// witch bitch

“Even if I’m being a bitch it doesn’t mean I’m capable of killing someone and besides I’m basically at the bottom of the suspect list so why wouldn’t they spend their time questioning those at the top of the list?”

‘ there’s not really, y’know, an if about it. the cops are questioning everyone. if they keep coming back to you, you’re probably giving them the wrong answers. ’

“I’m going to FIND who did this to my sister and I’m going to make sure they rot in H E L L where they belong.”

‘ hey, come on, don’t——don’t say that. leave that to the police, yeah? sit down. let me get you a tea. ’ 

“I don’t know why I keep being questioned by the cops. Just because someone finally decided to throw a bucket of water at the wicked witch of the west doesn’t mean I’m the one who did it.” Clementine snapped at the person in frustration.

‘ riiight. i don’t think calling the dead victim a witch is helping your case there, petal. maybe your attitude has something to do with the repeated questioning, yeah? just a thought. ’

“is murdering people like, a trend now or something? it’s like a fuckin’ meme.”

‘ i don’t think ‘ trend ’ is a synonym for ‘ serial killer ’, but it’s cool that you’re comparing our dead friends to sad pepe. that isn’t fucked at all. ’

“Wow, kind of sucks that people keep dying.” 

‘ ...’ 

she wakes up with a circle the size of her watch’s face pressed into her cheek and a dawning shame that she struggles to find a name for. the sky is dark and though the sun has set its heat still lingers in the room and in the fine sheen of sweat that’s settled onto her skin like a film. groggy, daisy pushes herself up onto an elbow and takes stock of herself with heavy-lidded eyes; her tank has twisted round the middle and one of her socks has slipped off of her heel and it’s not until she’s stumbled into the bathroom on unsteady legs and scrubbed last night’s makeup from her face that it hits her.

          foolishness.

                                                      its name is foolishness.

fingers that still carry traces of yesterday’s eyeliner tug her hair up off of the back of her neck and knot it unceremoniously as she pads back down the hall leaving german numbers in the imprints her feet make in the plush carpet. spanish had been first – one thousand numerals murmured at the dinner table when dad was late home and mum had had a bad day at work. french had come next; two thousand things to focus on that didn’t involve the threat of divorce. german was an ongoing feature. german was for when girls let you down and boys changed their minds.

     dreihundertdrei.

     dreihundertvier.

     dreihundertfϋnf.

     come outside.

a wave of heat from the cut engine radiates off of the hood as she passes by it and daisy wonders how long reece has been driving and what he’s been looking for out there in road signs and traffic lights. her fingers brush his phone off of her seat into neutral territory as she slides in beside him and it’s quiet for the moment; her methodical counting paused while she waits for reece to say something. anything. nothing. “ slept through dinner. are you hungry? ”

        daisy’s silence is a trapped, starved creature. it rattles against car windows and imitates engines, and it lives inside her, somewhere deep in the hollows of her chest. reece doesn’t think it’s a monster but it isn’t an animal he can find or identify in wilmington’s public stacks of mythology journals either. the greeks haven’t come up with a name for it yet. it’s not something that can be tamed easily. he doesn’t ask daisy about this thing that sits inside her. it’s terrible to carry a war on your own, but reece thinks maybe that’s the way some things have to be.

                                                                                                                     wars are private affairs.

                                                                                                                     they always have been.

        someone has to break the silence first, it’s a very old story, and when daisy does, reece is more than willing to play this one out. “ yeah, ” he says, even though he isn’t. even though he never is anymore. “ i’m starving. ” reece doesn’t make it a habit to lie to her but it’s happening more and more often now. ‘ i didn’t miss you at the party. sorry, a client refused to leave. the war is nearly over. ’ 

        he turns the key in the ignition and pulls away from the curb, the only things in motion now are the engine and daisy’s pulse. reece hasn’t told her that his new thing is imaging the absent thrum of kristina’s every time he can’t feel his own. “ so this client comes in today, and i swear daise, some people don’t get it. they go ‘oh, so you saw her bite the dust, did you?’ and it’s like—— christ, i know she wasn’t a good person, but she doesn’t deserve the shit from this town. ”

right now, daisy’s house is just a house. it’s late. reece is parked in his usual spot across the street, a few inches off the lava, and he hasn’t got an explanation for being here yet. he has a second theory though, and it’s this: everyone has a compass hidden inside themselves, and instead of north, his points to her. his instincts are stronger than his theories, so he cuts the engine and sends a message from house number 2′s (hacked) wifi router. come outside. he tosses his phone to the passenger side, already creating another obstacle for daisy’s arrival, and tips his head back on the rest. he tries not to think about the crushed tulips or the palms he’s held in his hands. he tries not to think of the woods, or his tongue, or how each of these things has the power to swallow him whole. he tries, and this is reece’s third theory, or rather whimsical hope: trying has to be enough. he isn’t ready to face a reality —— a dream, a universe, a world —— where it’s not. 

// @daisydeluca

hello bumbles !! so , , , in hindsight i realise i shouldn’t have posted the note i saved in my drafts about my weekend hiatus using crappy train wifi because look !! low and behold !! it’s not there !! amazing. absolutely amazing. anyways i’m home now and didn’t become victim #02 or fall off the face of the earth so that’s nice that’s fun i’ve gotta run to catch up with the dash but hmu with the details what’s been going on fam who’s been acting shifty who missed their bff reece let me know let me know

“i will kid all i want to, reecy cups. grumpy luke needs a grumpy fish just like him, ever thought of a moorish idol?? i bet it’d suit him. like fish, like owner. i don’t think it’s totally wrong to put them in a bowl, no, but i mean, is lukey gonna be all pissy if it is a little politically incorrect?? or will it be the thought that counts, hm?? ‘cause he can always release him into the ocean if he really wants to, so, that’s the real question right now.” 

‘ luke fosser vertebrate activist? i dunno’. maybe. we’ll see how it goes. so, you reckon it should be a moorish whatever? that’s the one speaking to you?  ——do you like fish a lot, or is this, like, a downstairs department thing?  ’

“good to hear, good to hear. and yeah. was thinkin’ about boarding down to the library to check a couple out. shut the fuck up, reece.”

‘ touchy. scratch the sketchy study sessions, your vocabulary is charming as it is. ten out of ten for points of endearment. ’

“ honestly, like we give kimye and brangelina a run for their money. i know, we should just get married and settle it now. there will be no comparison. ”

‘ don’t tease me, alice. you know i’ve been ready to jump town and tie the knot since the first day. you said no to vegas. no to hula hoop wedding bands. it’s all been pretty devastating my end. ’

daisy: dad was 20mins late 4 dinner x

“ board game abandoners are the WORST kinds of people. b l e h. promise me that you’ll never leave me mid-candyland ? or mid-anything, i guess. even if we’re being chased by a storm in the middle of nowhere, you’ve gotta follow through. promise ? – as if, reece. i’d school you out on the ‘board — i’m the queen, you’re the king. you can’t do anything, but i truly do the most. watch your crown, reese’s pieces. ”

‘ you wish. you’re more like a stack of checkers, saff. i don’t have an allegory for you, that’s just what you are. sorry. this king doesn’t make the rules. —never gonna’ abandon you, though. you’re my favourite piece. don’t tell daisy. ’ 

daisy: honk or i wont hear u over world war 92 x

daisy: how do u know

daisy: i dont like it reece xx

reece: i'm an expert in the dreams of daisy de luca phd

             ‘ ———— no. —— … yes. —— call me princess again. ’

‘ —— i ———— text if you need picking up. ’

“ hey, listen —– when’s your birthday ? ”

‘ june thirteenth. you missed the cake. ’