Page 67 of The Rogue and His Flower

Summoning what little courage I have left, I turn to face Daisy, who meets my gaze with a mixture of apprehension and resignation. Taking a deep breath, I search for the right words, words that can convey the depth of my remorse and regret. But as I open my mouth to speak, all that comes out is a choked whisper.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through, and everything I’ve said or done over the years that has added to your pain.”

“I appreciate that,” she replies, before stepping out of the car, leaving me alone to face my thoughts.

I sit in the dark for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts before following her inside. When I finally catch up with her, Daisy is standing by the fireplace in the den, her silhouette illuminated by the flickering flames. She doesn’t turn as I approach her, but I can sense her unease vibrating in the air between us as she takes a seat in the armchair by the fire. Sitting opposite her, I wait, hoping that she’ll open up, that we can try to unravel the mess I’ve made of everything. Finally, she turns to face me, and in the dim light, I see the pain in her eyes, feel it as though it’s my own.

“My parents used to keep me locked and tied up in a darkened room,” she begins, her voice quavering.

My chest tightens at her words, another wave of guilt crashing over me. How could I have been so selfish in my own pain that I had failed to see hers? “Fuck, I’m sorry, Daisy. I want to make things right,” I say earnestly.

“Then will you listen to what I have to say? Because after tonight I don’t ever want to speak of it again,” she replies softly.

“Of course I will, whatever you need,” I offer, forcing myself to remain seated and not run from her vulnerability. She deserves to be heard. I owe her that much at least. Daisy takes a deep breath, steadying herself before she begins to recount the horrors of her past.

“I was just a child,” she explains, her voice trembling. “Alone in the darkness for five long years, with only my thoughts and fears for company. They barely let me leave the room. They fed me scraps of food and gave me water to drink from a dog bowl like I was some kind of animal…”

As she speaks, her voice quivers with suppressed pain, each sentence a testament to the resilience she must have carried all these years. I can’t equate what she’s telling me and the godawful picture she’s painting with the girl I’ve come to know. She’s kept all of that trauma buried deep inside, hidden beneath her colourful outfits and sunny disposition. Her bravery floors me. Swallowing the lump in my throat I force myself to face her pain and not run from it.

“Daisy, I can’t even begin to comprehend what you went through.”

She gives me a small nod of acknowledgement, swiping at the tears on her face as she continues. “They beat me, called me names, and finally, when they’d had enough of me, they left me on a roadside in the middle of the night, malnourished, barely alive, and with nothing but a threadbare nightgown to keepme warm. I’ve often wondered why they didn’t actually just kill me…” Her voice trails off as she heaves out a sigh.

My fingers curl into fists at my side, the urge to rage at the world on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it in, not wanting to add to her distress.

“Eventually someone found me, took me to the local police station. A day later I was in foster care. That’s where I met Drix. That’s when I began to heal. His love saved me, and Hubert’s kindness, patience and love helped me to grow into the person I am today.”

“You’ve been through so much,” I say, my voice hoarse as I struggle with my own emotional response to her harrowing story. Emotions I didn’t know I had bubble to the surface like painful little blisters.

“I never wanted that experience to define me, and I’ve tried hard every single day to not let bitterness and hatred blacken my heart.”

“I admire your strength, Daisy,” I say, pushing up from my seat and dropping to my knees before her. Tentatively, I reach for her hands, clasping them within mine. She doesn’t resist, instead she lets out another shaky breath.

“It’s taken me a long, long time to get where I am today. Drix was so good to me, Dalton. I’m not exaggerating when I say he saved my life. He quickly became my anchor, the one person, until Hubert adopted us both, that made me feel safe.”

“He’s a good man,” I say, missing his friendship even more in that moment.

“He is,” she agrees with a soft smile.

“What happened to your parents, Daisy?” I ask, wanting to know that they paid for what they did to her, because if they haven’t, I will do everything in my power to make their lives a misery.

“They were arrested and charged for child abuse and neglect. I’m told my father died in prison a month after he was sent there.”

“And your mother?”

“Still alive. She’ll never get out. Hubert made sure of it.”

I nod. “Good.”

“I try not to think about either of them. It’s too painful.”

“Have you had therapy? If you need anything like that, I can arrange it for you, Daisy. Anything you want, just ask, okay?”

“I’ve had a lot of therapy over the years, and for the most part I can function day-to-day, but at night, when I’m alone, it’s a little harder for me.”

“At night?”

“For obvious reasons, I was afraid of the dark. I still am,” she continues. “I have to sleep with a light on, and on occasion I have nightmares. Though they have lessened over the years. Drix figured out early on that nighttime was worse for me. He used to sleep with me every night when we were in foster care. He used to wrap his arms around me and hold me until I drifted off.”

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