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Chin dipped, I glance right, looking at her from beneath my lashes. She still stares at me. Silent. I’m not sure she’s blinked the entire time. The air feels heavy. With my question, it feels heavier. I watch her chest rise and fall, slow but fast, heavy but light. My own doing something similar.
“I think,” I lick my lips, dropping my gaze with a gentle shake of my head, “I think I miss it some days.” I lift my head then, looking at her, my arm shifting, fingers unlinking.
I let my fingers crawl over her light colored bedding, towards her bare foot, chipped dark polish on her little round toes. Her eyes finally move, rolling to the bottom of their sockets, tracking the slow creep of my thick fingers, she doesn’t try to stop me. And this time, when my warm skin meets her cold, she doesn’t flinch, her eyes flutter closed, nostrils flaring, she draws in a shuddery breath.
“I can be whoever you want me to be.” I swallow, the whisper cracking as it slips free. “I can be whatever you want.” My fingers smooth over the tiny bones in the top of her foot, little solid ridges beneath her light skin. “We can get high together, right now, Treasure.” I think of pills, of needles, of blood. “I can be whatever you need, we can fly off of the edge together.”
I watch her face, bruised, her lip split, swollen on one side, shiny, with something slick, like a balm to soothe it. Her light eyes lift to mine, dead and dull, and it has nothing to do with the darkness of the room.
“Go home, Lynx,” she whispers shakily, like she’s frightened, can’t quite catch her breath.
Brow creasing, fingers digging harder into her foot, my lips part, ready to protest, when her eyes snap shut, squeeze closed. Her foot slipping out from beneath my fingers, quickly tucking up beneath her, shielding it from me.
“Please,” she whispers again, chin quivering. “Please.”
Bottom lip rolling into my mouth, I push to stand, turning away from her, towards the door.
“Not that it means anything,” I say, staring hard at the wood of the door. “But I wish I could take it all back.” I swallow, hating myself. “I don’t think sorry really means anything, it’s just a word people teach their children to make it look like they’re well behaved, polite. And I didn’t even explain myself. I guess, maybe, I didn’t want to make an excuse for my behavior. I just want to be sorry without saying the shitty word. I-” I almost choke on my runaway words, but I lick my lips, make sure to say them clearly anyway. “I loved myself. That first week. I loved myself. And it was because of you.” I feel my lip tremble, voice cracking. “You deserve the world, Treasure.” I sniff, palming the doorknob, and without looking back, I pull the door open, leaving my heartbehind.
Chapter 37
BENNETT
Air stabs my insides as I race through the wind, slipping inside the door behind some drunk kid holding up another wasted kid, the two of them fumbling their way inside. I leave them the elevator, running up the empty stairs instead, two at a time.
My shoes tap against the steel edged steps, carrying me higher and higher, slapping my palms against the door on the seventh floor.
I breathe deep, trying to calm my thundering heart as I walk slowly down the quiet hall. Wall bulbs click on as I pass their sensors, automatically lighting the path ahead of me.
Curled fist to the wood, I knock, rapping my knuckles against Poppy’s door, eyes fixed to the floor, the scuffed toes of my shoes.
There’s no movement, no sounds, nothing beyond the thin blockade separating me from her. I test the handle, both pleasantly and unpleasantly surprised to find it unlocked, and I’m inside the dimly lit space, closing the door at my back.
I don’t wait for her to speak, I don’t wait for objection. I stride towards her, huddled in the corner of the room, her eyes wide on me, lips parted, I bend over her, grip her waist and heft herup. Spinning us and sitting myself down in her pillows, I pull her into me, straddle her over my lap, band my arms around her and hold tight.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, my chest heaving, hers slow and steady, but I can feel her heart through her back, thudding harder and harder against my palm.
She’s stiff in my hold, uncomfortable, but I’ve done far worse things to her that made her uncomfortable, this, this is nothing.
I cock my head, licking my lips, stare up into her eyes where she’s hovering just above me, her knees trembling where she’s pushed herself up onto her shins, trying to avoid being flush with my cock.
“We need to talk-”
“I don’t have anything to say to yo-”
“Don’t give a fuck, Lollipop, I’m gonna speak, you’re gonna listen. That’s how it’s gonna go-”
“What is wrong with you? Why are you always like this, you talk over me, and I talk over you and you smirk as you do it, and yo-”
“Are gonna keep doing just that until you hear me out,” I finish for her.
She huffs, her thighs trembling with the way her legs are angled, weight on her shins. My arms clamped around her back, she plants her hands on my chest, pushing against me, her back into my hands. She squirms on top of me, huffing and puffing and my dick is getting harder and harder and she keeps moving, keeps struggling, but I only grip her tighter. And then she just… stops.
Slumping into my hold, hands slipping from my chest, like lifeless dying tree branches hanging in our laps. She stares off over my shoulder, at the wall, her eyes going dead in her head like someone took a gun to her, splattered her brains against the ceiling.
“Poppy,” I say, my body feeling tense now, like I just broke her, and she’s not responsive to me as I chant her name over and over.
She’s in a loose, oversized shirt, nothing but tiny sleep shorts hanging low on her hips, spread wide, the leg holes on them gaping where she’s pulled over my lap. My fingertips press harshly into her spine, digging into her flesh and she does nothing, she doesn’t look at me.
