THE TRUTH OF DAISEY RUTHERFORD.
trigger warnings: mentions of death, murder, blood, assault.
it was the night of the bonfire; the crackle of a fire, the snapping of twigs underfoot, the crunch of leaves, the whisper of fall breezing through the trees, the moonlight pouring in through askew branches.
the lingering breath of a killer.
he regretted it. his hubris had made the academic insatiable, standing by an illicit bonfire on the edges of the st etienne campus. he had no desire to socialise with his fellow classmates, nor entertain the idea that he was ‘one of them’. in light of the scandal that had rocked his life, he had been a recluse. his superiors no longer talked to him, his peers combed over his frail physique with questions. underclassmen laughed when he walked by. although the transformative blog that once belonged to daisey was a well kept secret between the twenty nine other students chained to a fate as caustic as his own, it didn’t stop the blaze of gossip to burn rampantly through private circles and consume attention throughout the school.
texts. emails. word of mouth. even the fucking school therapist approached nate not two days later, their sanguine vocals tinged with sympathy as they drawled, ‘do you need someone to talk to ?’ no, he did not. he wanted to be left in his self appointed isolation, hidden from the world until the torment of his truth had long since ceased. however, it was like... his pain was necessary. his humiliation a means to an end. it had to happen.
that friday night however, the corrosive feelings of pity had malformed into something far more insidious — a rage was building inside of him. even as a child, the foundations were set to his inherent anger. every time his parents dismissed him and praised his brother, every time he spoke of joy in academic pursuits that only went on to be ignored, every time his character was made out to be something it wasn’t. brick upon brick upon brick. the wall of his rages now resembled a jenga tower, and that night at the art gallery was enough to send the entire wall crumbling down into a pile of debris.
nathaniel had no interest in attending the bonfire, at least, not for puritan reasons. he did not want to revel in the jollies of his fellow youth, nor acclimiatise to the life he could have had, if things… were different. if his childhood hadn’t been marred by something supernatural that tainted his ability to form connections with those around him. that made him unable to pursue anything other than the truth, and to do things... that no other people understood. no, nate had found himself on the outskirts of the bonfire, the woods surrounding him as the flicker of flames licked at the sky. he heard laughter, shouting. the occasional clang of a bottle against wood for those too inebriated to keep their drinks in their hands. concealed in a curtain of darkness, his eyes traced over the people before him. in particular, the infamous thirty: of which one was a killer, a sentiment that only made nathaniel think of daisey, of the fights they’d had, the truths she’d stolen, and the fate she met.
and the guilt that would forever swirl in his stomach from what he did, and what... he has to do.
—
“trust me, nathaniel. playing people is what i do best.”
i stared at her. she sat on the sofa as though anything that wasn’t a throne caused her tremendous discomfort. her legs were crossed, her eyes steely, her eyebrows knotted. her lips full. the look of disinterest was shared in my own, and we stared at each other for an unnatural progression of time.
“his misery has no applicable utility to my everyday life that vigorous study and academic pursuits could not achieve. your proposal is inane.”
we were as still as marble, or as though we’d been ripped from a painting and left to dry. the infallible daisey rutherford had just become engaged to my brother, through familial connections. neither the future bride nor groom were happy about the arrangement, but money had a way of guaranteeing silence on the matter. upon one of her visits to the ballantyne manor, she sought me out; trouble in her eyes.
“maybe it’s not about what is useful,” she purred, her lips slowly twisting as she uncurled from her spot on the love seat, strutting over to me. she closed the space that once permeated the room. “maybe it’s about what you want.” her hands on my chest, her head cocked proactively to the side, her tongue tracing her lips - i stared at her in morbid fascination. i swiped her hand away before rising to my feet, towering over her.
“i have no use for your ulterior motives. your touch will not promise a transaction, nor will an expression elicit the response you are trying to coach from me. be forthcoming with your true intent, and i will hear you. if your desire is to play games, then tear to shreds the manual you’ve used before me. you cannot anticipate my next move.”
the smile on daisey’s face was something i’d never forget. a spark of recognition, awash with something akin to... pride. comfort. taking a cautious step back, she presented her hand in an offering of solidarity. “marrying your brother is my own personal hell, and i want him to pay for it. i need your assistance in making sure that happens.”
despite my better judgement, the clause in my own personal contract that prevented anyone else from joining ranks in my life... i took her hand. and we shook on it.
that was the day i let daisey rutherford into my life.
—
the plan was simple. daisey had planned to use me as a weapon to carve out my brother’s heart. the brother who has been used to getting everything he ever desired, being the best compared to his strange and odd brother. in front of him and him alone, she endeavoured to make my brother jealous. daisey was free to have any dalliance she liked, for if anyone were to speak out about it, no one could possibly conceive the estranged match that she and i were. this meant that my brother was sentenced to watching what he assumed was a flourishing relationship as it slowly chipped away at his self worth.
it had been months now. the charade was no closer to ending.
after one of the many parties the rutherfords’ hosted, i had found myself lingering in a drawing room towards the rear of the house, away from the calamity of the event. daisey got what she wanted, the pained look in my brother’s eyes as we were to pretend not to latch onto each other’s hands as though he couldn’t see. the mask i had been forced to wear had become suffocating, and began to itch. a dissonance struck me whenever i met with daisey. what she and i wanted no longer aligned, and the purpose of our act seemed fruitless.
it wasn’t long until daisey sought me out. there were only so many places i was known to hide in, and the look on her face suggested that this was the first place she had ventured to. closing the door behind her as she entered the drawing room, clad in a dress made only from the most expensive of fabric, she raised an eyebrow at me.
“you look miserable.”
“incorrect. this is my natural predisposition.” i deadpanned.
daisey paused for a moment, a sliver of discomfort painting her features.
“ your natural disposition is your nose upturned, your lips thin. right now, you’re acting like someone you care about fucking died.”
nothing more was said, as the silence simmered around us. turning around, i walked to the window and turned my back to her. as inaccessible as my inner thoughts were, it was true that i had grown tiresome of the predicament we faced. i no longer wanted to be attached to a fictional daisey as i played a fictional nathaniel. but she was a leech; sucking out your blood and extracting your inner most secrets like she had a right to them. she was impossible to quit.
gnawing on her bottom lip, daisey sauntered over to where i stood by a windowsill, resting her head to the highest point she could reach of my arm, wrapping her arms around them. the act was... domestic in nature. i turned to her in confusion.
“but… there’s no crowd. no benefit. no purpose. who are we trying to fool?”
if there was one thing you had to know about daisey rutherford, it was that she took what she wanted. she didn’t know the word no. she got everything she could ever dream of, simply by aligning her attentions to attaining it at any possible cost. to this day, i still do not know if her succeeding actions were motivated from desire... or utility.
“ourselves,” she whispered, turning my head to face hers.
she closed the gap between us, and she pressed her lips against mine.
i didn’t stop her. i don’ think i ever had a choice.
—
“stay. don’t leave me,” daisey whined, her lips pursed as she sat on the corner of my bed.
i stared at myself in my full body mirror, slowly buttoning up a white shirt. my expression was stoic as always, painted almost as pale as the fabric that covered my body. “i promised oz we’d go, dais. categorically speaking, you enjoy all social events.”
daisey rolled her eyes at me, before slipping out of bed in her everyday attire, which always somehow managed to eclipse the best formal wear of others she was in acquaintance with. her lipstick however, was smudged.
“i enjoy you. i tolerate social events. they’re useful to me.”
i paused. it was not... in the plan for daisey to not attend the homecoming party that night. with the 2019/20 st etienne year beginning, nate could agree that the last place he’d desire to be is an event in which intoxication and duly conversation was its’ goal. but despite his reticence, they had to go. they... they had to go.
“your peers will find your absence suspicious.” i commented gingerly, knotting my tie around my neck. my breath hitched for a moment. daisey evaporated by my side as her face rested on my shoulder. she put herself on her toes, and she did not look impressed.
“why do you want me to go so bad, nathaniel ?”
i didn’t know how to answer that. and so i didn’t, and instead, stared at her blankly.
“ugh.” with her signature groan, daisey tossed her hair out of her face before heading to my closet, where a generous stash of her clothing had been deposited over time.
the feeling sank in my stomach as i watched her go. i couldn’t look anywhere else. i knew that this was a sight to be savoured.
—
holding onto the bark, jutting into his skin until it drew blood, nathaniel stared at the students, completely oblivious to his looming on the edge of the woods. his mind swirled with thoughts of his secret, out there, floating on the tips of the fire. his mind was affixed to the fact that one of the students in that very woods knew what happened to daisey. his daisey. his mind was also caught on the blog, a killer, a mural, the never ending threats. the role they were all made to play.
after everything that had happened, nate wasn’t the same person that he once was. and no amount of therapy, of people in his life, or even academic pursuit could change that.
vengeance in his blood, the brunette stepped away from the trees. he fell into the shadows of the night, as the naive innocence of his fellow students chimed around him. they were happy. they didn’t know. they didn’t know what he did. and as nate slowly fell into the night and the landscape of trees, one thing was true:
that was the last anyone would see this nathaniel ballantyne.
