laid still under the pink sheets on Calypso's bed, the linens providing her much needed comfort as she mourned.

Caly's pastel comforter had been peeled back, pooled at the edge of the bed. The thick material of the heavy blanket made Daisy feel like she was suffocating, and thin silk sheets were the only linens light enough that Daisy could lay under.

Daisy thought about August, and the manner in which he had left her. Daisy thought about Calypso, and the manner in which she had left her.

Everybody kept leaving so suddenly without rhyme or reason, and it was so infuriating to Daisy.

Linens didn't abandon, at least. Daisy was particularly thankful of that fact as she gripped the pink sheets tightly in her right fist, using her left hand to tuck Calypso's wool bunny against her chest.

Head split open, blood trickling out onto pavement. Daisy hadn't screamed as she watched the big car make harsh contact with the tiny girl on the pink bicycle. The sound had been sickening, and Daisy had only stood horrified with wide eyes as the car sped away. Red blood spilled on a canvas of black tar, and a mangled piece of scrap metal that had once been a bike had been flung aside onto the sidewalk.

You should've just let Mark teach her how to ride a bike.

You don't have to be the one to do everything.

This was preventable.

This was your fault.

Daisy didn't blink, nor grimace. She didn't reach up to rub her head like she usually would when her brain was being negative.

Daisy's face remained blank as her eyes were stuck on the dull white paint that coated Calypso's bedroom wall.

This was preventable.

Daisy had merely wanted to teach her how to ride a bike.

This was preventable.

Mark was teaching Caly to read and teaching Caly to tie her shoes and Daisy wanted to be useful for something.

This was preventable.

Daisy wanted to be the cool big sister for once instead of the strict bore. Calypso had pouted, claiming that helmets didn't look cool, and they messed her hair up, and Daisy had wanted to be the cool big sister.

This was preventable.

This was your fault, Daisy.

"Daisy."

Mark's voice cut through silence as Daisy ignored him, choosing to focus on the thoughts in her head.

Were helmets even really that helpful? It was a hardened piece of plastic—wouldn't Calypso have succumbed to deadly injuries no matter what she was wearing?

"Daisy."

But it would've at least lessened the injury. Maybe she wouldn't have fractured her skull, and maybe then she wouldn't have lost so much blood, and maybe then she would still be alive.

Daisy contemplated the reliability of helmets while she laid still, the small bunny still clutched against her.

Mark let out a quiet sigh when Daisy ignored him for the second time, watching the unresponsive girl from where he was stood in the doorway.

"You have to talk to me at some point, you know."

Daisy had come home the night of August's death and slipped back into her deep state of sadness, days consumed by doing nothing and wallowing in the shadows of Calypso's bedroom. She hadn't talked to Mark since August died, and she had no intention of using her tiny amounts of energy to have a useless conversation.

Remnants of her energy were used to grip Caly's bunny tightly in her hand. The stuffed animal had been important to Calypso, so by default, it was everything to Daisy.

Daisy didn't react when Mark spoke, or when she heard Mark's faint footsteps. Daisy wasn't focused on Mark, and she didn't feel the need to focus on him when she had bigger and scarier things running through her head.

Daisy did react, however, when the warm wool of the bunny was pulled from the grasp of her fingertips.

"Hey."

Daisy turned to see Mark already walking away as he exited Calypso's bedroom, the man ignoring the girl much similarly to the way she had been ignoring him.

Daisy immediately pulled the baby pink sheets back, standing up to get Caly's bunny.

"Hey."

Daisy's tone was sharper this time, her eyebrows furrowed as the frustration came through.

Mark was stood by the kitchen table, and Daisy was infuriated to see Caly's bunny in his hands.

"That's not yours. You can't take it from me, it's not-"

"It's not yours either." Mark countered, his eyes running over the purple threading that read Violet, showcasing the true ownership of the small stuffed animal.

Daisy was glaring at Mark in a scary way, the girl clearly not happy that he had taken her comfort animal.

He hadn't meant to take it to make her mad, simply to make her get out of bed. Crying in Calypso's bed all day every day surely wasn't a good thing for the teenager's mental health.

"Just...here." Mark placed the bunny down on the cold table between them, as if setting down a peace offering in some sort of middle ground. "I don't need it. You can take it, but...you have to talk to me."

Daisy was quick to clasp the bunny in her fingers and press the animal to her chest, speaking in an icy tone. "I don't have to do anything."

Mark watched as Daisy was ready to immediately retreat to her sister's bedroom, and Mark felt deflated as he watched another parenting attempt crash and burn. He was failing miserably at this whole thing.

"I want to talk about Calypso."

The question made Daisy slightly pause, stopping her exit from the kitchen. She wasn't sure why Mark was so interested in talking about Caly all of a sudden.

"Why?"

"We don't ever talk about her."

That was precisely the issue, though. They hadn't talked about Caly a day after she had died, nor a week after she had died, nor two weeks after she had died. Calypso had been gone for a month, and Mark all of a sudden took an interest in talking about her?

"So why start?"

"I want to talk."

"We're not on speaking terms, though, so-"

"God, that's so stupid, Daisy." Mark couldn't help but groan, feeling seriously frustrated at the way the girl was so keen on shutting him out so often. "The not talking thing is...it's immature, and aggravating. Talking is healthy. So please, sit down and talk to me."

Daisy's attitude quickly changed, fear beginning to paralyze the girl at the switch of Mark's tone. He wasn't yelling—not like he had months ago after the Mr. Walter incident. But he sounded annoyed, and Daisy knew not to push that.

The girl slowly took a seat at the kitchen table, the coolness of the chair against her legs sending shivers down her spine.

Mark stood leaning against the chair on the opposite side of the table, elbows rested against the wood.

Mark's position made Daisy feel small, and she didn't like feeling so minute. It was intimidating, and Daisy couldn't help but avert eye contact.

"Can you sit down?" Daisy spoke quietly, sort of expecting Mark to be annoyed or quickly lash out about how Daisy needed to stop telling him what to do.

Mark looked confused though, so Daisy cleared her throat as she made a point to elaborate further.

"You're standing. And I'm sitting, so you're a lot higher up than me, and...it's like I'm inferior. It's an intimidation tactic, it's...kind of freaking me out, so..."

"Sorry." Mark cleared his throat, pulling the heavy chair out and taking a seat. "I didn't realize."

"Yeah, it's...it's basic psychology, so..."

The man let out a quiet sigh at the girl's slight jab, her comment providing a segue to the conversation he'd wanted to have.

"You can't keep talking to me like you're an adult and I'm not. You're angry, and upset, and I get it. And I've been letting it go because you've been grieving, but...you can't keep snapping at me just because you're upset."

Daisy's brain immediately went to Mr. Walter, for some reason. Mr. Walter wouldn't ever let Daisy's current behavior slide. She knew better than to ever talk back or undermine an adult's authority. What had happened to the Daisy that lived with the Walters a year ago? She was kind, and respectful.

She was also scared of her own shadow, Daisy reminded herself, trying to steer away from diminishing the confidence she had built within herself over the past year. Daisy had feared for her life every single day a year ago, and living that life was draining.

"Dais?"

"I'm listening." Daisy reassured, not wanting to seem as though she wasn't paying attention and being respectful after the little speech Mark had just given.

Silence ensued between the two, the table between them stretching a wide space that seemed to be a lot longer than three feet. A quiet atmosphere encompassed the kitchen table, thoughts running to catch up.

"I owe you an apology, too."

Daisy didn't think Mark owed her anything, actually—similarly to the way that she didn't owe Mark anything. Daisy liked that about their relationship, the fact that there were no battered family ties to tether them together.

Curiosity kept Daisy quiet, the girl eager to learn what exactly was causing Mark to express an apologetic sentiment.

"I wasn't a good outlet for you after she died, and I'm sorry. I was so wrapped up in missing her that I thought not talking about her would be less painful, but...it was worse, actually, and...I'm sorry."

Though meant sincerely, Mark's little speech rubbed Daisy the wrong way.

"You miss her?"

"I do."

Daisy felt the annoyance bubble up again. The girl was wildly insecure about Mark and Calypso's relationship, and she unknowingly projected her jealousy onto him as she spoke in a nasty tone that dripped with bitterness.

"You miss her?"

Calypso was Daisy's sister. Daisy thought none of this would've even happened in the first place if Mark hadn't gotten between the two girls. If he had just respected his place, Calypso would still be coloring at the kitchen island, her feet swinging as they dangled from the high barstool.

Mark killed Calypso.

"I cared about her." Mark defended himself, immediately pressing forward when Daisy opened her mouth to argue. "You miss her, right? I'm allowed to miss her too. I cared about her."

"She was my sister."

"She was my kid."

"She wasn't. She was mine, she...she wasn't yours!"

If Daisy's mind hadn't been clouded by anger, she would've immediately fixed her statement. The words spoken made the deceased seven-year-old sound like a dull and lifeless object rather than a once vibrant and enthusiastic girl. Calypso hadn't been an object that anyone could have ownership of; the girl deserved better than that.

She wasn't yours to love.

A more appropriate statement that Daisy wanted to express, a judgment of who should have gotten the prerogative of loving the girl.

But who was Daisy to place limits on who was allowed to love Calypso? That made Daisy selfish, the girl realized. She was incredibly selfish.

Daisy had been selfish when she took Calypso to the neighborhood three blocks over, pink bike in tow. She had been selfish in her intentions.

If it were really about Calypso, Daisy would've let Mark teach the girl how to ride a bike. He would've been able to hold the bike in a sturdier position, and he would've said the right encouragement when she would fall and scrape her knees on the gravel. Calypso wouldn't have repeatedly asked to go back to the apartment, because she would've felt safe knowing an adult was there to teach her. Mark would've protected her from big scary SUV's, and Mark would've made her wear a helmet.

Daisy had been so blinded by being first to teach Caly to ride a bike that she had unknowingly robbed the girl of any other firsts in life.

No first day of middle school, or first day of high school, or first day of college. No first time driving a car. No first boyfriend or first girlfriend or first anyone—Caly wouldn't get to experience any of it.

Mark hadn't killed Calypso, he hadn't taken away any of Caly's potential first experiences. It was Daisy's fault.

Daisy's jealousy killed Calypso.

Daisy killed Calypso.

The gruesome thought hit Daisy hard, a painful jolt tapping against her brain and immediately putting her body into physical distress. Daisy closed her eyes tightly, leaning forward as she let out a low groan—a long and pitchy sound that one would make when battling nausea.

Daisy felt like the thoughts were diluting into her bloodstream, slowly killing her and bringing forth copious amounts of agony as Daisy was reminded again and again and again who was responsible for Caly's death.

"I killed her."

Mark was a bit confused. It seemed way too late for a secret confession, and he was sure the details of a murder would've come out earlier.

"What?"

There was another groan, and Daisy did feel physically sick this time. The girl leaned forward as she struggled to catch her breath, rubbing her temple to bring some sort of momentary relief to the mental torture she was enduring.

"I didn't mean to, but I...oh my God."

Daisy let out a laugh—a short and painful one, like she had found humor in the most cruel joke. Daisy had felt guilty before, but the thought hadn't seriously crossed Daisy's mind. Now that it had invaded her brain, Daisy was positively sure she was losing it.

"I killed her."

Images of a blood-stained Daisy in the ER flashed through Mark's brain. They had never really talked about the events that had transpired that day, the topic always immediately making Daisy sad and dissociative.

What happened?

Mark wanted to press the question, but Daisy's visible distress prevented him from doing so. The girl's hands slowly slid from her temple to cover her eyes, a small laugh heard as Daisy seemed moments away from fully breaking down.

Mark was hesitant as he watched Daisy's fingers tap slightly, the girl rocking to prevent her emotions from exploding. He wasn't sure what was considered comforting and what was considered overstepping. Mark certainly didn't want to be the one to push Daisy over the edge, but he also thought it was wrong to sit and do nothing. Perhaps comfort in a time of trial would ease Daisy.

The man stood from his seat across the table to occupy the seat beside Daisy. Sitting across from each other felt cold, and far too formal. Mark thought being close to Daisy without saying or doing much could comfort her when she needed it.

"Listen, it's all-"

"Stop." Daisy spoke loudly in a hostile tone that Mark hadn't expected, evidently not appreciating his pep talk and evidently not appreciating the man being sat beside her. "You are not helpful, and you make everything worse."

Mark was slightly taken aback, furrowing his eyebrows at the way Daisy had yelled. "Daisy."

Daisy's emotional capacity had snapped like a twig, the girl letting out a distressed sob that passed a trembling lip. Daisy didn't like to feel like she was being mean, but she didn't regret her words either. Everything that had been stuffed inside was coming out as Daisy broke apart at the seams.

"I hate you."

Mark had kind of expected their conversation to end in the opposite direction tonight. Mark had expected a good talk, one ending with a resolution to all the conflict. He had expected a blow up of sorts, but he had expected the hugs and happy tears. Talking it out was always supposed to end with hugs and happy tears.

The man frowned, shaking his head slightly, not daring to admit that the teenager had hurt his feelings. "No you don't, don't say that."

Perhaps Daisy didn't truly hate Mark. She resented the way he treated Calypso over herself, and she resented the jealousy she held in her heart because of him, but she didn't resent him.

That didn't prevent Daisy from doubling down on her statement though, the girl immediately nodding as she cried out another tangle of words.

"I hate you. I hate you, you...you killed her."

Mark had fallen victim to the blame game, the man seriously baffled. He had yet to know the details of how Calypso died, how was he responsible for what happened to the girl?

"What?"

But Daisy couldn't get any other words out. It was all coming out so quickly, similarly to white stuffing being ripped from a plush doll. Dr. Perkins always said it was good to cry every now and then, to let it all out and not let it viciously pent up inside. Daisy regretted not listening to her psychiatrist and keeping it all in because the tears were flowing faster than the girl could think.

Daisy's intense sobs propelled Mark to stand from his seat, plucking up the tiny square tissue box on the living room table before returning to his spot.

The cardboard box with printed flowery designs provided no solace to Daisy, the girl hardly acknowledging that the item had been placed right in front of her.

Mark wasn't ever one to push, but he seriously wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to fix the situation that had been so deeply damaged.

"What even happened?" Mark tried to gently question. "Because...you haven't told me what happened yet, and frankly I don't understand how it's my fault she died if-"

"You coddled her."

Daisy's quick response was short, and as unclear as ever. Mark was failing to connect the dots between coddling his kid and causing her death.

"That doesn't make any sense, how does that-"

"Because I wanted that." Daisy looked up for the first time, redness tainting the whites of her eyes. The girl's voice quivered unsteadily, and she was sure Mark wasn't even taking her seriously as she cried. "I wanted hugs and goodnights and...God, I would've even taken one of those stupid bedtime stories. And I get that it's kind of my fault too, because all I'm good at anymore is pushing you away, but...I wanted that."

The girl let out a shaky breath, not even letting Mark respond as she started up again.

"And you were teaching her everything, and it wasn't fair. I got jealous, I...you made me jealous, it's your fault."

A heavy silence filled the room at the end of Daisy's confession.

Daisy had kind of expected Mark to immediately defend himself and lash out at Daisy, claiming that it wasn't his fault for what happened to Caly.

The man did partly feel at fault, though the thought was too heavy to confess aloud. Mark stayed quiet, perfectly content with the silence consuming the pair.

Daisy hated the silence, and she hated the dark thoughts that kept coming out—sharpened daggers all aimed at Mark as though he was public enemy number one and not her caretaker.

"I hate you." Daisy's whispered statement felt more automatic this time, like it was a natural sentiment she was comfortable with. The sobs had died down as tears continued to fall against the girl's cheeks, and Mark couldn't help but cringe.

"Quit saying that."

"You liked her more."

"That's not true."

"You didn't even want me here in the first place." Daisy argued, thinking back to when she had first arrived all those months ago. Daisy recalled the disappointed look she had received from the stranger, as if she were some faulty Amazon package that had shown up at the wrong door.