Chapter 3 Daisy

Daisy

When I wake up, I don’t know where I am.

Not for a second.

Maybe two.

Long enough for my stomach to drop and my heart to kick hard against my ribs as I jerk upright on the couch, disoriented by the darkness around me.

I pull the blanket closer around me before my brain finally catches up.

Bellamy Street.

My new place.

“Oh.”

My voice sounds strangely small in the dark room.

I reach blindly for my phone and find it wedged between the couch cushions. The screen lights up my face.

9:23 p.m.

“Seriously?”

Apparently my quick little nap turned into a full-body shutdown.

I rub my eyes and sit there for another second, letting myself adjust.

I hate this part of moving.

The first night in a new place always feels wrong.

I’ve lived in enough different houses since I was fourteen that I know it doesn’t last forever. Eventually you learn which floorboard creaks when the temperature drops. Which pipe knocks inside the wall. How the refrigerator sounds right before it switches off. Where the streetlight throws shadows across the ceiling.

Eventually, the strange noises stop sounding like warnings.

Eventually, the place becomes yours.

But not tonight.

Tonight, every dark corner feels like it might contain something.

I turn on the lamp in the living room, then the light over the dining table, then the kitchen light too.

The house transforms almost instantly.

There.

That’s better.

My pink blanket is still draped over the back of the couch. The little plant I bought earlier sits in the window. My books are lined up on the shelf.

Nothing sinister.

Just unfamiliar.

I exhale slowly.

There’s a television across from the couch that came with the place, and suddenly I’m extremely grateful for it.

I grab the remote.

“Please have Netflix. Please have Netflix.”

The screen flickers on.

There are streaming apps already installed, and after a minute of logging into one of mine, I pick a movie I’ve seen enough times that I don’t care if I miss half of it.

The opening music fills the room.

Instant improvement.

I’m not even watching it yet. I just want voices.

Something alive in the house besides me.

I’m halfway to the kitchen when my stomach growls so loudly I stop walking.

I look down.

“Okay.”

Another growl.

“Yes. I heard you.”

I open the refrigerator.

Nothing.

Obviously.

Still, I stare into it for a few seconds as though maybe something edible will appear if I wait long enough.

There is one bottle of water I bought at the train station.

That’s it.

I close the fridge.

Then open the freezer.

Ice tray.

I shut that too.

“So.”

Maybe buying a blanket, pillows, floral towels, a plant, candles, and a strawberry mug before buying actual food was not my strongest decision.

In my defense, the mug is very cute.

I grab my phone and start searching for food nearby.

Most places are closing soon, but a Chinese restaurant about ten minutes away is still taking orders.

Perfect.

I scroll through the menu, suddenly starving enough that everything sounds essential.

Fried rice.

Spring rolls.

Dumplings.

Sweet and sour chicken.

I add noodles, stare at the total, then tell myself leftovers are basically groceries.

Which makes this responsible.

I place the order.

Forty-five minutes.

Good.

Enough time to shower.

I head upstairs, still leaving half the lights on behind me.

The bathroom looks nicer now with the pink bath mat and flowered towels. Ridiculously feminine. Exactly what I wanted.

I smile at them while I turn on the shower.

The hot water feels incredible after a full day of trains, buses, walking, unpacking, then more walking while carrying enough home decor to furnish a small dollhouse.

By the time I get out, my muscles feel loose again.

I pull on a black tank top and soft gray jogging pants, then brush through my damp hair before heading downstairs.

The movie has reached a part I remember.

I pause for a second to watch.

Then the doorbell rings.

I nearly launch out of my skin.

My hand flies to my chest.

“Oh my God.”

I stare at the door.

The bell rings once.

Then silence.

Food.

Right.

Food.

Not a home invasion.

I laugh under my breath at myself and head toward the door.

Still, I check through the little glass pane before opening it.

A guy stands on the porch holding two bags.

Probably around my age. Maybe a little older. Dark hair under a baseball cap, black delivery shirt, jeans.

Normal.

I open the door.

He looks up and smiles.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He lifts the bags. “I’m guessing these are yours.”

The smell reaches me immediately.

My stomach twists with hunger.

“Oh, definitely.”

He laughs and hands them over.

I take both bags and nearly groan at the warmth against my hands.

“That smells so good.”

“It usually does when you’re hungry enough.”

“I’m starving enough to consider eating the containers.”

“That bad?”

“I moved in today and forgot groceries existed.”

His brows lift.

“Today?”

“Literally today.”

I step back just enough to balance one of the bags against my hip while I reach for the cash I left on the little table by the door.

“How much was it again?”

He gives me the total.

I start counting bills.

He glances past me toward the living room, not rudely, just curiously, then toward the other half of the house.

“You moved in alone?”

My hand pauses over the bills.

Only for a second.

I look back at him.

He seems to realize immediately.

“Oh.” His face changes. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

I smile a little. “I know.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you’re okay.”

“I just...” He rubs the back of his neck. “You said you moved in today, and I was thinking that’s a lot to do by yourself.”

I count out the money and hand it over.

Before he takes it, though, his attention shifts toward the larger half of the house.

The black car is still parked outside.

For a moment, he just looks at it.

Then he asks, “Have you met your neighbors yet?”

I follow his gaze.

“Um, no, not yet.”

He nods slowly.

Something passes over his face.

Not fear exactly.

More like hesitation.

Like he’s considering whether to say something.

I wait.

He looks back at me.

Then he smiles again, softer this time.

“So will you be going to the university?”

I smile. “Starting Monday.”

“First year?”

“Yup.”

He smiles. “What are you taking?”

“Environmental science.”

“Nice.”

“I’m excited. Nervous, but mostly excited.”

He folds the cash and slips it into his pocket.

“I’m second year, so if you ever need to know which coffee on campus is terrible or which buildings are impossible to find, I’m basically an expert.”

“That actually might be useful.”

“I knew my degree would pay off eventually.”

I laugh again.

He steps back from the door.

“Well, welcome to town.”

“Thank you.”

“And good luck Monday.”

“I think I’m going to need it.”

“You’ll be fine.”

There’s something very matter-of-fact about the way he says it, like he’s already decided that for me.

Then his eyes move toward the neighboring half of the house one more time.

Just briefly.

When he looks back at me, his smile is still there, but there’s a little concern behind it now.

“Have a good night, okay?”

“You too.”

He lifts a hand and heads back toward his car.

I watch him go for a second before closing the door.

I carry the food into the living room and set everything on the coffee table.

The second I open the first container, I stop caring about my neighbors.

“Oh my God.”

Fried rice.

Dumplings.

Noodles.

Chicken.

I grab a fork and curl up on the couch beneath my new blanket while the movie keeps playing.

For the first time all day, I’m not dragging luggage, signing paperwork, unpacking boxes, or carrying a plant down the street like an idiot.

I’m just sitting in my own living room.

Eating Chinese food.

Watching a movie.

The darkness outside doesn’t feel quite as intimidating anymore.

I take another bite.

Yeah.

I can do this.