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“Hedeserved better,” she suddenly murmured.
“Who?”
“Papa,”Poppyreplied, voice somber. “Hedeserved a daughter who loved and mourned him.Didyou knowIdidn’t shed a single tear atPapa’sfuneral?”
Yes.
“It’snot in my genes,”Poppyexplained. “Crying, that is.”Hereyes lifted to mine, assessing ifIunderstood the passive reference.
Ithit me then.Thereal reason behindPoppy’sresentment toward her biological father wasn’t his cruelty.Itwas the genes he passed down.Theyboth had anti-social personalities and didn’t feel empathy or remorse for their actions.Thebehavior made it difficult to sustain long-term relationships, especially when unable to control their anger.WhilePoppy’straits were more obvious due to that inability,Zanedid a better job of hiding his demons.Poppybelieved she was missing out on a profound life experience due to her emotional limitations.Whereasshe exercised immense control over her goals, she couldn’t alterDNAto make it fit her life.
“Youhave never cried?”
Poppyshook her head. “Ican sense grief after losing someone, but ultimately, any sadness is tied to my needs.IneededPapabecause he was my mentor and role model.Mysadness stemmed from my loss of those things.Papadeserved better, someone who loved him and expressed sadness, regardless.”
Herwords hung in the air asIlet their weight settle into my thoughts. “Ibelieve that’s true for neurotypical people as well.Theymourn and cry over people fulfilling a need for them, whether it be love, kindness, attention, attachment, or whatever it is.Humansare selfish creatures.Wedon’t grieve people unless they impact our lives.”
Poppygave the impression she wanted to argue the logic, her eyes silently challenging my words.
“But,”Iadded thoughtfully, “if this is about the outward expression of mourning, enough people openly grieved your father.I’msure your mother loved your father and cried for him.”
Poppylet out a scoff. “Momalso remarried five months afterPapadied.Howmuch could she have loved him?”Atinge of bitterness coated her words.Poppylooked away and said, “Maybeyour dad was right all along.Momcheated onPapa.”
ChapterEighteen
DAMON
Nothingcould have preparedme forPoppy’sannouncement.Therewere no words of consolation to negate the accusation, either.Poppystared at the ceiling, silently conveying she wouldn’t delve deeper into the topic after dropping the atomic bomb.
Ibadly wanted to returnNeilto his crib and pullPoppyclose.Holdher.Comforther.Feelher heartbeat against mine.Iwanted to do many things to her, both dirty and romantic.Butshe wouldn’t respond kindly to comfort.Allshe wanted now was a change of topic.
Iexercised restraint likeIhad never known, distracting myself with my surroundings.Liftingmyself onto my elbows,Iallowed my gaze to wander across the room, examining the antique pieces.Isettled on a model of theGrimReaperonPoppy’snightstand.Itmatched the overall theme of the room.
“Quitethe collection of antiques here,”Imused, breaking the heavy silence between us.
Poppyskimmed the item in my hand. “Ilike the style.”
Icarefully returned the figurine to its rightful place, ensuring it wasn’t even an inch off the original location.Poppyappeared pleased by the effort, the heavy cloud dissipating some.
Aplayful tone crept into my voice asIdragged a finger across her old, wooden nightstand. “Byany chance, did you spend more money on previously used crap than you would have on new furniture?”
“Vintagecosts money,” was her nonchalant explanation, voice filled with a hint of pride. “Butit’s worth it.”
Next,Ielbowed the lump of a mattress beneath me. “I’msure it was worth paying double for a bed made of rocks.Areyou trying to bring back theStoneAges?”
Shelifted a shoulder. “Ilike a firm mattress.Itkeeps me from oversleeping.Ittook some practice, butI’velearned to function with five hours of sleep.Itleaves me with more time for productivity.”
Inudged the mattress again, deeming it suitable for a cold dungeon.Nope.Compromisingon sleep wouldn’t do it for me. “Psychopathslike rock-hard mattresses,”Iconcluded.
“Didmy cheerful disposition mislead you about my personality?” she retorted.
Alopsided grin tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Nota chance, little demon spawn.I’dbelieve it even if you had someone locked up in your basement.”
Shelurched back as if offended. “That’sirresponsible kidnapping,” she declared, voice dripping with disdain. “Basementsare far too easy to escape.Ilocked him in the panic room.”
Ordinarily,I’dpresume the remark was a joke.Excepther delivery lacked all traces of dark humor. “Excuseme?”
“I’mjust saying, psychopathy doesn’t equal stupidity.”Shespoke matter-of-factly.Poppycontinued staring at me with an unyielding straight face.
