22. Poppy Wells

22

Poppy Wells

T he walk back home was a deafening sort of quiet. An eerie sort of silence.

I didn’t want to go home.

Didn’t want to step through that door.

Be confined by those walls.

Haunted by those screams.

But I knew I had to.

I couldn’t avoid it forever.

So, I tied up my hair.

I smiled.

And I breathed .

Because that was all I could do.

You can’t throw a bandage on it and expect it to heal!

Jasper’s words echoed in my mind; a haunting, lingering infestation of a thought. I hated him and I hated his words because deep down I knew he was right, and I hated that even more.

He didn’t understand.

The world didn’t understand.

It didn’t matter, though. It never mattered.

I didn’t matter.

The words I kept were burning me alive.

I hated the world.

I hated him.

I hated myself.

Racing. Pounding. Deafening.

She was going to kill me.

My mother was going to kill me.

With my fingers on my wrist, I started to count.

One hundred and eighty-two.

The darkness grew near.

My legs started to move.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

I lost control.

The world was a tornado of blinding lights.

Piercing thoughts.

Thundering heart.

Breathe .

I couldn’t.

My limbs contracted.

My cheeks flushed.

I was under attack from my own mind.

The danger was me.

Breathe .

She was waiting for me.

There was no escaping fate.

No matter how far I ran,

the world would always catch up.

It was never far enough.

Never fast enough.

Never enough.

With my hands on the doorknob, I twisted it open, only to be met by a wave of nausea and a wave of memories.

“Poppy? Are you awake, baby?”

Close your eyes .

Hold your breath.

Stay still.

Stay alive.

Sweat dripped down my forehead as the doorknob rattled again. Tangled bed sheets covered my body, the only barrier I had against him.

It was never strong enough to stop him.

I was never strong enough.

My thoughts clouded as a shadow lingered above my face, hot breath kissing my skin. Every part of me itched to sprint into the shower and scrub myself clean until my skin was red and raw.

“Baby? It’s me. You can stop pretending to be asleep now.”

I squeezed my eyes shut harder in response, biting back tears. My lungs ached for fresh air, but I refused to breathe, not whilst he was so close.

A feather-light touch caressed my forehead, down the side of my face to my cheeks, and then gently skimmed my bottom lip.

“I was so happy when I found out you shared my green eyes. Your mother wasn’t pleased at all. She didn’t want you. Even suggested we leave you at the hospital. I wouldn’t let her, though. You were my little girl. The greatest surfer-to-be of them all. I know you’ll make daddy proud, baby. You always do.”

Lips pressed against my hair, nose breathing in.

Fingers stayed on my face.

Stayed above my waist.

I was safe. I was safe. I was safe.

“Sweet dreams, Poppy.”

As my bedroom door closed, my eyes shot open.

My legs carried me to the shower, almost on instinct alone.

I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until I felt even the littlest bit cleaner.

As I scrambled back into bed, clutching the sleeves of my red Marvel hoodie to my chest, the tears I’d fought so hard to hold back began dropping from the corners of my eyes one by one.

Taking my notebook out from underneath my pillow, I fell into the comforting grasp of my imagination as I started to scribble down tonight’s new story.

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who grew up just wanting to be loved…

The details of the story flooded from my mind and onto the paper, ink bleeding across my skin and smudging across the pages. That little girl was brave and courageous and resilient in every way. She fought and survived every battle thrown her way.

She was everything I was not.

My body disgusted me.

I was repulsed every time I looked in the mirror.

But, in my stories, I could be whoever I wanted to be.

Little Romanoff. Little survivor.

A superhero.

An exiled princess.

A girl whose parents loved and adored her like she was the brightest star in their universe.

My restless mind buzzed as I wrote, the anxiety that flooded my veins from before was almost an extinguished flame.

I didn’t sleep at all for the rest of the night.

My eyes squeezed shut on their own accord, forcing the childhood memory away.

I held my breath.

Counted to ten.

Stepped inside that house.

And breathed .