A.U: Sorry for the late update, like I said I've been swamped with exams this week. I should be able to update more regularly soon, however. Thanks for the support!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own The 5th Wave, that right belongs to the ever incredible Rick Yancey.
Chapter Song: Distant Past by Everything Everything
DAISY
I couldn't have possibly imagined how my day would have turned out the morning of the Arrival.
I honestly thought it couldn't get any worse when I woke up with a pounding head and a throbbing cheek, and went downstairs only to have my dad stare disappointedly at me, and have my mom fret about the bruise.
Firstly, I had Lola come bounding in to my room at eight in the morning, screaming down my ear that I'd slept in. Her knees dug into my ribcage like bony thorns, and as she jumped up and down, all the wind got knocked out of me. For somebody so small, she sure could do some damage.
"Wakey wakey sleepyhead!" she cried, in that adorable way five year olds speak, meaning nothing can come across irritating, no matter how hungover or tired you are.
"You cheeky monkey," I tease, rolling her off of me, tickling her sides so that she shrieked with infectious laughter.
We stay like this for a while, until I hear my dad's booming voice call to me from downstairs. I sigh, and lift myself out of bed, with Lola in my arms. She clings to me, fiddling with my tangled mess of hair has she does so.
In the kitchen, mom greets me with a good morning and a kiss, which I'm more than happy to return. She nuzzles Lola's nose, who giggles again, causing me to laugh too, as I take my seat at the table, with my little sister on my lap. Then, I look up and spot dad from across the table, and immediately I cease, my lips thinning out into a straight line. I refuse to acknowledge him, so he drops his newspaper to the table.
"Are you going to tell me what happened last night, or am I going to have to wait until somebody files a report at the station?"
I grit my teeth, loathing the fact he would bring this up again, in front of mom. Like a flash of lightning, she swivels her head round, forgetting the stack of pancakes she has on the griddle. Her eyes widen, and she puts her hand on her hip as she glances, concerned, between dad and me.
"Why, what's happened? Daisy?" she inquires. It doesn't take her long until she notices the bruise on my face, which I expect to be a brilliant blue by now. She bounds over to me, and delicately runs her fingertip across my skin, which is swollen and tender. Gasping, she rushes to the fridge to retrieve a bag of frozen peas, which she wraps in a tea towel before handing to me.
"Petal, who hit you?" she asks, in a soft voice. Lola overhears, and glances to look at my face, with curiosity.
Before I can answer, dad interrupts, with exasperation evident in his voice. That felt worse than the punch.
"Audrey, how do we know Daisy didn't provoke this other girl, I mean - "
Just the mere fact he would assume I started the fight, much less that it was with another girl, is enough to make the blood boil to my head. I cut him off this time, before he can slander me any more.
"It was Miles," I breathe, though I immediately regret telling the truth. The anger on dad's face was purely terrifying. He slowly rose out of his chair, and approached me, clenching and unclenching his fists.
"That asshole I arrested last year?" he asked, in an unnervingly calm tone. I cover Lola's ears when he curses. "Erik Lydon's boy?"
I nod. Disbelief is written all over mom's face. She inspects my bruise closer, and covers her mouth with her hand, shaking her head.
"Oh sweetie," she says gently.
"What were you doing with him?" dad barks, causing all of us to jump. I kiss Lola on the forehead, and tell her to go and get her things ready for school. She doesn't question it. She's good like that.
I get up out of my chair, and stand face-to-face with dad. I look him in the eyes, and I see nothing but cold despondency in the hazel orbs. I've disappointed him, I know I have. I always do. What I don't understand is why me getting hit is my fault, and why he despises me so much for it.
"I went to the party last night, and Miles just turned up. I didn't invite him, and I tried to ignore him. This only made him angrier. I did nothing to deserve it." I speak with a wobbly voice, which mom picks up on instantly, as she wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders, holding me close to her.
"Of course you didn't deserve it, petal," she assures me, rubbing my back. I can make out dad's face as she does this, and it's a mixture of reject and frustration. "We know you didn't deserve it."
"Well, that's what he meant," I murmur. "He thinks it's all my fault. It's always my fault. Every awful thing that's ever happened to this family is all down to me, isn't it Phil?"
He doesn't answer, though all the colour drains from his face. I should have stopped here. I should have apologised. I didn't.
"I can see it in your eyes. Disappointment. It's always there. You're disappointed with how I turned out. You thought you could turn me into the perfect little girl, then Lola came along, and you realised you'd got it completely wrong. Well, I've got news for you Phil - "
His hands crashes down on the countertop, causing an echoing thud to reverberate off of the kitchen walls. I jump back, despite myself, and it feels like a smack to the face.
"What did I tell you about calling me Phil!" he cries, and that's when I hear it. Hear the hurt. It's real, and it's raw, and I instantly regret ever uttering a bad word to him. And yet, my lips still keep moving, and I don't know how to stop them.
"Because you're not my real dad!" I yell. Tears stream down my face, and they feel cold on my heated cheeks. He flinches, and I'm so very afraid that I've ruined it all. I fully except him to march me over to the police car outside, and drop me back off at the station, or worse - the orphanage again.
"Is that how you feel?" he asks me slowly, and at first I find it impossible to answer. I glance between him, and mom, and I can feel my heart tear at their expressions. Mom is shocked, and dad - though now I feel guilty calling him dad - is staring at me with such intensity, I fear he knows what I'm going to say, before I do.
"Sometimes, yes," I breathe, in a quiet voice, so I half hope that they don't hear. They do. "I mean, you have a real daughter now. Aren't you sick of me?"
With remorse at admitting how I felt, and anger at ever having to feel that way, I don't think I can stand hearing their reply. The tension is too heavy, and looking at their faces is just too painful. I excuse myself, and tread the stairs carefully. At the top, I see Lola sat, her cherished teddy bear enveloped in her arms, with a bemused look on her face. My heart sinks, and immediately I know that she could hear every single word. I perch down next to her, and let her put her little head in my lap. She seems to still be processing what I said, as it's a long time until she says anything. And when she does, I can't bear to tell her the truth.
"I just said that to hurt him, Lola," I say, half-truthfully. "I didn't mean it, don't worry."
Whether she believed me or not, I'll never know. I kissed her forehead, and got up to get myself ready for school. I couldn't bring myself to wave dad off, but mom I could hug. She was quiet, as though she didn't want to make anything worse by talking about it. Her eyes are swarming with sadness, however, and I have to bite back the tears.
"He wouldn't change a thing, petal," she whispers, as I turn the lock of the door. "Nothing at all."
And with that I give her a lopsided smile, bittersweet, and walk to my Camaro awaiting me in the driveway. I fumble with the key in the lock, but I eventually manage to clamber inside, the faint smell of the raging leather strangely calming. I can see mom in the doorway as I drive off, and Lola in the window on the stairs. She's using her teddy to wave to me.
School wasn't much better. News about Miles hitting me, and dad coming to pick me up and spread like wild fire, and Jemma had to hold me back from smacking a couple of ninth graders. And to add to my previous humiliation of the night before, Lincoln thought it would be a great idea to approach me at lunch. I mean, it was very considerate, if he had chosen to come over literally any other time. I was sick of everybody and everything, and when I'd heard a voice behind me when at long last it seemed I'd found solace, I snapped. Swivelling my head, I saw Lincoln instead, looking very startled. I immediately wished that the ground would swallow me up. However, like the chill guy he was, he shook it off.
"Been one of those days, huh?" he jokes, with that killer grin of his. It's nearly enough to make me forget he thought I was called Daley.
"You don't know the half of it" I sigh, rubbing my eyes.
He chuckles slightly, and I kid you not, I swear that's the sound you hear when you walk through the gates of heaven. It feels me with butterflies, just the mere fact that I made Lincoln freaking Campbell laugh. Then, one of his mates comes over, and it really feels like the world is conspiring against me. He seems pretty eager to show Lincoln something on his phone, which causes his jaw to drop.
"Have you seen this Daley?" he asks me, and I have to resist screaming out loud. He holds out the phone, and I spot the same picture that guy had showed me in Physics. I roll my eyes.
"You can't really believe all that alien bullshit?" I say, despite myself. The two boys stare at me as though I'd tried to convince them that grass was purple, and I shift uneasily under their scrutiny. Under Lincoln's scrutiny.
"This 'alien bullshit' is all over the news," the other guy tells me, rather matter-of-factly. "It's not some kind of hoax, if that's what you think."
"It's just another Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot con," I shrug. "It'll probably be some kid's LEGO model, or something."
Lincoln smiles at me, as though he agrees. I smile back, whilst his friend scoffs. Clearly, he thinks I'm just some other pessimist, or incredibly stupid.
"Listen, I don't know if you understand how cameras work, but you can't fake a shot like this," he proceeds to tell me, in a slow voice, as if he thought I wasn't able to comprehend English.
"I mean, maybe you're right. Maybe technology is just far too advanced for my tiny brain to fathom," I begin. "But then, who was it who printed off your Fake I.D.? Oh that's right, me. And who was it who got you the answers for that Spanish test? Oh, that was me as well. If you want to lecture someone about technology, try talking to somebody who you didn't beg to bump your grade up in Computer Science, alright Austin?"
His face dropped, whilst Lincoln laughed, clapping him on the back. I could have stayed like this, laughing and joking and smiling with Lincoln, sharing his memories, as though I were apart of his world, forever. But it was like I said; the world was conspiring against me. The school bell rang, piercing through our little circle. Lincoln said goodbye to me as he and his friend walked off to their classes, leaving me in a blurry stupor, wondering if what had just happened had been real, or if I had just imagined it all.
It's funny that I remember that conversation, of all the things that happened that day, and the days leading up to it. I can't remember what I wore, and I can't remember the classes I had, but I remember him, and his laugh. I specifically remember his laugh. It's one of the things I think back to when I'm feeling low.
One; the smell of my mom's lavender perfume. When I hugged her, it would cling to my clothes, and linger in my nose, and it always calmed me. I can still smell her on my hoodie now, even after three months of wandering the woods.
Two; the taste of my nana's strawberry crumble. It's ironic that though my dad couldn't stand to look at me sometimes, his mom adored me, and insisted I call her nana first time we met. She was always incredibly sweet, and would give me advice on everything from ways to look after my skin, to what kind of cars to buy. She was cool like that. Nana also always brought me my favourite dish of rich strawberry strawberry crumble whenever she would visit.
Three; the feel of Lola in my arms. If I was holding her, and she was holding me back, then I felt like I could conquer anything. She was the one constant in my life, who I never feared judgement from. She didn't look at me as anything but her big sister, and it was such a nice feeling to be loved like this by someone.
Four; the view from my rooftop. Lilydale was a tiny community in Roseland, the quietest town in Chicago. On clear nights I would crawl out onto my rooftop, and just lay there, snuggled up in my hoodie. The stars were illuminated, and the scenery truly was breathtaking. You could see the infamous Chicago skyline from my little perch, and it really knew how to stun.
Five; Lincoln Campbell's laugh. Pathetic? Probably. But it never failed to bring a smile to my face.
Then I'd remember that he was more than likely dead, along with my mom, and my nana, Chicago, and maybe even Lola, though I try not to think about that. I don't know why I would think about things long gone. I guess, it's because everything is long gone. Everything I ever loved; music, film, guacamole, that great traditional Chicago pizzeria down the road from the house, football, my Camaro SS.
Now, they all belong to the past, and I belong to the unknown. I scour the woods, alone if you don't count my M16, and Lola's beloved teddy bear I rescued, searching for a way back to her. Back to my little baby sister, who was ripped from my clutches. How, I hear you ask? Well, that's a story for another day.
