The Wicked Collection

by Vivian Wood

  She shook her head. He’d never asked her before, and she certainly wasn’t going to drink with him now. Surely it would be some kind of macabre toast to her impending marriage.

  “C’mon. Have a drink with your dad,” he said.

  “You just got here.” He took a long swallow of the amber liquid. “Haven’t even sat down yet.”

  “I know, but… I can’t drink. If I got pulled over, even if I was under the limit, my medical license would be taken away.”

  “Fuckin’ pigs,” her father said. He shook his head sadly. “Get you any way they can. Won’t even let a doctor enjoy a drink after a long day. Fuck ‘em all.”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “Well, I won’t keep you then. Go’n home. Walk her out,” he instructed her mom as he fell back into the chair.

  “Mom,” she whispered at the door. The bruises were easier to see in the natural light. “What—come with me.”

  Her words shocked them both.

  “Poppy! What are you talking about?”

  “Just come with me. Please.” She begged her with her eyes.

  Her mother glanced behind her into the darkness of the house. “Stop being silly,” she whispered finally.

  “Mom! Come on. I don’t—”

  “You need to go,” her mom said. “You’re busy. Drive safe.” She shut the door in Poppy’s face. She was stunned, and stared at the paint-chipped door for a full minute before she retreated to her car.

  What do you think you’re doing? You can’t even save yourself.

  The drive home was blurred with tears. She knew she’d do a better job behind the wheel if she had a bourbon in her. The thought made her laugh, even through the tears, and a stream of snot bubbled at her nose. It was all settled in her dad’s mind. Marry Will, or he’d make her mom’s life more of a living hell than he already did.

  He might even kill her.

  29

  Ryan

  She didn’t look surprised when she saw him slouched on her staircase.

  “You look exhausted,” he said, and immediately regretted it. Poppy’s makeup was smeared, with streaks of mascara on her face.

  “Ryan, I’m not in the mood for whatever you’re going to say,” she said as she pushed past him. He moved behind her as she unlocked the front door.

  “Hey, come on,” he said. “Let’s go for a ride. Okay? You look like you could use a distraction.”

  She paused, the key still in the deadbolt. “Ryan, seriously. No.”

  “Come on, Pops. Please. A drive, like we used to. Remember when I got my first car?”

  A flicker of a smile played at her lips. “The beast,” she said.

  “Yeah.” She'd been more excited than him when he’d hauled home that turquoise Trans Am. It had taken him some time before he'd made the connection it was because she saw it as a faster, easier escape from her father.

  “Just a short drive,” he promised.

  “Okay.” She sighed. “We have to talk anyway.”

  “Sure. We’ll talk—once we get where we’re going.”

  “Not very long?” she asked as she looked up at him.

  “Promise.”

  She rolled down the window and closed her eyes against the wind. Both of them knew where they were going, and no words were exchanged in the car. He pulled into the parking lot and they got out in perfect sync.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she said as they sat on their bench.

  He looked at her, soaked up all her loveliness. “Yes. It really is.” Poppy blushed and looked at her lap, but he knew it was now or never. “Poppy, I have to tell you how I really feel, even if you don't feel the same way. It’s worth the risk to me, the risk to our friendship. Because I’m falling—”

  Poppy just held up her left hand. The diamond glittered in the sun, seemingly innocuous. How could such a little thing hold so much power?

  He was shocked. “I thought you told him you were going to think about it. When did you start wearing it?” His heart plunged into his stomach. Sure, when Will had made that announcement at the cabin, everyone had started to celebrate, but Poppy had been quick to point out it was more a gesture than anything else when she’d emerged. A promise ring at best.

  “That doesn’t look like a promise ring,” Sarah had said. He’d thought Sarah would be the first to squeal and make a big deal out of it, but she’d seemed wary.

  “Well, I guess it’s not,” Poppy had said. She’d flushed and put the ring in her pocket. “We just… we’re taking it slow.”

  “That’s unorthodox,” Penny had said sharply. Ryan couldn’t figure out why she'd been so angry.

  “That’s awesome!” Mason had said. He'd been clueless about all of it. “Congrats, you guys.”

  “It’s nothing,” Will had said, backtracking. “Poppy’s right. It’s just a little token, I guess you could say.” Penny had glared at him. “Ryan? Got anything to add?” Will had put him on the spot. Cornered him. And it was clear he'd loved it.

  “If Poppy’s happy, I’m happy for her,” he’d said. Sarah had squeezed his hand and he'd squeezed back, thankful to have some kind of support. Poppy wouldn’t look at him.

  “So, I don’t know if we’re toasting to an engagement? Or what?” Mason had asked.

  “No,” Poppy had blurted out suddenly. Will had given her a look. “I mean, not like this. I don’t want to make the trip about this—”

  “We’ll have a proper engagement party soon,” Will had told them. “Let’s just relax this weekend.”

  Poppy hadn’t put the ring on the rest of the trip. It hadn’t escaped Ryan’s mind, especially when he’d talked to Eli. But he hadn’t taken it seriously. Maybe he should have.

  “Poppy?” he said. “When did you start wearing it?” he asked again.

  “Just recently,” she said. “At the cabin, half of my mind was made up to return it, but…”

  “And?” he prodded.

  “Will got to my parents, apparently,” she said, and rested her elbows on her thighs. Her head hung heavy in her hands.

  “Will went to your parents’ place?” Ryan couldn’t believe it. That little weasel had some balls after all. “When?”

  “I’m not sure, exactly. Recently.”

  “How do you know? Did your mom call?”

  “I went to see them. Today.” His mind began to whirl. Poppy never went to her parents’ house. The last time, when she'd taken him along, it had been months if not years since she’d stepped foot in that house.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to go with you?”

  “I needed to do this alone. Actually, it was supposed to just be my mom there.” That made more sense. Her dad was always at the bar, but Poppy rarely had the nerve to risk the slim chance he might come home.

  “I would have gone with you.” It was the only thing he could offer her.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t expect what happened there. I thought it would be okay.”

  “So, what did happen there?”

  “My dad, he ambushed me. He told me that Will buttered him up by offering him a job, suggested it would be for someone famous.”

  “He’s not famous,” Ryan glowered. How dare that little shit bribe her parents? Because it’s the only way he could manipulate her, that’s why.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She could barely get the words out, the tears choked up her voice.

  “Poppy—”

  “He’s basically holding my mother hostage, Ryan. If I don’t marry Will—”

  “You can’t let your parents be the reason you marry that smug asshole.”

  She cringed at the word, but didn’t say anything. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the bruises on her, didn’t see how she wouldn’t even look at me…”

  “And you think marrying Will means your father will stop? You think after almost sixty years of abusing her, you, that he’s going to magically see the light? It doesn’t work like that, Poppy.”

  “I don’t know! I don’t k
now, Ryan. Okay? But what else am I supposed to do? I even—I even asked her to go with me.”

  His eyes widened. For all the years Poppy had watched the fallout of her father’s beatings on her mother, she’d never talked about taking her mom out of the situation. Not that she could save her, he thought to himself. Nobody could. But Poppy even trying meant she was desperate. “What did she say?” he asked gently.

  “She said no.” She couldn’t hold on any longer. Tears burst out like a dam.

  For the past week, unless it was sex, he hadn't been sure if he could touch her. Now, it was automatic. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Poppy cried into his chest and he rocked her gently. She seemed so small, so frail, so unlike the utter everything she became in the bedroom. It was like there were two of her, the one who needed protection and the one who could do it all. He was the only one who got to see both. He was sure of it.

  “You can’t let that man control you like that,” he said. Ryan stroked her upper arm and felt the hot tears soak through his shirt. He needed to keep her safe, wanted to be her shield from the world. Even if he didn’t get to be with her, if they didn’t end up together, he couldn’t bear to have her sign up for a life with that asshole. “Not your dad, and not Will.”

  Poppy pushed him away from her. The look in her eyes had shifted. “You don’t even have a father,” she sneered. “You grew up in half a family, so what the hell would you know about it?”

  Ryan stiffened and leaned away from her like she was poison. She’d never attacked him like that, not even during the worst days when they'd been kids. “I’ll take you home,” he said coldly and stood up.

  He turned away from her and started to walk quickly to the car, but not before he caught the flood of emotions across her face. It was a nasty combination of regret, guilt and shame all at once, but he couldn’t stop walking away. He’d had enough.

  You tried to talk some sense into her, he told himself. He could hear her as she padded behind him. And what do you get? She went straight for your weakness. Poppy knew about Ryan’s family situation of course, but had never brought it up herself. His father, or lack thereof, was his Achilles' heel and she knew it.

  He hadn’t thought it would sting so badly. But coming from her lips, it was cruel. Simply cruel.

  Ryan got into the car and slammed the door. Poppy wasn’t far behind. They both stared straight ahead, and Ryan was thankful he’d left the radio on. The ten-minute drive felt like it took an hour.

  He pulled up in front of her building and slammed on the brakes. Ryan refused to look at her, to acknowledge her.

  Poppy got out, but turned and leaned into the open window. Peripherally, he saw her open her mouth to speak, but he couldn’t bear it. He stepped on the gas and tore away, even as the tires caught on the pavement.

  30

  Poppy

  She huddled on her couch, spooning the last of a nearly-expired yogurt into her mouth. Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she’d seen Ryan, and it seemed like neither of them would give in.

  Will’s name lit up her screen. Poppy looked at the short message without tapping it so he wouldn’t know she’d read it. Email me doc, it said. She rolled her eyes and shoved the phone away. I’m not your assistant.

  Ever since he’d been cooped up in downtown D.C. with his new business partner, he'd texted her short, snappy messages like she was his secretary or something.

  Her phone stared at her from the next cushion, taunted her. She picked it up again and scrolled to Ryan’s name. But every time she thought about texting or calling him, she couldn’t think of what to say.

  I’m sorry? I wish things were different? Obviously, but what was the point in saying it? It wouldn’t do anything, wouldn’t fix anything. She sighed and tossed the empty yogurt cup onto the coffee table. The spoon slid out and banged against the glass, spraying little droplets across it.

  “Stupid,” she told herself.

  She didn’t even know what was true anymore. Will’s ring hung heavy like the ball and chain it represented on her hand. She twisted it around, but it was no use. It seemed like she’d never get used to the strangeness of it.

  Whatever. If she couldn’t figure out a way out of this mess, she might as well check out for awhile. Poppy stood up and padded into the kitchen where she pulled a full bottle of white wine out of the fridge. She poured a glass and downed it in just a few swallows. Instantly, her head lightened. She poured another.

  As she walked back to the couch, she pulled off the ring and let it rattle onto the table next to the dirty spoon. Curled back on the couch with her feet tucked under her, she sipped this glass a little more slowly. This was more like it.

  Halfway through this glass, she heard the familiar engine of Will’s Volkswagen outside. She glanced around her apartment and could instantly pick out everything he’d complain about. That her shoes were kicked off at the door instead of placed neatly in the closet. The pile of clean, unfolded laundry on the chair. Who cares? It’s not like it’s his place.

  She counted each of his heavy steps outside. There would be thirty-four of them before he reached her door. Poppy had done this countdown so many times it was nearly meditative.

  “Why didn’t you answer my text?” he asked as he walked inside. He made a show when he pushed her shoes out of the way.

  “Oh, I didn’t get it,” she said. He looked at the phone just an arm’s reach away from her.

  “You should keep your phone where you can hear it,” he said. “It might be an emergency.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” she said, and took another sip.

  “Poppy, you seriously need to start picking up after yourself,” he said with a big sigh as he picked up the discarded yogurt container. “You can’t live like a kid—what’s this?” He picked up the ring, which had landed in one of the bigger splatters of yogurt.

  “Ring,” she said.

  “I know that,” he said slowly. “Why is it on the table covered in shit?”

  She bristled at the word, but liquid courage flowed through her. “Because that’s where it belongs.” The words surprised even her, but they emboldened her. She felt invincible.

  A darkness fell over his face. Without saying anything, he turned and slapped her. It was quick and sharp, the kind of surprise that took her breath away. Poppy jerked away from him and pulled her knees against her chest like a shield.

  Will laughed, but it was unfamiliar. Mean and hard. “You know, when I found out what kind of family you were from, I admit, I was surprised. I thought I’d have to break you in… but it was clear from the second I stepped into your house that you know exactly what’s expected of a wife.”

  She was confused. What is he talking about?

  “And what happens when you step out of line. It was written all over your mother’s face… and neck. And arms. Is she always so badly behaved, or did I just stop by at the wrong time?”

  The shame that coursed through her was overpowered with sheer rage—and protectiveness of her mother. “How dare you,” she said, and jumped onto the couch to leverage herself above him. She watched her hand toss what was left of the wine in his face. It wasn’t much, barely a splash, and it didn’t bring on the reaction she expected.

  Will smiled.

  The next hit was with his fist, far from a slap, and it knocked her off the couch. “You stupid bitch.”

  She felt her knee twist at an odd angle. From the floor, he looked ten feet tall. “Will—”

  “Shut up. You want to know something? You want to know why I don’t really care if you’re a frigid prude or not? I’ve been fucking whoever I want, and you’re too fucking stupid to even know.”

  She knew she should feel something. Jealousy, or anger, but she was numb. There was nothing. “Penny?” she asked bluntly. She didn’t even care at this point.

  “Among other people,” he said with a laugh. “She’s not really my type, but you know. Low-hanging fruit. Seems like you knew about
her.”

  Poppy shrugged.

  “And guess what else? She’s not the only one, and that’s exactly how it’s going to be. Before we’re married, after, all of it. And we will get married, Poppy, don’t doubt that.” He kicked her in the shin and she moaned as the sharp toe of his shoe shot pain through her entire body. Her pain lit up his face like Christmas.

  “Will—”

  “And you’ll have my children, like a good wife. Just like your mom.” The thought of having Will’s children sickened her. For all these years, she’d thought she just didn’t want to be a mom. Or wouldn’t be a good mom. Maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe she’d just been protecting innocent children from a nightmare like Will as a dad.

  Maybe there’s nothing wrong with you after all.

  “And you’ll learn to clean, and cook, and there won’t be any more of this doctoring bullshit.” Images of her mom flashed in her mind. She saw her on her hands and knees as she cleaned the baseboards religiously. Tucked into the tiny laundry room as she folded her dad’s dingy underwear. Hunched over as she scrubbed at a worn-out pot crusted with the morning’s breakfast. No.

  “As soon as my script is picked up—”

  It was like someone else moved her body. When Will bent over her with his fists clenched, she kneed him between the legs and felt the softness give. Even while her knee screamed in agony, a savage force tore through her. “You fucking bitch,” he whispered, doubled over in pain. He clutched at his crotch and dropped to his knees. “Fucking crazy, white trash whore.”

  She overrode her own aching leg and the bruises surely already formed on her cheek, and pushed herself up. Poppy surveyed the room while instinct took over. You have a few seconds. Just a few seconds. People always ask each other what they’d take if the house was on fire and they only had one chance. But that wasn’t fair. Adrenaline decides what you take, not your mind or your heart.