33. Poppy Wells

33

Poppy Wells

Many summers ago

W hen I begrudgingly made my way home, feet dragging the entire way, my body froze the exact moment my hands reached for the door handle with nothing but Jasper’s words echoing in my mind.

What the hell hadn’t happened to me?

Shaking my head free of his irritating voice, I pushed the door open with a huff, only to be greeted by my little brother, who ran at me like a bolt of lightning and gripped onto my thighs tight enough to pop a blood vessel.

“Why aren’t you in bed, monkey?” I asked, my sour mood softening as I stifled a laugh. I could only begin to imagine how ridiculous I looked trying to walk into the kitchen with him clinging to my legs, being dragged along behind me.

Oliver’s little voice, peppered with fear and doubt, whispered, “Shush, Sissy.” His hands were trembling, grip never loosening. “They were fighting again. Bad . Very bad. Daddy stormed off. Left without a word and mom went crazy. I-I tried t-to clean up the glass, j-just like y-you always do, but it got all prickly and my h-hands started h-hurting, so I just put it underneath the l-lose floorboard t-that dad ripped u-up last week—”

“Do you want chocolate milk before bed?” I asked, cutting him off.

Oliver just stared up at me, not blinking. Almost as if he was battling between fear and disbelief that I’d completely disregarded what he’d said.

He hiccupped, rubbing his reddened eyes before offering me a small nod. “O-okay.”

I sighed, guilt tugging at my heartstrings. I never meant to be mean to him…in fact, the rage gnawing at my intestines was completely directed at my parents. Shaking my head, I pushed away all the negative thoughts that seemed to swarm inside my head every time I was home and focused on pouring Oliver’s hot chocolate into his beaker cup.

“How about tomorrow we go and see how much that summer camp program is?” I offered, trying to make light of the crappy situation.

I hated seeing him upset. I hated that my parents’ actions forced my hand, turning me into this grumpy, hurtful older sister, when really, I had a whole lot of love underneath all those layers. But somehow, along the way, I’d become trapped in that role and couldn’t seem to escape it. It was easier to hate the world when it was evident it hated you back ten times harder. Love couldn’t conquer all—if it could, the childhood I was fighting so hard for Oliver to have wouldn’t keep slipping through my fingers every time my parents opened their mouths. Or rather, their fists.

Love was just another synonym for disappointment.

When you’d seen half the things I had, lived through half the shit that I did on a daily basis, was that really such a surprise?

“Yes, please!” Ols grinned, a chocolate foam ring around his mouth.

A smile, genuine and pure, tugged at my lips as I ruffled his hair and placed a kiss to his forehead. “Come on then, monkey, let’s get you ready for bed.”

Once Oliver was all dressed in my old Spiderman pajamas, teeth cleaned and necessities done, I let him tug me by the hand, guiding us both from the bathroom and into my bedroom. Breaking contact, letting my hand slip from his, I crouched down and pulled out a small, brown cardboard box from underneath my bed. Opening it up, my fingers traced over the familiar red, worn blanket. A thousand memories threatened to rupture in my mind like a volcano, but I blocked them out. Swallowing, I tugged out the old fabric, my fingers gently brushing over it.

“Here,” I said, walking over to where Oliver had tucked himself beneath my bed sheets, perky grin peeking up from beneath my cover. I climbed up onto the bed, sitting up against my pillows as I tucked him up neatly beneath the blanket. Once he was wrapped up warm and cosy, I flicked off the light, letting the moonlight seep in through the gaps in the curtains.

“Close your eyes, monkey,” I whispered. “I’ll keep watch.”

He stirred beside me, cuddling into my side. “Could…could you tell me a story, sissy?”

“Sure. Which one do you want?”

“The one where they get their happily ever after,” he yawned, eyes drooping closed. “It’s my favorite.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, wrapping my arm around his small frame. “It’s my favorite, too.”

When the end of the story rolled around and Oliver’s snores filled my room, I quietly stood up, careful not to wake him, and grabbed my surfboard that was resting against my wall. With one look back at him, my head falling back to rest against my bedroom door, I let out a deep exhale.

One day, I’d get us both out of this place.

And with that promise, I walked away.