Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly, sterile glow over the locker-lined hallway of Oakridge High. Metal slammed against metal with a harsh, echoing clang. Daisy leaned her forehead against the cold blue paint of her locker, letting the chill seep into her aching temples. Behind her eyes, a dull headache thrummed, a lingering souvenir from last night’s cheap gin. "You look like death, but in a hot, gothic way," a voice chirped. Chloe slid into the space beside her, her bright blonde ponytail bouncing with an obnoxious amount of energy. "Thanks, I slept for twenty minutes and dreamed about falling off a cliff," Daisy muttered, pulling out a battered copy of a history textbook she had no intention of opening. "Forget the cliff," Chloe said, grabbing Daisy's arm with fingers that practically vibrated. "You will not believe who just texted me." Daisy raised an eyebrow, adjusting the heavy silver rings on her fingers. "Unless it's a drug dealer offering free samples, I'm not sure I have the capacity for enthusiasm right now." "Better," Chloe whispered, leaning in so close Daisy could smell her strawberry lip gloss. "Jace Miller. His parents are out of town, and he’s throwing a pool party tonight at their mansion in the hills." A sudden spark of adrenaline cut through Daisy’s hangover. Jace was Chloe's ultimate obsession, a golden-boy varsity swimmer who barely knew they existed. "A pool party? In October?" Daisy asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "They have a heated pool, dummy," Chloe laughed, shoving her shoulder. "And a hot tub that fits twenty people. We are going. No excuses." "I wasn't going to make excuses," Daisy said, her voice dropping into its usual smoky, careless tone. "You know I never turn down a chance to watch rich boys make fools of themselves." "We need outfits," Chloe declared, already dragging Daisy down the crowded hallway. "We need to go to that vintage shop downtown after third period. I need a bikini that says 'I'm casually gorgeous' and not 'I tried too hard'." "I'll wear black," Daisy said. "It matches my soul and my liver." "You always wear black," Chloe groaned, but her eyes were shining with pure excitement. They walked through the sea of students, Daisy playing her role perfectly—the cool, detached rebel who didn't care about anything. Deep down, a familiar, hollow ache throbbed in her chest, but she pushed it down, burying it under the thrill of the upcoming night. --- Racks of musty velvet and faded denim crowded the narrow aisles of the vintage clothing store. Daisy dragged her fingers along a row of oversized leather jackets, inhaling the scent of old dust and forgotten lives. "Look at this," Chloe called out from the back, holding up a shimmering, emerald-green string bikini. "It's loud," Daisy said, walking over and flicking the tiny piece of fabric. "Jace won't be able to look away. He'll probably drown in the shallow end." "Perfect," Chloe beamed, clutching the bikini to her chest. "Now, what are you wearing? Please tell me you're not actually wearing a turtleneck to a pool party." "I found this," Daisy said, pulling a sheer, oversized black mesh shirt from a rack. "I'll wear it over a black bikini. It's mysterious." "It's scandalous," Chloe corrected, her eyes twinkling. "I love it." They paid the bored teenager at the register and walked out into the crisp afternoon air. Daisy felt a brief moment of warmth, a rare sliver of connection with her best friend. But as they parted ways and Daisy headed toward her father’s house, the cold shadow of her reality crept back in. --- Step-monsters shouldn't try to be kind. It made hating them so much harder. Daisy stood in front of her bedroom mirror, tracing the dark eyeliner around her eyes with a shaky hand. Soft knocks rattled her bedroom door. "Daisy? Sweetie?" Helen's voice was gentle, almost timid. "I made some chicken salad for lunch. I noticed you didn't eat breakfast." Daisy closed her eyes, her jaw clenching so hard her teeth ached. "I'm not hungry, Helen," Daisy called out, her voice dripping with ice. "Oh. Well, I can leave a plate in the fridge for later," Helen offered, her tone hopeful. "Your father and I were thinking we could all watch a movie tonight. Just the three of us." A wave of hot anger flared in Daisy's chest, hot and sudden. "I have plans," Daisy snapped, opening the door just enough to stare at the older woman. Helen stood there, holding a plate, her kind eyes crinkling with a hurt she tried to hide. She wore a soft pastel sweater, the exact opposite of Daisy's shredded fishnets and oversized black t-shirt. "Plans?" Helen asked softly. "On a school night?" "I'm seventeen, not twelve," Daisy said, stepping back and slamming the door shut. Locking it, she leaned her back against the wood, her heart hammering against her ribs. She hated herself for being so cruel, but she hated Helen more for trying to fill a space that belonged to a dead woman. Her mother had died when Daisy was just two weeks old. No one could replace her, especially not this sweet, domestic intruder. To drown out the guilt, Daisy walked over to her closet and reached behind a stack of old shoe boxes. She pulled out a plastic water bottle filled with cheap, clear vodka. Unscrewing the cap, she took a long, burning swallow. Warmth spread through her chest, numbing the sharp edges of her anger. She took another sip, then another, until the world tilted just enough to feel comfortable. --- Neon lights bled into the dark water of the infinity pool, turning the ripples a toxic shade of violet. Music blasted from a state-of-the-art sound system, the heavy bass vibrating through the soles of Daisy's boots and rattling the bones in her chest. Hundreds of teenagers packed the backyard of the massive estate, a swirling mass of laughter, expensive perfume, and the sweet, skunky smell of weed. Daisy stood near the edge of the patio, holding a red solo cup filled with a warm, sugary mixer and more of her smuggled vodka. She was already drunk, her vision blurred at the edges, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. Across the pool, Chloe was laughing, her face lit up by the neon glow as Jace Miller leaned in close to whisper something in her ear. Chloe looked radiant, happy, and completely alive. Daisy felt a sudden, suffocating wave of jealousy—not of Jace, but of Chloe's ability to feel genuine joy. To Chloe, this was a fun Friday night. For Daisy, this was a desperate attempt to outrun the darkness that chased her every single day. She took another heavy gulp of her drink, the alcohol burning her throat, but the hollow ache in her chest remained stubbornly intact. Walking slowly toward the outdoor kitchen, she noticed a catering table set up with expensive finger foods and rows of crystal champagne flutes. Some of the older kids were pouring cheap sparkling wine into the fancy glasses, laughing hysterically. Daisy snatched one of the flutes, her fingers wrapping around the delicate glass stem. She stared at her reflection in the pale, bubbling liquid. Her eyes looked wild, her dark makeup smudged, her lips parted in a breathless, silent panic. "Who do you think you are?" she whispered to herself. No answer came from the glass. It just stared back with the eyes of a girl who was completely lost. A sudden surge of violent energy rushed through her veins, a desperate need to shatter the fake, perfect atmosphere around her. Without thinking, Daisy raised her arm. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she hurled the crystal champagne flute against the pristine white brick wall of the outdoor kitchen. Glass shattered with a sound so sharp, loud, and violent, it cut through the thumping bass like a blade. Shards of crystal exploded outward, rain-showering the concrete patio and glittering under the neon lights. Suddenly, the laughter stopped. All music seemed to fade into a dull hum as dozens of heads turned toward her. Silence, heavy and suffocating, fell over the backyard. Daisy stood frozen, her chest heaving as she stared at the glittering mess on the ground. Glittering shards mirrored the fractured image of her own carefully constructed indifference—broken, sharp, and dangerous to touch. Her chest constricted violently, a familiar, unwelcome pang squeezing her ribs until she couldn't draw a single breath. Panic clawed at her throat. She wanted to run, to disappear into the dark, but her legs felt like lead. Footsteps approached, heavy and purposeful. As the security guard's heavy hand falls on her shoulder, a voice whispers directly into Daisy's ear, so close she feels the breath: "You're just like her."

Shattered Glass, Shattered Self