#daniel sluiter

You weren’t sure if Daniel actually slept through the entire night. He was tossing and turning all night, sometimes moving to hold you and sometimes moving as far from you in bed as possible. This was so unusual; his meds made him drowsy, and he usually slept through the night with no issues. You knew that Katarina’s funeral was that morning, and you knew that Daniel was going, even if you had tried to talk him out of it. “I don’t think it’ll be good for you,” you had tried to tell him. “You know that everyone will be there.”

“Yeah,” your boyfriend had scoffed bitterly. “All the men she fucked.”

“And Butsche,” you said. “Moritz, Roman… Elena. Do you really wanna put yourself through that?”

Daniel had nodded, swallowing hard. “Lydia said I should,” he told you. “Confront them or something. I don’t know, love, but I’m going.”

You had crossed your arms in front of your chest and sank your hip against the countertop. “I’m not,” you said. “I’ve never even met them, and I fucking hate them. Everything they did to you… I don’t know why you give any of them the time of day.”

“I try not to,” Daniel had mumbled. “But I need to do this. K was maybe the only one who was nice to me before you, ever. I need to say goodbye to her.”

You had chewed your lip and looked down at dinner, which had been abandoned during your spat. “I’ll have my phone on me all day,” you said, reaching out and taking his hand. His hands were soft and warm, and you gently placed them on your hips. “If you need me, call me. If you want to use me as an out, say you need to come home to do something for me or whatever, do it. Okay? I don’t want you to beat yourself up for too long.”

The next morning, you laid in bed as you watched Daniel get ready. He had never told you everything that happened in high school, not that he had to— after all, it was 15 years ago, who even cared about high school anymore?— but you knew that it bothered him to even think about it. You held his pillow to your chest as he got dressed, dark pants and shirt. He struggled with his tie for a moment before finally getting it (“Catholic school,” he had chuckled back when you had first started dating. “I hated it, but at least I can tie a tie, Goddamnit.”), and he ran a hand through his long, wispy hair. For a moment, he disappeared into the bathroom, and you heard the sound of him pushing his teeth in properly, and, when he returned to the bedroom, he was licking his lips a bit. He had told you that his “friends” from high school, if you could call them that, had called him Toothless— Zahnlos— because of how awful his natural teeth were. Daniel had said they were stained and crooked and jagged in his mouth, and that his first legitimate paycheck when he was 20 years old went to getting a full set of dentures.

“Dan,” you whispered and beckoned him over, and he dutifully came and sat next to you on the bed. You snapped a hair tie from around your wrist and sat up a little, and you combed through his hair with your fingers. “You need a trim soon.”

“I can do it,” Daniel said gently. The air felt so thick between you, and, even though the conversation was, by all means, normal, it didn’t feel like it was settling in. “Or you can, if you want.”

“I trust you,” you told him, and you tied his hair together in a ponytail right below his ears. “Remember what I told you, honey; if you need to leave, do it. Fuck them, alright?”

Daniel nodded, blinking sleepiness and anxiety away, and he turned to face you when you finished with his hair. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said softly. He gave you a tight, uncomfortable smile, and you squeezed his hand.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you replied. “I love you, honey.”

Daniel nodded, as if satisfied with your answer, and he squeezed your hand back. “I’ll be home after the funeral,” he said. “Maybe after noon.”

He stood up from his perch on the edge of the bed, but your hand remained in his, and you tugged him back to you for just a moment. You swiped your lips along his quickly, just for long enough for him to know you did truly love him, and Daniel sighed. He took a moment to look at you, his big brown eyes admiring every part of your face, and he leaned back and kissed you again. Ever since you had known Daniel, he had always been hesitant to show physical affection, and you never really cared about it. After all, you weren’t dating him for sex. You loved his mind, his opinions, the little parts of him that sex could cloud and blind you to. He always smelled nice, he gave good hugs, he loved to cook. Your Daniel was always so much more to you than someone to sleep with, and you knew that he was thankful. One night early in your relationship, the very night Daniel had asked you to be his girlfriend, he had admitted that he was still a virgin; “Nobody’s ever been interested,” he said. “I thought about… I don’t know, calling Bustche for help or something, but he would laugh at me. Butsche always laughed at me.” Because of his hesitancy, you cherished every little kiss and squeeze he gave you, because you knew how special it was.

Daniel left soon after, shouldering on his jacket and anxiously checking his teeth, and he returned a few hours later. His right arm was held close to himself as he came in the door, and you cocked your head curiously. He had small wisps of hair hanging out of his ponytail, and he had a look in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. His pupils were wide, he didn’t blink, and he was smiling. It wasn’t exactly unusual for Daniel to smile, but, with everything happening, it felt off. “Danny?” you called from your place on the couch. As he shrugged off his jacket, he winced a little when he jostled his hand, and you sat up, discarding your computer onto the coffee table. “Daniel, sweetheart, what happened?”

“I did it,” Daniel told you as he came to sit next to you on the couch. “I did it, love.”

“You went to the funeral, I’m proud of you,” you nodded. You reached out for his hand, in pursuit of kissing his fingers, but you gasped as horror filled your chest. His knuckles were bruised and scuffed. “Oh, God! Danny, did you fall? Are you okay?”

“I didn’t fall,” Daniel told you. “I hit Butsche.”

“You…” you started and wrinkled your eyebrows. “You hit Butsche? Why?”

“He was being a dick,” Daniel said easily. “Said something about you. He-He can make fun of me all he wants, but not you.”

“I don’t understand, baby,” you said softly. You examined the thin skin of his knuckles and, thankfully, there was no blood, but the bruises were already turning from red to purple. You stood from the couch and moved to the kitchen to find something to ice his hand with, and you called, “Tell me what happened!”

“I got there,” Daniel said. “Showed up alone, and Butsche… He touched my face and sorta hit my cheek. It didn’t hurt but it startled me. Then, later, when it was just the five of us alone, viewing K, we were talking, just like how we used to. Somehow, it got on the topic of me, and Butsche started making fun of me for being a… A virgin. And I lied, baby, I’m sorry, I lied, but I was so humiliated and angry. I told them that I was married, that we were married, and that we were expecting. I don’t know why I did it, I couldn’t help myself. But then Butsche asked for your name and asked if… If he knew you. You know. I-I don’t even know how I did it: one second, I was standing next to Elena and Magda, then Butsche said that about you, and then I was on him. He can say whatever he wants to say about me, but I draw the line at you. Even Roman told him that he crossed a line. ‘You don’t talk about a man’s wife that way’ or whatever. Elena says congratulations, by the way, on the pregnancy.”

It took you a moment to process all of his words and, once it all sunk in, you sighed and came to sit next to Daniel. “I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself,” you mumbled. “But was that the best way to do it?”

“I think so,” Daniel said. “I mean, God. I’ve wanted to put Butsche in his place for years. Back when we were fifteen, I wanted nothing more than to just… Prove him wrong. I used to be far too scared to even talk to him, let alone hit him, but I did it in a heartbeat. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore, not when I had something to fight him about. I always… I always felt like I was drowning back then, just going under, being pushed all around by everyone. I won’t let them do that anymore. Not now that I have you.”

“Me?” you repeated.

“You’re the first person to treat me like a human,” Daniel explained. “You’re the person that matters the most to me. I won’t let Butsche or Roman or Moritz or anyone talk badly about you.”

“Me,” you whispered, and Daniel nodded. He seemed to be coming out of his manic state, his eyes returning to their normal size, and you took his hand in yours and kissed it. “I like how, of all the lies to come up with, it was that one; like, the farthest from the truth.”

Daniel laughed. “I panicked,” he said.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you said. “But if I ever meet them, we’re gonna have to lie a lot more.”