Swear to God. It only took one stupid comment and he can feel the rage just climbing up, it starts at his feet wrapping around his legs like vines and it grows grows and grows ‘til it reaches his head. He could kill James. He could kill James and his lackeys without breaking a sweat, throw a towel at Daisie and go home to have a drink by himself contemplating why he came back in the first place. 

At least Chester knows now he wasn’t that chump before he went into the service. His girlfriends actually liked him. His friends thought he was really funny – because he was. He was fuckin’ hilarious once upon a time, he loved to make people laugh. And he has vague memories of a girl who looks just like Daise, except younger, reluctantly laughing at his idiocy, the elbow of his sister jabbing into his side. This isn’t that same girl, and if she is, he doesn’t recognize her.

He doesn’t even know what to say. Focusing all his energy on not driving his fist into James’ face - ironic enough since they box at the same gym. It’s inevitable that they spare eventually, Coach likes doing that. He forces out a laugh, unaffected is what he’s aiming for. “You really don’t get it do you?” He can’t, not if James is this dumb.  

     She feels helpless. It’s somewhat of a permanent state these days and she hates it. It doesn’t help that she always has to slide inbetween whatever trouble james gets himself into. Throat dry, on the brink of tears, she gulps down and then steps in front of James. “He doesn’t mean it” now she’s the one with her palms turned out in surrender. “Please, he doesn’t mean it” but she doesn’t seem so sure of herself. She opens her mouth to speak again but nothing else makes it out. James barging past her. “stay the fuck outta it” directed to her not under his breath, but for everyone else to hear. “go get me a drink, do something useful would’ja?”       It’s almost like he wants to square up with Chester. No one else wants to challenge him, and all scared little daisie can do is panic. “I don’t get what?” his voice breaks her out of her trance, mind working a mile a minute to figure out something, anything, to get him to stop. He advances nonetheless. “that you’re a sick twisted little kiddie killer?” he just doesn’t know when to stop, the flat of his palms shoving at chesters squared shoulders. “what are you gonna do man?” he’s goading him. Almost like he wants a fight. “what are you packing?” more people begin to watch, voices begin to whisper. “what are you gonna use to shoot this place up huh? Or is that not your style? D’you only go for places with kids in ‘em?” fists balled he’s ready for a fight. At least he thinks so.       “That’s enough James” quiet little Daisie isn’t so quiet anymore. She moves to stand between the two again, this time in front of Chester, facing James, an arm held out to keep Chester behind her. If he was the same boy she rememered from when she was a kid he wouldn’t overstep the boundaries she’d set. He was a good boy. Misunderstood. Not deserving of the shit that got thrown at him. 

[petalbruised]

feralglory:

“Back at you.” He’s not humble like she is, he knows he’s a rockstar, that the world knows he’s a rockstar. He enjoys the worship of his fans and the money it brings him. Daisie is a rock star too, or he wouldn’t associate himself with her. That’s a joke. Che truly does believe Daisie is more talented than she realizes. He wonders if she’ll ever hear her own music the way he hears it. Probably not. 

“Why don’t you come outside and find out?” With that he hangs up, a second late his phone showing him all the texts his girlfriend and the occasional one from one of the guys or the manager asking if he’s dead. One text sticks out like a sore thumb. 

we can’t keep covering up for you, pick one.

Now, that is not fair at all. This is a complicated situation and everyone knows it. Why try and guilt him like this? He doesn’t respond to any of the texts. Actually, he’s going to really piss them off - he takes a quick video, under thirty seconds of the night sky, Daisie’s song playing through the building loud enough to be heard outside. He posts it for all to see on their phones on one of his vertified social media accounts.

      There’s something about his voice that makes her crave him. Not the one he uses on stage, the one he whispers into the handset when he knows he should be somewhere else. It’s forbidden, and maybe that’s why she wants it so much. She’s a modern day Eve, and he’s the apple she’s going to take a bite out of. He always cuts the call too short. She hates it, but finds herself slipping off the barstool regardless. Drink left unattended, she probably wont return to it.       When she managest to get outside, it’s been a few minutes. She glances down at her phone once, sauntering down the side of the venue and into the back alley where she assumed he’d be. They had to meet under the cover of night because she was his dirty little secret, and he was her saturday night sin. She approaches quietly, walking on her toes so her heels don’t click, but it’s her scent that gives her away. Perfume he’d given her once. It’d quickly become her signature.       Slender fingers snake around his waist, breath hot against his neck. Smile apparent in her tone of voice. “found you.” she breaks away only to stand in front of him. Face illuminated by the moonlight. It almost gives him a halo but he’s no angel. Her phone vibrates in her pocket. A belated notification of his post. She’ll look at it later.  “Give me a kiss” she’s already got her hands on his chest, gently leading him until his backs against the wall. “I promise not to tell your girlfriend”

[petalbruised]

feralglory:

It’s when she smiles at him that he remembers how he knows her face. He wonders if he was ever that guy and he didn’t even know it. Head the biggest part of him with nothing to match. James is for a lack of a better word, a chump. Ever wonder how a child grows up to a chump? Is it from the sins of the father - thought that fell onto the daughter so… no. Sin isn’t the right word for this particular theory. 

Let’s use actions, yes. Sin is a verb but it’s not THE verb for this. It gives it the wrong connotation. Do the actions of the father fall onto the son? Was this chump raised by a chump so he’s merely copying what he was conditioned into thinking was normal when he was young?

Or did his mom fill his head with lies when he was young, tangled in some weird Oedipus complex, hating his deadbeat dad that never hugged him? Che actually doesn’t know nor does he care, he just really hopes he was never like this back when he actually had friends. 

Seeing James slap Daisie’s hand down startles him, beer sloshes over the rim of his cup and splashes on his sneakers. It’s a heads up to finish his cup, gulping down the rest of his beer he mulls over his options. He needs friends, he needs to be around people so he doesn’t shut himself in but ruining an already established (so many things changed while he was overseas) dynamic on a team is not the way to do that. Because Che knows he’s the only one brave enough to say something, he’s still the new guy in his own damn neighborhood. 

 “Stop.” He doesn’t make his voice any louder than it needs to be, he’s never had an issue with gaining the command of a crowd, drunken listeners or not. He walks over to them eyes flickering over the guys he’s somewhat grown to have a kinship with, looking at James last. “You’re drunk, man. Why don’t you take it easy with the hops eh?” He’s got his palms upward out in front of him - he isn’t looking for a fight - “you really gonna embarrass your girl like that?”

     James has a big head. Metaphorically.  Physically his head looks like a garden pea hotglued onto a dorito, but that’s not important. He doesn’t like to be told what to do in any given situation. Even moreso when he’s drunk. He looks over Chester with an expression that can only be described as disgust. Pure, unadulterated  repugnance. He pays no notice to Daisie, who stands visibly shaken, beer dripping from her hair. From the point of her chin. Down the length of her neck and gathering at her (lack of) cleavage. She still has her own cup, half full, James snatches  it and it’s half empty. “Who the fuck are you Dido?” his reference is outdated. He expects a laugh or six but no one does. Not even Daisie. She’s closer to tears than anything else. It doesn’t look good.      It takes him a minute. Mr tall, dark, and fucking stupid finally realizes who chester is. He laughs. A deep rumble, right from his chest. “why? What do you care?” he slings his arm around Daisie. He’s stronger than he thinks, he never seems to realize being so heavy handed doesn’t come without its setbacks. Her lips part, she vocalizes discomfort, like a mouse squeaking under the boot of an exterminator. He doesn’t care. Pulls her closer against him until she’s tucked neatly under his arm as if it was a wing, and he was there to do nothing but protect her. “she ain’t embarassed--” even if she was she’d never open her mouth to admit it. “are ya dais?” she’s scared. She nods small. Blinking back the tears. If asked she’ll just say the sun is in her eyes.       He drinks the last of whats in her cup and crumples it. “Get your nose out of other peoples business” he throws the cup and it bounces off of Chesters chest. He thinks its funny. Daisie looks a cross between apologetic and terrified. “don’t you have kids to kill?”

[petalbruised]