I walk into the cafe, scanning for my boss, spotting him behind the counter, tapping on a screen. He looks up and freezes when he sees me.
“Daisy?”
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt the apology out before I can even think. “I should have called. I know I messed up. Please don’t fire me. I need this job. I’ll do extra shifts, I’ll clean the staff bathroom for a month, I’ll?—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off, his face softening a touch. “Stop, you’re not fired.”
I stand silently, my eyes wide, trying to catch my breath from the absolute word vomit I’d just spewed at him.
He sighs. “You scared the hell out of me. Just don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
I nod, choking back relief. “Okay.”
Thank the gods for that. He even explained that he was letting me have my time off as PTO so I would still get some sort of a wage. I swear I nearly knocked him on his ass the way I dived on him to give him a hug.
Talia and Ezra beamed when they saw me, both of them telling me how proud they were of me for returning to college and managing to keep my job. Talia winked at Ezra when I had told them that my boss had let me stay on, and even gave me PTO for some of the time I was away. I’m guessing the two of them hooking up a few times had something to do with it, but I wasn’t going to question it when it meant I still had a way to pay my bills.
The rest of the day was uneventful, life seeming to be back to normal despite everything that had happened to me in the month I was gone. I have a butt-load of work to catch up on, and I have to make up one of the assignments I missed. But thankfully it was nothing too overwhelming, and something I should be able to do easily, thanks to all the notes I took before my life went downhill.
At cheer practice, the coach frowns when I show up. “Uniform?”
“Mine’s too big,” I admit. “I, uh, lost some weight.”
She rakes her eyes over me slowly before giving a soft smile, like she can see the reason for my weight loss wasn’t purposeful. “We’ll find you a spare.”
In the locker room, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My collarbones seem slightly more visible, but thankfully, I don’t look all too different—other than my eyes, that seem more shadowed. I smile anyway, bright and sunny, typical Daisy.
“Nothing’s changed,” I whisper. “Sunshine only.”
The routine comes back like muscle memory. I fake energy, falling into the steps and stunts like I’d not missed an entire month, smiling like it doesn’t hurt to exist. After, a girl from our squad approaches hesitantly.
“Hey,” she says. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. About Ethan.”
I freeze, my blood turning to ice. She means well, I know she means well. But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that he’s dead because of what he did to me. She doesn’t know he’s dead because someone who owns my freaking soul killed him.
“Thanks,” I murmur. “I’m… still processing.” I offer her a small smile and vanish before she can say anything else.
Later that day,I visit Professor Doyle’s office. He’s kind, but stern, with salt-and-pepper hair, his reading glasses on a chain around his neck.
“You’ve missed four weeks, Miss Sandoval,” he says, steepling his fingers. “But your early coursework was strong. You’ll need to write two makeup essays, and complete the group presentation for Psych 324 with Ms Everson. Your partners have been holding it down for you.”
I nod. “Thank you. I’ll get it all done.”
He studies me carefully. His brown eyes seeing wholly too much of my fractured soul. “Are you all right?”
I smile. Bright. Too bright to be anything other than fake. “Absolutely. Never better.”
He catches me up on other parts of the lectures that I’ve missed, then dismisses me with a ‘maybe you should sign up for counselling.’ Charming. Clearly the fake smile wasn’t convincing him either.
By the timeI get home that evening, I’ve forced myself to believe the lie that I am perfectly alright. That I’m fine. That none of it touched me, and that he doesn’t haunt me in every shadow. I sit on the couch, flipping through my notes, acting like I didn’t almost die and get dragged to Hell, almost believing a demon prince with eyes like ruin actually cared about me.
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
It’s December.
Christmas is creeping in through the fairy lights strung up in shop windows, through the sound of carols on repeat. On the outside, I do what I always do. I smile. I laugh. I help Ezra and Talia hunt down the perfect presents, pretending it doesn’t sting every time I walk past a cute couple sharing hot chocolate, or taking cute Christmas photos. I perfect the role of playing pretend. I make Christmas-themed drinks at the cafe with precision—peppermint mochas, gingerbread lattes, cinnamon-dusted cappuccinos. My fingers seem to constantly smell of vanilla syrup, nutmeg, and burnt espresso. But despite everything, I secretly love it. The songs play on repeat—All I Want For Christmas Is You, Last Christmas, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas. They’re on a loop at work—and damn them—I hum along constantly, even when they’re not playing. Because Christmas is still my favourite time of year, even now, when nothing feels the same. This was supposed to be my first Christmas with a boyfriend. With him. Before it all went sour, before he got too touchy, too demanding, I imagined snow falling outside while we curled up together in my too-small apartment. I imagined his fingers tangling in the lights as we put them up, going on about football and other stupid stuff I didn’t care about, and then pretending not to enjoy it when he inevitably got the star perfectly centred on the top of the tree.
And now? Now I drink cheap wine in candy cane pyjamas and sit by myself in the dark, pretending it doesn’t hurt that I’m alone. Worse, his parents will be spending Christmas without their son, and that guilt settles into my chest like frost. I know I shouldn’t feel responsible, Ethan made his choices. But I do. Ifeel it like a bruise to the heart every time someone says “Merry Christmas.”
