#scarwarped

           “YOU’RE SURE YOU WANT TO PARK THAT THERE?” the sun overhead is hot, beating down on the pavement like it wants it to suffer. she’s grown used to it at this point, but that doesn’t make it any easier to breathe where she’s slumped on the ledge of a storefront window. she’s not really sure why she’s choosing to involve herself in this stranger’s business besides the fact that she’s stuck waiting anyway. she should know better. “there’ll be a citation on it within minutes, i promise.”

     she will wonder, later, if this was what did it. it’s a gentle, careful thing; the sort of affection that pogie seems so intent on shying away from and that has always come far too easily to daisy. it is nothing short of reflexive, lips pressing their goodbye to a forehead that feels almost feverish in that thick morning heat that always sat too heavily in the flat if the windows weren’t left open to allow the breeze to pass through. she is knelt at the edge of the bed, bag slung over her shoulder and a hastily scribbled note clutched in her palm that she will leave on the bedside table  ( a courtesy she will lament bitterly that he did not return )  to remind him of the murmur about dinner lost to his skin.

     perhaps in finding some semblance of normality  ( a half life carved out of grief for two spectral figures that she was sure could hope for little more )  with him she had sentenced herself to solitude, casting him away with those little gestures so automatic they cannot be helped. it’s just a little thing, her lips barely brushing against his skin before she’s withdrawn and headed for the door, but she will wonder, later, if this was what did it  ––––––  if that little thing was the final straw for a man that daisy will decide later was just looking for an excuse to leave.

maybe if you slept

     “ ––––––  ACTUALLY, THAT’S NOT IT AT ALL. ”  a shrill, almost breathless interruption comes over his gruff reprimand and it is as though daisy just can’t help herself from drawing herself up to her full height  ( a useless exercise at the best of times not least against pogie’s domineering six and a half feet ). unparalleled grief has given way to resentment for at least half of the pair and it is clear now as they stand at opposing ends of the lounge, squared away for a fight that will surely leave devastation in its wake. he is still ranting, voice raising steadily louder over hers as she refutes his claims with a dedicated sort of stubbornness and as the moment continues to escalate daisy moves forward recklessly, a finger waving its accusation as she clears the space between them, all but begging him to abandon whatever shred of restraint he still holds onto.