Daphne decided she hated me from the very first time she laid eyes on me. It must have been quite a shock for her, leaving her perfectly manicured world for one hidden in the shadows, where everything was kept under wraps, giving her no chance to shine like the star she was. Add to that world little old me, completely clad in orange, like 'a beacon for beasts everywhere' as Daphne so simply put it once; she must have regretted her decision to join almost immediately. But of course we all knew there was no turning back, so poor simpering Daphne had to just grit her pearl white teeth and deal with it.
That didn't make her hate me any less though; in fact I think it made her happy to have someone to taunt and tease, to poke and prod at like an animal in the zoo.
She seemed to change her mind after I ditched the jumper and the books though; maybe she was becoming scared of me, maybe she thought I was becoming 'cool' enough to be considered her friend, who knows? Who cares? I hated her; I hate her, I HATE HER.
If she saw me now she would probably plaster on that sickly sweet smile she saves only for the most important occasions, bat her eyelashes and try to win me over with that cutesy voice that worked so well on everyone else.
Unfortunately for her, I'm so fucked up now that I'd probably end up blasting a hole right between her pretty little eyes.
I hated her eyes. Those eyes could go from warm as honey to cold as ice as soon as they landed on me. No one else ever seemed to notice, but of course I did, and it sent a shiver down my spine every time. Sometimes I used to dream of gouging out those green orbs, laughing as she screamed for mercy, begging for me to kill her. I would wake up in a cold sweat, gasping for air like a dying fish, and scratch myself until my limbs were red and slippery and the shaking had stopped. Then it was my turn to crawl into bed with Shaggy and quiver against his side, like a child seeking protection from the monsters in the closet.
He never said a word, but from the first time I joined him, he made sure to keep a roll of bandages and cream by his bed, and before he would allow himself or me to become comfortable, he would check my body for wounds and tend to any that he found, no matter how small. He would kiss every scratch before wrapping it, and the feel of his lips on my skin made spiders crawl up and down my body all over again.
The only reason I mourned when Daphne died was because Freddie went down with her, protecting her helpless ass like he always did, kissing her smooth skin and telling her everything would be all right, even as his legs were being devoured and chunks of him were disappearing by the second. Even as she threw him to the werewolves to save herself, even as she ran towards the van, not looking back once. And Freddie was still shouting at her to run, he was still screaming that he loved her between his cries of agony. Not once did she turn around and look back. Not once did she tell him that she loved him too, that she would stay with him, that everything would be alright. It disgusted me.
I remember pulling out my carving dagger from its holster against my hip, swinging it slowly in my right hand, reveling in the thought of what I was about to do. As Daphne ran past me, looking more pathetic than she ever had, tears dripping down her face and gasping for breathe like an ugly fish, I spun around, giggling childishly, my dagger cutting through the air with a sweet whistling sound. I dug my boot into the ground to stop my cycle, slid my dagger back into its holster and grinned manically when I heard the dull 'thunk' of Daphne's body hitting the ground.
When Scooby and I finally turned to go back to the van, my eyes landed on Daphne's head a few metres away. Too shaken up to drive, I slid against the side of the van and stared at Daphne's headless body. From the roof of the van Scooby howled his lament to the moon; a wordless cry of help for both of our souls.
I sometimes wonder if anyone heard him.