I stay up watching funny video clips on mute so as not to wake her. Every so often I glance over at Daisy sprawled on the bed. Her cheeks flush and she flips over, her teeth gnashing together as if she’s ready for a fight even in her sleep. A bird could break her arm, and she’d still try to punch its lights out. The sheets are so twisted she looks like she’s wrestling an octopus. I’m exhausted, but I keep watch, just in case she wakes up and needs something.
From the hallway, a soft thump and a hiss of laughter carries into my room, but then the party crowd migrates to the backyard. Kidd peeks in on us but retreats when he sees I’m still awake.
Eventually, I move to the chair in the corner of the room and light up a joint. I need something to take the edge off this fucking day.
I continue to watch Daisy sleep.
She’s curled up around my pillow, sweating through that little tee like she’s got a fever. She starts to kick the covers off, then gets tangled in the sheet, panics for a second, and mutters something like a prayer. I cross the room and brush her hair off her cheek, just to see if she’s burning up. She’s not, but her skin is clammy and cold. Withdrawal is hell. I could go down and ask Prez if Doc left anything else we can give her, but I have a feeling that’s only going to delay the inevitable. Better to ride it out quickly and ugly.
She jerks awake and sits up so fast she nearly clocks me in the jaw. Her pupils are black pinpricks in a sea of brown, and she’s looking at me like she expects a punch to the face. I back up a step and wait for her to recognize that it’s me, but she seems to be in the throes of a nightmare.
“No. Stop. Don’t touch me.” She punches and kicks at the air.
I don’t know if I should wake her or let her battle her demons.
I crouch at the edge of the bed, hands up, not daring to touch her. “Daisy?” I keep my voice low, like coaxing a stray cat out from under a car.
She thrashes again, nails out, nearly clawing my eye. Then she blinks, once, twice, and falls back into herself. She shakes, panting, a sweaty sheen on her forehead.
“It’s all right,” I tell her, which feels like bullshit, but it’s the best I can come up with. “You’re safe here, Daisy. You’re with me. It’s Lunatic.”
She presses the heel of her hand to her burning eyelids, tries to ball up tighter, as if she wants to shrink down to the size of a pill and disappear. She cries out again, flailing like someone possessed.
I kneel on the bed and grab her wrists gently, pinning them just enough so she doesn’t hurt herself. “Hey. It’s just me. Lunatic. You’re safe.”
She trembles so hard I can feel it shake up my own arms. For a split second, I wonder if she can register my voice, or if she’s truly locked away in some horror show built from a dozen years of being used by monsters. She blinks, eyes glassy with tears, but then they dull out and suddenly she falls limp like a rag doll.
I let go quickly, worried I’ve made it worse.
She hugs herself, rocking from side to side. “I’m okay,” she whispers, but she’s not. She’s far from it.
“You want water?” I ask. She doesn’t respond. I get it for her anyway and bring the cup to her lips. Her hands tremble so badly that she can’t hold it herself.
I sit next to her and steady the glass.
She gulps it down so fast I’m afraid she’s going to puke it back up.
“You’re okay,” I repeat. I grab my prescription bottle of stomach meds. “Take one. It’ll help you sleep.” She looks at me wide-eyed and full of fear. “I promise you I’ll be right here the whole time. I’m not going anywhere.”
It takes a minute or two, but she finally agrees.
But a few minutes later she’s running for the bathroom.
I follow her to the toilet and hold back her hair as she dry heaves. Sweat clings to her skin.
Her body slumps over the toilet, and she moans, face blotched and pale. Her jaw quivers as she spits bile. I kneel by her, rubbing circles on her skinny back, and whisper, “Easy, Daisy, let it out.” The shakes wrack her so hard I worry she’ll snap something important.
When it calms, she sags against the wall, gasping and shivering at once. I grab a clean rag from under the sink, wet it, and dab at her brow.
Her eyes focus on me, but they’re somewhere far away. Back across border in a nightmare I can’t see.
“Bones. Teeth. Everything. Hurts.”
I slide down next to her, careful not to crowd her. “It’s the worst the first few days,” I say, because it’s true, and not because I know she needs a pep talk. She looks at me with those wide doe eyes, and I wish I could take her pain away.
“You must think I’m pathetic.”
“I think you’ve been dealt a really shitty hand in life and need to heal your body and your mind.”
