{I know to be there.
When and where, I'll be there.
You know what's to be said.
We said out loud, we never said.
My premonition of the world comes to me.
A sun in your hands from the middle life,
Says I'm alright.}
x x x
She had dropped in late during the evening after a dinner with friends, and was greeted with a slam of the door from a distance as she entered the manor.
Her mind had only concluded one thing.
Another fight between the golden couple.
Knowing this, Jordan knew that the mistress of the household would have gone away somewhere, perhaps to forget her problems.
With a letter and a drink.
Jordan had found her in one of the many rooms of the grand estate lying on a cream chaise, with a bottle of sauterne in hand and a letter in the other. It was frighteningly similar to the night she had found her—the night before her wedding—completely drunk and delirious with sorrow.
"Tell 'em..." Daisy's whispers trailed off as she spoke. "Tell 'em Daisy's change' her mine..."
Jordan approached her hesitantly, bending down in front of her on her knees. Daisy's dark chocolate hues glazed over her face, glimmering with such a sadness that the brunette hadn't seen before. The worn paper dropped carelessly from her delicate hand to Jordan's lap.
Her blue eyes dropped to gaze at the old sheet crinkled at its corners and marked with tears. When her eyes lifted to meet the blonde girl's own, she noticed how they fell from her eyes and onto the paper.
Jordan moved it away slightly, setting it beside her. Daisy attempted to bring the rim of the bottle to her lips, but failed, unable to find the desire she once had to drink another time.
"S'not my fault," Daisy mumbled, bottle waving between her fingers. Her eyes fluttered shut, squeezing tightly. The tears snaked down her reddened cheeks, and she uttered a choking sob. "I 'idn't kill her!"
The sway of her diamond necklace that hits her skin called her attention, and she gave a look of disgust, letting her fingers curl on the thin chain to tug at it.
"I don't need 'is money," she said to her angrily, then let a bitter laugh abandon her rosy lips. She tugged at it again, pulling so hard that her knuckles turned white. It was stubborn, but she insisted on having it off.
"So what if I did 'ill her..." Daisy continued. "It was an ac—cident!" she hiccuped between her words. "Unlike 'is own...!"
Jordan remained silent, unsure of what to say, yet knew the only thing she could do was let her friend vent her frustrations.
"You 'uld've escaped," she added. "with Nicky...oh, Nicky—" A dazed smile touched her lips then at the memory. "He may 'ave not been rich, but he was honest, wasn't he, Jor'an?"
He wasn't.
Jordan tried to ignore this, but her friend's face twisting in anger made it hard to. Daisy's hand gripped the chain tighter, and she pulled at it again.
"You could have 'scaped this hell!" Daisy screamed. Warm droplets of anguish drip from her chin, splashing on her knees, before resuming their fiery course down her calves."You 'ouldn't end up—" another hic. "—like me...!"
Silence. Then—
"Why did you let him go, dearis?" Her voice fell soft, hoarse from her screaming. "You could've gotten away."
He let me go.
She wanted to say, but she didn't.
Daisy rolled on her back then, propping her legs clumsily on the armrest. It was unfeminine, but Jordan doubted she cared at that moment. Another laugh rolled off her tongue. It was melancholy.
"You probably thought I suggested to fling 'ou two together 'hat summer for nothin'," she continued, bringing the glass bottle to her level. She inspected it absentmindedly. "but I—"
Jordan breathed deeply and turned her head away, closing her eyes. She didn't want to hear a word.
"I wanted you to be safe," she muttered. "Nicky's not like Tom. He wouldn't hurt you."
He did.
It was an unutterable fact, and one she refused to mention. She refused to mention Nick at all.
"You..." A single yawn drifted from her. Her eyes fell slightly. "could've been safe."
She was safe. Golf kept her safe. Her independence kept her safe. Her heart was guarded this time. She wouldn't let it ache anymore. She would never be so careless again.
But Daisy...
Jordan's gaze averted back to her friend, who had finally succumbed to the comforts of sleep. In her dreams, she wouldn't suffer. No one could hurt her.
She stared at her for a long time, her marble orbs weighing and assessing her petite figure, so small on that couch, so vulnerable. She was a fragile thing. She always was.
That eternally jovial mask had dissolved with the night and it was an elusive sight. The walls she put up to desperately protect what little worth she had had in the world crumbled with a letter and the taste of bittersweet liquor.
A porcelain doll battered and bruised—black and purple marks marred her arms, the ones she hid so well, and her heart was scarred with fragments of the past. In such a state, most would have rendered her repellant, but Jordan believed otherwise. Here she was at her most fragile and at her most lovely.
No one seemed to care for her.
But she did.
She couldn't help her—no one could—and though she wished otherwise, it was impossible. The daughter draped in dresses shimmering white was forever claimed in a loveless marriage painted ebony.
She could never escape, but for one night, she would.
Slowly, Jordan rose from the floor and ambled over to the sleeping figure, taking the bottle from her hand and placing it on the table beside them.
The blanket in the room was discarded on the floor, and she picked it up, throwing it over her tired frame.
Before she could continue cleaning, the door was thrown open, and her head turned, startled by the interruption. A drunk Tom stumbled in, a disheveled mess, eyeing the two suspiciously before turning away, solely muttering "women" with a scowl before slamming the door behind him.
Jordan sighed in relief. She drew closer to her friend and saw that her other hand was gripping the necklace she so wanted to free herself of. Wanted to free herself of the man she was bound to.
Jordan gently coaxed her hand away from it, unbinding her fingers, and as her hand fell away to the side, so did the pendant which dropped in her palm. Jordan simply glanced at it for a moment and the interest in it died away as it passed.
Her eyes looked to the golden girl again and in that moment, she concluded her observations.
She's not alive when he's not around. She's a zombie. A pretty, pliable puppet, to be used by everyone at will.
She was nothing, and she knew it. Nothing without him. She's gotten used to that horrid, barren feeling that is missing him, like no other woman has ever known. What other choice does she have?
That's all her life seems to be, to be trapped in the gilded white cage of her mansion. A cruel game of survival. It's everything she never wanted, and yet…
My Darling Daisy—
It's perfect.