Daisy Haites The Great Undoing Quotes

In another life I reckon I could have loved you,' I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. 'In another life I would have let you-' Never you mind that I already love her in this one.

It's the great undoing of my heart as I know it.

You're Central Park at midnight.

If this is what being loved by him on accident feels like, I can't imagine what it'd feel like to be loved on purpose.

Let me be clear now then, Daisy—” Gives me a tall look. “I am fucked up in love with you.

What am I to you?” “Oh, I don’t know—” I give her a little shrug, stare straight ahead. Take a long sip before I look over at her. “Like, just—everything.

She is the goddess in the Botticelli clam shell, her eyes are the waterlilies in Monet’s pond, she is the hand of God reaching down to mankind. Klimt’s kiss is a portrait of us and I’m gonna steal it. Take it, make it mine, make her mine too.

Loving him will be my magnum opus.

His face cracks into the best smile I've ever seen and will ever see, because his face is... fuck The Mona Lisa, screw The Last Supper, never think of Michelangelo's David again—they all pale compared to him in front of me.

There's not much I wouldn't give just to have her next to me in it all, anything, really. Just not her life, and I'm pretty sure that's the going rate.

In another life I reckon I could have loved you,” I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. “In another life I would have let you—

Mum used to say to me—when you pick who you want to be with, you have to imagine every part of life, every scenario. Good, bad, happy, sad, painful, beautiful—not just the person you want to do road trips with, but the person you want to be stuck in gridlock traffic with. Not just the person you want to have babies with, but the person you want to grieve with, the person you want next to you on the worst day of your life, at the funeral of someone you love, who's next to you? You don't need a fair-weather lover, you need the person that's going to stand next to you in their wellies, staring down the barrel of the storm.

Sitting next to him saying nothing feels like taking off a corset. A great undoing, if you will, and he will. In every way.

I just never saw her coming, I couldn't have picked loving her out of a lineup

Daisy for me was a complete trip—I accidentally fell in love with her, and I accidentally lost her. I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready to love someone how it turns out I love her.

Over the mantelpiece she hung her own portrait up herself, that little minx. Best painting I've ever seen, too. Better than any woman anyone has ever painted in the history of time, a face I'd win battles for. A face I'd lose anything for. Even her. It's time.

It's never just an anything with you.

In another life I reckon I could have loved you," I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. "In another life I would have let you-" Never you mind that I already love her in this one.

I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything and I thought I might have been able to angle it, find a way for us to work. A life between where I can be who I am and love her how I do and it not be the death of her, but it’s not on the cards. I’d be the death of her, and I won’t be.

In another life i reckon i could have loved you.

I’m glad for her, that she seems okay. I mean, I’m fucking gutted. I’ve fucked up a lot since we broke up but I’m happy for her. As long as she’s happy. She seems happy. Taura says she is.

Isn’t it funny how pain and sadness can be forgotten for fleeting moments? Your brain gets a tiny bit distracted and it offers you the briefest moment of reprieve. The problem with those reprieves is that they aren’t real, and reality comes hurtling back. And then you have to remember all over again that your dad is dead

Like, just—everything.

In another life I reckon I could have loved you,” I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. “In another life I would have let you—” Never you mind that I already love her in this one.

just never saw her coming, I couldn’t have picked loving her out of a line-up until it happened and then it was everything: my first thought, last thought, mid-thought, the name I’d say in my sleep, the body I’d think about when I was with other bodies, the smell I’d try to chase down every time I’d walk through Selfridges just so I could breathe in something that smelt like her and feel close to her again, but I can never find it.

She squints over at me. “Did you really do that for me or is this just a merry coincidence?” “You know what, Tiges, I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve fallen into the ranks of men who find that there’s very little that they wouldn’t do for you.

if this is what being loved by him on accident feels like, I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to be loved on purpose.

you can ask anyone and they’ll tell you for free (even though the lesson itself often comes at great cost)—love isn’t enough, and it will hardly ever set you free.

It’s the great undoing of my heart as I know it.

ask anyone and they’ll tell you for free (even though the lesson itself often comes at great cost)—love isn’t enough, and it will hardly ever set you free.

I don't need us to live in one another's pockets. I don't need to be a part of his every waking moment, but I don't like feeling like I'm being hidden.

You’re Central Park at midnight.

The other him. The one I love but can’t love anymore, because I’m normal now.

His head pulls back. “Do you know who you’re talking to?” Daisy Haites, love of my fucking life, cocks an eyebrow. “Do you?

It’s the great undoing of my heart as I know it. She’s made herself at home, kicked off those fucking cerulean heels, put her feet up on my left rib. Over the mantelpiece she hung her own portrait up herself, that little minx. Best painting I’ve ever seen, too. Better than any woman anyone has ever painted in the history of time, a face I’d win battles for. A face I’d lose anything for. Even her.

It took me too long to figure out what you are to me . . .” Her eyes pinch as she slides me my drink. “What am I to you?” “Oh, I don’t know—” I give her a little shrug, stare straight ahead. Take a long sip before I look over at her. “Like, just—everything.

She is the goddess in the Botticelli clam shell, her eyes are the waterlilies in Monet’s pond, she is the hand of God reaching down to mankind. Klimt’s kiss is a portrait of us and I’m gonna steal it. Take it, make it mine, make her mine too. Maybe do that one first.

Okay.” He nods once then ducks a little so we’re eye-to-eye. “Let me be clear now then, Daisy—” Gives me a tall look. “I am fucked up in love with you.[*] Have never stopped loving you, since the second I realised I did, and I admit it, it took me too long to know it but I know it now, and I can’t unknow it. I don’t want to unknow it, I want to be with you.” He tells me, not looking away once. “And I’ll do whatever I need to to make us work. You want me to leave London with you? Great. I’m in—

You’ve wanted me for five years and I’ve sort of wanted you maybe for, like, three and a half weeks, so really, it’s no skin off my back . . .” I pressed my tongue into the side of my cheek. The fucking mouth on this girl—unbelievable. “So.” She tapped her little impatient foot. “What’s it going to be?” I held her eyes, trying to make her look away first, but she didn’t. It was a power struggle and I was losing. Licked my bottom lip, shook my head and shrugged. “You heard the boss—” The other girl sort of tumbled off my lap onto the couch as I stood up and stepped towards Magnolia, slipping my arms around her waist. She gave me a defiant look, chin in the air. “Don’t you do that again.” “Fuck, you’re demanding . . .” “Oh, you have no idea . . . But you’re about to—” She gave me a tight smile as she nodded towards the door. “Let’s go. You’re going to take me home and put me to bed.

3 Julian

Magnolia’s dumb face lit up.

It’s dark, I’m in stupid shoes. They’re trainers but they’re not made for running, those stupid Golden Goose shoes, what are they good for? They arrive tattered, they don’t make you faster—

And anyway, when she was little, Bridget didn’t like her hair in her face so I learned how to braid it for her.

I hear you’ve got yerself a wee girlfriend as well.

Better than any woman anyone has ever painted in the history of time, a face I’d win battles for. A face I’d lose anything for. Even her.

Fuck. I hate loving her. It’s the great undoing of my heart as I know it.

You know Parks. She’s bloody Snow White with the songs and the birds on her fingers and deer running after her, but instead of animals, it’s men.” I sniff a laugh. “Jules is just a bird on her finger.” Jonah shrugs to placate him but I don’t know that it’s completely true. BJ shakes his head thinking, then scratches the back of his neck. “What am I then?” Henry drains his drink and stares over at his brother. “The huntsman.

Yeah.” I chuckled, rolled my eyes. “Right, she’s a real little terror.” “I’m serious, Jules—” He gave me a look and I gave him one back. “She’ll pull you in til she makes you fall in love with her and — and you know what—” He shrugged. “She might even fall in love with you too but not how she loves him.

I know I’m well out of that post-have afterglow I was hiding behind before and I’m still here — still annoyed whenever she leaves, still annoyed if that fucking ex-boyfriend of hers flashes up on her phone, still finding myself watching her in my bed at night with a morbid fascination like she’s a hand-painted time-bomb.

Every loud and perfect symphony, every immaculate clash of pastel colours in every sky that this stupid, beautiful world has ever given us — he is all of it. He is the drug. Every high I’ve ever chased, every good feeling, every momentarily filled void. His hands on my body, his mouth on my mouth, him inside of me — everyone else is Vicodin, morphine and fentanyl, but Christian — he’s the good stuff.

It makes me think of her in a way that’s stupid and I’d rather I didn’t. Longing for a life I’ve never longed for til now. Barless windows, easy breaths, skies that break your heart. I look at it and all I see is aimless walks down cobblestone streets in an old French village with nothing but her in my hands, and I hate the thought because it’s not just a thought, it’s a tease. Loving her is a tease.

and let’s be honest, I’ve never had her to myself for a minute, not even when I have.

I’m the buoy she’s clinging onto while she waits for the ship she fell off to come back and get her.

Fuck. I hate loving her. It’s the great undoing of my heart as I know it. She’s made herself at home, kicked off those fucking cerulean heels, put her feet up on my left rib. Over the mantelpiece she hung her own portrait up herself, that little minx. Best painting I’ve ever seen, too. Better than any woman anyone has ever painted in the history of time, a face I’d win battles for. A face I’d lose anything for. Even her. It’s time.

She shot herself in the stomach to fuck up a job her brother was doing—” Henry’s eyes go wide but I keep going. “They had a massive fight, don’t speak anymore—” “I know that part.” He nods, trying to keep up. “Last January, when it happened—she asked me to leave London with her.” He blinks a few times. “What?” “She wants out. She doesn’t—” I pause. “What our families do, she doesn’t want to do it.” “Right.” He nods once. “She wanted to be normal?” I shrug. “Okay—” “And she asked me to go with her and be normal. She said she loved me.” He didn’t know that till now and his face lights up, but mine doesn’t. “I said I couldn’t go.” He frowns. “Why?” I cover my face, stressed. “I don’t know! She put me on the spot—” “And now—” He squints, doing his best to track it. “Someone’s sending her flowers, you’re with Vanna, she’s with the police, you still love her but we don’t know how she feels about you?” My face falters and he gives me a look, leaning in intrigued. “Do we . . . know . . . how she feels about you?” I shake my head again. “A few months ago there was an—incident.” That’s the word I go with. “And we held hands . . . for a couple of seconds.” “Shit.” Henry sits back in his chair, blinking, processing it. “I wonder if you got her pregnant . . .

Mum used to say to me—when you pick who you want to be with, you have to imagine every part of life, every scenario. Good, bad, happy, sad, painful, beautiful—not just the person you want to do road trips with, but the person you want to be stuck in gridlock traffic with.

It’s time. I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything and I thought I might have been able to angle it, find a way for us to work. A life between where I can be who I am and love her how I do and it not be the death of her, but it’s not on the cards. I’d be the death of her, and I won’t be. So it’s time.

Run after her, if I’m honest. Never ran after a girl a day in my fucking life and I’m running after this one—I hear my front door slam a couple of seconds before I reach it. I swing it back open and stand at the top of the stairs that lead into our courtyard. “Magnolia—” I call.

I take her home that night to the Compound just to be safe and to be selfish, because I know what this means. This is what it means to love someone.

some strings.” I sniff, give her a tiny smile as I push her hair behind her ears. “In another life I reckon I could have loved you,” I tell her. She gives me a little smile back. “In another life I would have let you—” Never you mind that I already love her in this one.

He’s not my every second thought—he’s my every thought.” Her voice cracks a bit, and I might throw up. “He infiltrates all of them. All my decisions, all my feelings—” I shake my head, mostly just to get her to stop talking. I can’t handle it. “I would hate that, you’re right,” I tell her like I don’t know firsthand. “Yes.” She flicks me a look. “You would. Don’t ever fall in love.” I kiss the top of her head. “Deal.

I’m not done talking.” She shook her head and my head pulled back, surprised and amused. “You want to feel up random girls who are substantially less attractive than I am? That’s your prerogative. But when I’m in the same room as you, I am all you see.” Probably never wanted her more than I did in that moment. Played it cool though. “Is that right?” I asked her like I was bored. “That’s right.” I nodded my chin at her. “Or what?” “Or we’re done.” She shrugged too easily and I know my face faltered and I know she saw it. “Which is fine with me, by the way. You’ve wanted me for—hmm . . .” She pretended to think about it and glanced over at Kekoa. “What would you say, Kekoa—four or so years?” Koa was biting back a smile, gave her a little nod. “Reckon it’s more like five.” Thought about firing him for that.

You know it’s a two-way street, Tiges,” I told the window a few minutes into the drive because I knew if I looked at her, I’d get distracted. “What is?” She looked for my eyes that I wouldn’t give her. “If you’re all I see, I’m all you see—

smirk, eyes falling down her. “Have you seen you?” And then she turns in my hands, face pulling all upset and I tilt my head confused. “People say things like that to me quite often—like being beautiful is a personality trait.” She glares up at me. I like it when she goes defiant. “Like it’s all that I am.” My eyes pinch, interested. “You don’t like it?” She crosses her arms over her bare chest. “I think it makes it easier for people to treat me not like a real person.” Fuck.

though we both know it’s not true and it frightens me how life can sneak up on you and unravel you and your boyfriend completely, turning you into a pair of liars, making your safe place all of a sudden feel like a house of cards. I close my door, try not to feel like I’m

I think that he thinks that me being beautiful will absorb the brunt of his repeated rejections but all it’s done is show me that beauty is worth nothing in the end.” She moves past me back into my room, over to my bedside table, and finishes her tequila from before. Downs it. She doesn’t like spirits. Hates them, actually. And you know what—fuck it, I hate him. I didn’t before, but I hate him now.

Never felt sick in my toes before but I do now, this sharp feeling, like the edge of pain spreading through me as my mind begins to do the math on how much it really costs being loved by me.

Kissing me how he is on New King’s Road at nine in the morning, like he’s forgotten we’re in public, like he doesn’t care either way—if this is what being loved by him by accident feels like, I can’t imagine what it’d feel like to be loved on purpose.

You’re an idiot, Julian Haites.” I swallow, concentrate on making sure my face doesn’t show I’m disappointed she said no. “One of these days you’re going to say yes . . .” She pulls a big, apologetic smile. “I don’t think I will . . .” Put my hands on my head and breathe out. “You are my Everest.” She gives me a little look and shakes her head. “People die trying to climb Mount Everest.” I stare over at her. “Not afraid of dying.

Yes.” I sniff. I love him like you might love a star. “Yes, you did?” He stares over at me. I nod. “Yes.” His eyes go funny, sort of blurry—he blinks twice and then he yells “Fuck!” way too loudly to be anything close to discreet. My head pulls back and I tense up. “Shit.” He breathes out, shaking his head. “Fuck—” I watch on in mild horror. “Are you ok—” “Say it.” “What?” I stare over at him. “Can you, please? Say it?” he asks. “Now. Out loud—” He shakes his head at himself. “Just so I’ve heard you say it one time.” I open my mouth to protest for a reason I don’t know why and then I stop myself, swallow and look him in the eye. “I loved you.” He nods a couple of times then closes his eyes for a few seconds, blows some air out of his mouth. “I have to ask—” He looks back over at me, eyes all heavy now. “Was I ever in with a shot?” He is a star. Not the shooting kind. Not some flash-in-the-pan meteorite that burns up on entry into the atmosphere. And stars, they’re undeniably beautiful, kind of magical. Only come out at the nighttime. Easy enough to ignore. In a sky full of them, a single star can be difficult to tell apart from the others. They don’t affect our day-to-day lives, really. You might see it one night and not the next, and it bears no real consequence other than perhaps the sky is a little less wonderful on that particular evening. A star is a star. “In this world,” I give him a delicate look, “with BJ?” I shake my head. “I’m sorry.” “That’s—” He trails, letting out this hollow laugh that I kind of hate. It doesn’t suit him. His regular laugh is so wonderful. “—fine.” He nods. “That’s good to know, actually—” “I’m sorry,” I tell him. He shakes his head again. “No, don’t be.” But you see, the thing about stars is that in another galaxy, that star is also a sun. “If it wasn’t him, it would be you,” I tell him, for better and for worse. He blows some more air out of his mouth and catches my eye. “In another life, yeah?” I nod and offer him a weak smile. “I’ll meet you there.

I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t ready to love someone how it turns out I love her.

I think she fancied him,” I tell her, crossing my arms. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock—” Bridge rolls her eyes. “Though, she’d fancy a fucking door knob if it made her stop thinking about BJ.

I am fucked up in love with you.[*] Have never stopped loving you, since the second I realised I did, and I admit it, it took me too long to know it but I know it now, and I can’t unknow it. I don’t want to unknow it, I want to be with you.

Hughie McCracken

Because I’m just making sure you’re going to be okay.

Also annoying is that he treats her like shit and she trails him around anyway