And placing my hand on her shoulder again, I rub gently up and down her arm. Because, I figure, if she won’t talk to me, then the least I can do is show her that I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere.
It’s well after midnight, but I can’t sleep.
Lying flat on my back, I’m staring up at the ceiling, one hand resting above my head, the other still touching Poppy’s shoulders. Her breathing evened out eventually, and she fell asleep, but I’ve stayed right here the whole time because I can’t bear the thought of her waking up to find me not here, not after what happened earlier. I’m still unconvinced I didn’t do something. I’ve been racking my head for two hours trying to figure out what it is, and frankly, I feel like shit. If I hurt her in any way, I’ll never forgive myself. I would never intentionally hurt a woman. God, the thought alone makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Brookes?”
Snapping out of my thoughts, I turn my head, staring at Poppy’s shadowy outline, my brows knitting together.
“Pops?” I whisper, and unsure whether she’s awake or asleep, I gently squeeze her shoulder.
Poppy rolls over, turning to face me. She’s backlit by the muted light of the moon shining in through the sheers behind her, so I can’t make out her face, but I can feel her eyes on me.
“What is it?” I ask, rolling onto my side to face her.
Through the darkness, everything is amplified; I hear her swallow, hear the trembling breath she exhales. I think if I listened hard enough, I’d hear the thrum of her heart.
“Can I tell you something?” she whispers.
“You can tell me anything, Pops,” I whisper back.
Holding my breath, I wait for whatever it is she needs to tellme, but the longer she stalls, the more my anxiety starts to pique because I know, without a doubt, something is seriously wrong.
“Poppy?” I press cautiously, squeezing her shoulder again in a show of support.
“When I was fifteen,” she starts, her voice broken and so full of pain and torment, it’s heartbreaking. “I was… I was…raped.”
Poppy’s confession hangs heavily in the air, and the silence that follows is nearly deafening. I close my eyes, releasing a hard breath as anger roils like a slow burning fire deep in my chest.
Shit. I drag a hand down my face, taking a moment to consider myself. And then, when I realize this isn’t about fucking me, I shift closer to Poppy, wrapping my arm around her. I pull her closer and she comes willingly, pressed up against my chest.
“Fuck, baby, I-I’m so sorry,” I murmur into her hair, kissing the top of her head.
After a few silent beats, I feel her release a shuddering exhale, her body relaxing into me. And then, with a deep breath, she continues. “I was the only sophomore invited to this party. I felt so… cool.” She scoffs a bitter, humorless laugh, shaking her head to herself. “But when I showed up, it was all just… guys. Senior guys. In Carter Stewart’s basement.”
My stomach knots, but I say nothing, just wait for her to say more. Or not. This is all her.
“I should have left right away. I shouldn’t have stayed. I knew something was up. But when they told me to stay and have a drink with them… stupidly, I did.”
My arm tightens around her, because I fucking hate that she’s saying this, like she thinks she’s somehow responsible. But still, I keep my mouth shut and listen.
“That was the first time I’d ever had anything to drink. I didn’t know what it would do to me. I didn’t think two and a half drinks would make methatdrunk.”
Two and a half drinks didn’t make her that drunk; I bet my life on the fact that those motherfuckers slipped her something.
“When I woke up, I was on the floor. I had no… no clothes on, and…someone was on top of me.” Another shudder racks through her, and I squeeze her a little, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.
“The boys were all laughing. I-I tried to scream, tried to fight, but one of them was holding me down by my shoulders, and his face was right there, and he was just… laughing at me… like it was funny.” A sob bubbles out of her, causing her to hiccup. “God, it hurt so much…”
I close my eyes tight, my jaw clenching to the point of pain.
“I… I don’t recall much after that,” Poppy continues. “I think maybe I passed out again. I don’t know. But I do remember walking home. It was dark and cold and… I was in so much pain. Every single step was agony. I could barely breathe.”
Steadying my breath in an attempt to placate my racing heart, I honestly can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this riddled with uncontainable rage.
“And then, suddenly it started snowing. And I’ve always loved the snow. Winter was my favorite time of year. But… after that night—” Poppy sniffles through another racking sob. “Now, I hate thefuckingsnow.”
“Did you tell anybody?” I ask after a beat. “The police.”
