by Vivian Wood
Everybody always said either their most expensive possession or their most sentimental. But that wasn’t true. She reached from behind the couch, used it as a barrier in case Will suddenly recovered, and grabbed her phone and purse from the chair. It was her only hope, her only connection to the world without a monster.
As she raced down the stairs, she didn’t care about the nosy neighbor who leaped out of her way. Or that she only had on boxers, a T-shirt and no shoes. “You okay, baby?” the woman called, but she was already halfway to her car.
Poppy only made it a few blocks before she pulled over to calm down. Tears tore down her cheeks, but she was already almost cried out. She looked in the rearview mirror, but for a second all she could see was her mom.
Her phone was almost dead, but there was enough battery left for a phone call.
“Poppy?”
“Sarah,” she said. It was all she could get out.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“I… Will… he—”
“Did he hit you?” How did she know?
“Um. Yeah.” She felt a release, just telling Sarah.
“Where are you?”
“In my car.”
“Fucking prick,” Sarah said under her breath. “I knew—come here. Right now.”
“Sarah, I don’t want to bother—”
“I said come here.”
She hung up, pulled a makeup wipe out of the glove box, and wiped her face. Suddenly, she realized why this all felt so familiar, and she was five years old all over again.
When she was really little, her mom would grab her and take her out of the house at seemingly random times. Poppy was always terrified, with her mom’s eyes nearly swollen shut and bruises already evident. “Come on, baby,” her mom would say as she picked her up with superhuman strength.
They’d drive for what seemed like miles, but was probably only a couple of blocks. Her mom would clean up her face as best she could and turn up the oldies station on the radio. Poppy would sit in the back seat, scared until the soothing sounds of The Shirelles or Elvis lulled her into a dreamless sleep.
When she woke up, she’d always be back in her mother’s arms, being carried into the house.
31
Ryan
The ringing phone bore through his sleep. Ryan pulled himself out of his hangover and reached for it. Who’s calling this late? The last fingers of sleep and dreams let him go.
The time blinked at him right above Sarah’s name. It was just past one. He considered not answering, but it was rare that she’d call this late instead of text—especially since he’d moved from breadcrumbing to ghosting her. He rubbed his head and glanced at the US Marshals application he’d completed earlier that night between sips of whiskey.
“Sarah, it’s one in the morning,” he groaned into the phone. “If this is a booty call, I’m not—”
“It’s Poppy,” Sarah said.
He bolted upright on the couch.
“Poppy? What’s wrong? Is she—”
“She’s okay,” Sarah said cautiously. “But you need to come to my place.”
“Sarah, tell me what happened.”
“I can’t… she’s alright, but you just need to come. Now.”
“I’m coming.” He shoved his feet into some boots and grabbed his wallet. As he tore through the night, he ran across every possible scenario. Please let her be okay. Please let her be okay. He didn’t know who he was asking, or if this was a prayer, but he willed her to be okay.
“Poppy?” he asked as he tore into Sarah’s apartment. Poppy sat on the couch, her back to him. Sarah had her arms wrapped around her. When Poppy turned, she couldn’t meet his eyes, but she didn’t have to. Half her face was swollen and an angry violet hue.
“That fucking asshole,” Ryan seethed through his teeth. “Your dad,” he said. “It was your dad again—”
“Ryan—”
He gestured for Sarah to be quiet, and Poppy started to weep. “No,” Poppy said through her tears, and she shook her head.
“No? If it wasn’t your dad, then… Will?” He was incredulous. “Was it Will?”
Poppy didn’t nod or say anything, but she looked up and managed to hold his gaze. Her eyes were bright with tears. Ryan sat on the couch behind her, sandwiched her between himself and Sarah, and hugged her close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her neck. “I’m so sorry.”
Even then, in that pained moment, she felt so good in his arms. So right. Like he could heal her and protect her from anything. Still, he kept up a barrier. Don’t take it beyond this, no matter how much you both want to.
“It was my fault,” Poppy said quietly.
“I, um, I’ll let you two talk,” Sarah said awkwardly. She slipped on a jacket and went outside.
“What do you mean it was your fault? Don’t be ridiculous,” he said when the door shut behind Sarah.
“No, it was,” she said with a sniff. “Why did I let it go so far with Will? Why didn’t I fight for what I really wanted? Why—”
Fight for what she really wanted? “Poppy, there’s only one person responsible for this. And he’s about to find out what it’s like to be the one to take a beating.”
“Ryan, stop.” Poppy’s eyes were huge as he stood up, and she shook her head vigorously. “Don’t—”
Before she could stop him, he walked out the door and let it slam behind him. “Ryan?” Sarah asked as he walked past, a cigarette poised in her hand. “Where are you going?”
He ignored her and started up the engine. Sarah looked from him back to her apartment, confused.
Will answered the door casually, like somebody knocked on the door in the middle of the night all the time.
“The knight in shining armor. I’ve been expecting you,” Will said with a smug grin. Ryan’s fist pounded through Will’s face smooth and fast. He could feel teeth give. “What the fuck?” Will sputtered through the blood that poured down his neck.
Wildly, Will tried to fight back, to land his own punch, but Ryan easily ducked out of the way. His military training took over.
Ryan hit him again squarely, in the neck. Will hit the floor where he gasped for breath on all fours. “Like the jackal you are,” Ryan said. He kicked him in the stomach which dropped Will all the way down.
Will pushed himself onto his back, and Ryan was on top of him. He couldn’t stop himself and hit him once, twice more. Will wiggled his arms free and held them in front of his face. “Okay, man,” Will said through gasps. “You win. Okay?”
“It’s not okay,” Ryan said. Will looked up at him through busted glasses and what seemed like buckets of blood. He was broken, finished. Ryan could see that, and he stood up slowly. His hands ached and were covered in the warm slickness of Will’s blood. You’ve done what you need to. No more.
“You have three minutes to get out. For good,” Ryan said. “Get your shit, and get out.”
Will scrambled like mad and gathered up his things. Ryan surveyed the room and breathed in. Poppy’s scent filled his lungs. He noticed the ring on the table, but Will didn’t even glance at it. Instead, he cradled his precious laptop bag in his arms like a child.
As Will moved toward the door, cowed down with his head heavy, Ryan blocked the doorway with his arm. Will stopped, dutiful, and braced himself for another hit. “The keys,” Ryan said.
Will paused, and perhaps he even considered a lie. After a moment, he dug into his pocket and dropped Poppy’s apartment keys in Ryan’s hand.
Ryan followed him all the way to his car. On the landing below them, he saw the neighbor’s curtains flutter. He supervised Will as the laptop bag was placed in the back seat. When Will got into the driver seat, the window was already down, and he somehow knew not to start the engine just yet.
Ryan leaned down and rested his forearms on the door. “I don’t ever want to see you again,” he said.
Will nodded, but didn’t speak. “If I see your face again, or if Poppy sees or hears
anything from you, you’re finished.”
Will nodded again and blinked hard.
“And I don’t mean,” Ryan said slowly, “that I’m just going to beat your pussy ass again. That would be too easy.”
Will stopped breathing, but didn’t dare look at Ryan.
“And don’t think about doing something stupid. Like call the police and say you got slapped around a little. That’s what you were thinking, right?”
Will didn’t respond, but his thoughts were written across his face.
Ryan laughed. “You’re unbelievable! You don’t think all those bruises on Poppy’s face have been documented? That there aren’t already photos? Tell the police, and all it would take is them seeing one of those photos and you’d be done for.”
Will’s eyes grew big. He hadn’t even considered that. What a moron. “But me?” Ryan said as he stretched his neck from side to side. “I’m not a big fan of the police. Not when things can be settled without their interference. You know? I said, did you know?”
“No,” Will said quietly. His voice shook, like a little boy’s.
“I figured as much. You’re kind of stupid,” Ryan said. “But just so you know, if Poppy or I do hear from you again? Or if you call the police? You know what will happen?”
Will was quiet.
“I said, do you know what will happen?”
Will shook his head.
“I’ll find you. And I’ll kill you.”
Will sucked in his breath.
“Trust me, I have nothing better to live for than to make sure Poppy is free of you.”
“I get it,” Will said. “I get it.”
“Good. Run along now,” Ryan said.
He watched the car until the taillights disappeared down the street. Leaves crackled behind him, and he turned. The neighbor who’d caught him waiting for Poppy, the one whose curtains fluttered, was wrapped in a robe with her arms crossed over her ample chest. “You did good,” she said.
“I don’t know,” Ryan said.
“I do,” she said. Her hair was wrapped and she kicked at the concrete in pink fuzzy slippers. “Been watching that boy stalk that poor girl like she was some obstinate child for years. Couldn’t do nothin’ myself, of course. But it’s good he’s gone. You did her right.”
“I hope so,” Ryan said.
She put her hand on his arm. It was smaller and softer than he expected. “Don’t doubt yourself,” she said. “We all need some protecting sometimes. That poor girl… killing herself with her work. Lonely as hell, I could tell. I shoulda—I shoulda reached out to her.”
Ryan looked at her sadly. “If anyone should have seen more, done more, it was me,” he said. “I left her. After all those years we had, I just left her.”
“Loneliness. Ain’t it somethin’.”
They walked back up the stairs together. The woman took his hand and squeezed it at her door.
Ryan continued up the stairs to clean up any traces of blood—and Will's presence. As he poured hydrogen peroxide on the splatters on the carpet, he drank in every piece of Poppy the room carried. Her favorite gray, wool jacket that hung on the hook. The aroma of sweet cream from her favorite lotion that lingered in the air. She’d used the same one since they were teenagers.
He rinsed the rag and dropped it in the washing machine. As he locked up with Will’s old key, he couldn’t help but think, This might be the last time I’m here. Remember it all, every detail. This is Poppy’s home.
32
Poppy
Voices in the living room stirred her awake. Where am I? It took her a minute to recognize Sarah’s bedroom. Her face was swollen, puffy and painful. A headache started to throb at her temple as the painkillers from a few hours ago wore off.
Poppy groaned and rolled over. On the dresser was a display of framed photos. Prominently near the center was a snapshot of Sarah and her from years ago. They hugged each other tight and grinned into the camera.
“I don’t know,” she heard Sarah say in the living room. “I couldn’t tell if she…”
Poppy couldn’t make out what was being said as the voices rose and fell. She swung her legs off the mattress and flexed her knee. It was swollen and still painful, but it seemed like it was minor. Thank God it’s not a torn tendon or ligament.
In the living room, Sarah and Ryan sat on opposite ends of the couch. “Hey, good morning,” Sarah said with a smile. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got some shopping to do. I’ll bring back breakfast in a bit.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Really, I have some errands to run. I just wanted to make sure you were awake before I left. The spare key’s here, okay?” she asked as she tossed a keyring into the bowl by the door.
Poppy walked up to her and embraced her. “Thank you,” she said.
Sarah laughed. “It’s no big thing,” she said.
“It is.” She glanced at Ryan. “Just a minute,” she told him, and followed Sarah into the hallway.
“What is it?” Sarah asked as she hitched her purse up her arm. Poppy crossed her arms, barefoot in the vacant hallway and made sure nobody was around.
“I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” Poppy said sheepishly.
“What in the world are you talking about?” Sarah looked at her quizzically.
“You know, you have to. About Ryan… and me… ”
“Yeah, well, I’m not blind,” Sarah said. “He told me last night. But, really P, it’s okay. I wish you would have told me, of course. Before… all this—”
“I know,” Poppy said. “I’m really sorry. I just… I didn’t plan it. You know?”
“I know,” Sarah said. “And Ryan and I, we had some fun. But that's all it was. I think we both knew that.”
“So you’re not mad?”
“Never,” Sarah said. “But really, you two should go talk. I’ll be back when the dust settles.” She turned and loped down the hallway.
Poppy took a deep breath before opening the door. Ryan sat on the edge of the couch. He looked nervous. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded and sat in the chair, suddenly shy. But he wasn’t.
Ryan stood up and cupped her chin in his hand. His thumb brushed lightly over the bruise that flanked her eye. Even there, in Sarah’s apartment and after everything, that little touch was enough to send sparks through her. “You look hot in that outfit,” Ryan said with a smile.
She looked down and laughed. It was Sarah’s old cheerleading T-shirt from high school, and reached to just above her belly button. “There weren’t many options,” she said.
“I can think of a few options.” He picked her up swiftly and swung her over his shoulder. Poppy squealed as he carried her to Sarah’s bed and the shirt rode up to her collarbone.
“Ryan! Put me down,” she laughed.
“As you wish.” He tossed her on the bed and looked at her hungrily. Her bare breasts were exposed, and she moved to pull the shirt down. “Don’t,” he said. In one movement, he whipped the shorts off of her.
Ryan dropped to his knees beside the bed and placed her feet over his shoulders. Slowly, he worked his way from her calves to her thighs, one at a time, and kissed every bruise.
Poppy sighed and let her head drop back. When his mouth reached her mound, he kissed his way around up her hip bone and across her stomach. She moaned in frustration that he didn’t even touch her where she wanted him most. As he worked his way up, he kissed the scattering of bruises on her chest she hadn’t even noticed from the night before.
At her neck, his kisses became slower and longer. Finally, he reached her jawline and kissed along her cheek to the corner of her eye. “All better,” he whispered. She pushed her pelvis against him, hard. “Did I forget something?” he asked her.
She wanted him, needed him, more than anything. He moved to roll off of her, to undress, but she couldn’t wait that long. She unzipped his jeans and pulled out his heat, his hardness, and immediately slid it into her. “Popp
y,” he gasped, and she clenched him tight. Every thrust brought her close to orgasm. The roughness of the denim on her clit was a pleasurable contrast to her own slick softness. “Slower,” he said. “Slower.”
She obeyed, since she’d had a taste of what she craved so desperately. Ryan slid his hands under her and flipped them over. He didn’t need to pull out of her, and suddenly she was on top of him. He reached down and unbuckled the remainder of his jeans and she rose up to help him slide them down. As he kicked them off, he pulled his shirt over his head. “It feels so good,” she said as she bit her lip and let her head fall back. “You feel so good.”
She looked down at him and memorized every part of him. She loved how he clenched his jaw when she took him all the way in, how he never quite closed his eyes all the way. Poppy reached behind and grazed his balls with her fingers, elicited a moan from him. “Come here,” he said. “I want you to ride my face.”
Poppy climbed off him, turned around and flanked his face with her thighs. He wrapped his arms around her legs and she lowered herself to his mouth. With her hands braced on his chest, she began to rock against his lips and tongue. His cock, wet with her juices, begged for her mouth—and she wanted nothing more than to feel his hardness against her tongue.
As she leaned forward to take him in her mouth, he slid a finger inside her and hit her G-spot. Poppy swirled her tongue around his tip and tasted his pre-cum mixed with her own sweetness. She could tell Ryan tried not to press into her mouth, tried to be gentle with her. But she wanted to take him all the way into her throat.
“God, Poppy,” he whispered from between her legs. His finger still stroked her G-spot, but he whipped his head to the side and bit lightly into her thigh. Instantly, she missed his tongue on her clit and rubbed automatically against him, fucking his face, and he brought his mouth back to her.
Ryan knew her body like no other—even better than she did. When she got close to coming, he slowed down, removed his finger and outlined her rim instead. She never let go of him, couldn’t get enough of tasting his cock. “Turn around,” he said. When she stood on her knees, she almost fell, she was so weak from having him.
