1 A rough start

Daisy's pov

The refreshing cold air hit my face as the soft music cascaded in the room. Sitting across from the huge open glass doors, I breathe in the inimitable smell of rain on dry grass mixed with the aroma of brewing hot coffee, as my fingers dance across the black and white keys of the piano.

Amidst the relaxing and refreshing aura around me, I could feel sadness in the deep pit of my stomach, which makes me feel sick. The soothing melody helps me calm my nerves. The perfect mellow music clearing my mind along with the crisp, humbling evening air.

This is the tune she taught me. This is what I play whenever I crave for her. For her presence and love.

As I graciously run my fingers on the keys, I could feel her presence around me along with the smooth music chiming in the air. I take in a deep breath, as I run my fingers with enough speed before hitting the final note.

And with that, the silence returns bringing with it the feeling of loneliness. The feeling which I've embraced for so long, I don't even remember.

Suddenly, I sense a fragile hand on my bare shoulder, which gives me a reassuring squeeze. I close my eyes and take in deep whiffs of air to ease the tightening feeling in my throat. I hear a ceramic object being placed on the wooden surface as another hand cups my cheek and wipes away the moisture that's leaving my eyes.

"He still didn't contact me, Martha," I say as I wrap my arms around her waist and hug her. She pats my head softly with such affection while running her fingers through my hair.

"He will dear. Don't worry. Believe in the Almighty and he'll surely help you." She says before kissing my forehead.

"Thank you." I give her a small smile in return with tears still blurring my vision.

"That's my girl. Keep smiling and everything will be alright. Come on now, finish your coffee, I'm preparing dinner." She says and hands me my coffee before walking out of the room.

Martha is our head maid, our caretaker. She is like my godmother to me. Sipping on the coffee, I get up from my seat and walk over to the huge glass windows. The red roses in the backyard are my favorite. Red - they signify passion, love and energy.

They remind me of Brandon, my love, my boyfriend. Every time we met he used to bring me at least a single rose or sometimes a huge bouquet. His caring, sweet attitude had me head over heels for him. Just a mere thought about him brings a smile on my face.

Brandon, he has the kind of face that would stop anyone in their tracks. I guess he is used to that kind of attention. He is handsome from the depths of his deep-set grey eyes to the gentle expressions of his face. I love the way his eyes sparkled and his voice quickened when he enjoys something truly.

His laugh is so contagious that for a moment he looses himself and forgets the mask he wears for others. He is possessive for me that he couldn't stand anyone else even looking at me. His hand on my waist and the way he glares at any person who looks my way had me crazy over him. So I gave him. I gave him my heart and took hold of his, to love, cherish and keep it safe, just like he had mine.

***********

Next morning I wake up as if there is an emergency, as if my sleep had become a dangerous thing. My heart is drumming so fast against my ribcage and there's a buzzing sensation in my head. Sitting up on my bed, I hesitantly rub my eyes as if it'd wash the nightmare away. Thoughts of the visions from my sleep visit me in waves haunting me with every breathe I inhale.

Sighing, I get up and start preparing myself for the day ahead. Since it's a Sunday I don't have any classes. I decide to talk to dad about Brandon and convince him for his approval.

Ever since I introduced dad to Brandon he's been behaving weird. He lashed out at me and left the house in his rage that night. He announced that he was going to get me married to my childhood best friend, Aaron.

But I can never accept that. Though Aaron is very good and all, I can't marry him and leave my love. Me and Brandon, we have been dating for two years. I love him too much to just let him go.

Walking to dad's study, I stand outside preparing myself for the worst. I and dad don't have an ideal father-daughter relationship. He has been cold towards me for years.

Ever since mom left us, he drowned himself in his work and ignored us - me and my brother Dylan.

I knock on his door twice and wait for his response from the other side.

A few seconds later, I hear his muffled voice from the other side of the door, "Come in."

I open the door hesitantly and walk in before getting seated across from him on the chair.

In a low shaky voice, I whisper, "Dad, I want to talk about Brandon."

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