Daisy Chain
In which Nemo and Casey discover that their bond together has to be defined on their terms, not society’s.
Nemo’s back at his apartment, still recharging after his run-in with Victor on top the Born Bar, at the Libra New Moon.
Autumn daisies sit outside his window. The days have grown short. He hasn’t spoken to Casey since her return to school in August, but he’s heard plenty of what she’s been up to, and seen some, too—well, bits and pieces that he’s strung into some narrative chain of absolute certainty.
In his half-awake state in bed, surrounded by the wires leftover from his hacking spree weeks ago, he remembers summer.
Bold and gold summer—dramatic, frenetic, intense—and so much simpler in light of this upsidedown autumn.
He remembers Casey coated in confetti at the Zeitville Fair, and the fake gold chain necklace he won for her—how she encouraged him to become an artist-CEO, and how he in turn encouraged her to pursue her modeling dream post-graduation. (Birth of an Artist: July 2021 New Moon story.)
And now, here they are in October, both having tried to take shortcuts to their destination. Worse, in taking shortcuts to their respective destinations, they’ve moved further apart from each other—and from themselves.
He from her, through paranoia and jealousy over a gig that barely suffices as “modeling.”
She from him, due to disappointment that he stole OriginalSyn’s intellectual property—a disappointment which he’s learned about this crisp autumn evening, thanks to a text message.
Truth is, he’s been reading this searing text from her over and over for hours in bed. Their first communication in weeks. And he feels. . .anger, both at himself and her. “Who does she think she is?” he says to himself.
The text reads: “Well, call me a bit surprised when Victor told me what you’d been up to. I’m sure you’ll try to twist this as my fault for working with one of your competitors—but then I knew that’d be a disservice to me, considering my dream is to model and they brought me a solid deal. I want to support you in your dreams but it’s clear that you don’t even support them yourself and I can even bet you did this to get back at me, too.”
Nemo’s thoughts just spiral and spiral. “Yeah, that’s half true,” he thinks. “But if she only knew I did it to get her back not to get back at her.”
He can already sense the 10 different ways she’ll respond to the 10 different drafts he’s got prepared in response.
He runs a shuffle program, telling himself that he’ll send whichever draft message gets chosen. Of course, the most abrasive and emotional and cocky draft is randomly picked by the program:
“I did it because at least when you’re a bitch you work up enough courage to speak to me.”
Send message. Read receipts on. Double check marks. She’s read it.
The “Casey is typing. . .” prompt is still going five minutes later. She’s mad.
Nemo walks over to his laptop to address a notification—they’re set for tweets from OriginalSyn.
The tweet features one of Casey’s promo pics she’s done for them—OriginalSyn mask and all—with the text:
“Brother gang, our KnowCoin has reached triple-digit valuation tonite! WGMI.
Get some now, while it’s H O T. Be part of the tribe—or get left in the past.”
The sight of Casey posing like this stokes Nemo’s already feisty mood, and he fires off a reply tweet:
“Hope everyone realizes KnowCoin is just a daisy chain pump and dump scheme where everyone’s gonna be left holding the bag.”
A notification for a DM appears. Nemo opens it—it’s from Gainzstrodamus, one of the head figures of OriginalSyn.
“Yoooo Nemo, speaking of pump and dump daisy chains, Casey knows all about those. . .lulz!!!”
Nemo’s about ready to punch the screen, but Casey finally sends her long thought-over message. His phone lights up:
“You’re one to talk. I guess only jealousy will force you to make me part of your life.”
Ooh, after all that time, a short and sharp missive—like a finely-tuned arrow, straight into the bullseye of the fear that binds him to her, in his heart of hearts, right where love once bound him to her.
He leaves the message on read and stares at the ceiling. His life’s been on pause for weeks, and in the span of a dramatic five minutes, he’s made more progress with Casey than he has since parting from her in summer.
Yet, there are still so many more bridges to cross to meet her—so many more chains to break between them and within themselves.
It’s when these oppressive links go, old ties can be mended. But in these smoldering arguments, a sense of original purpose and love flickers.
To be continued. . .