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Icouldn’t leave now, nor couldIbear the thought of her getting a tattoo by her lonesome self.Therewas nothingIcould do other than whatIhad always done forPoppy, being there for her non-verbally.
Iwalked up to the new girl covering the front desk.Shehad numerous piercings and strands of deep red hair sticking out.
“Hellothere.”Thegirl’s pupils dilated likeIwas on the menu, but she quickly composed herself. “MayIhelp you?”
Myeyes flicked to the side.Poppywas flat on a massage table while the tattoo artist prepped her skin with a swab.
Despitethe promiseImade to my dead mother, who hated body art,Ideclared, “Ineed a tattoo.”God, the lengthsIwent to for a girl who hated me and my entire family.
“Surething,” she spoke breathlessly whileIsuppressed an eye roll. “Whatwould you like?”
Ipointed at the abandoned piece of paperPoppyleft behind on the counter.Thewoman appeared confused as to whyIwanted to imitate another’s personal artwork and etch it permanently on my skin.Igave her my most charming smile.
“I’mnot the most imaginative.Thislooks nice enough.”Itwas a stylish artwork of aRomannumeral for the number one.Ipresumed it was a permanent commemoration of her father.Itbetter not meanPoppyplanned on getting the same tattoo annually, marking each year to pass after his death.
Belatedly,Irealized that was exactly what she planned on doing.
“Wheredo you want it?”
Ipointed at the back of my neck.Atleast, it wouldn’t show in business meetings, andIcould maintain the professional façade.Ihad an inklingPoppyhad the same thought.Hair, collared outfits, or suit jackets would hide the small numeral on the back of the neck.
Poppy’sshenanigans didn’t end there.Acouple of months later, she drank herself into a stupor on the anniversary of her grandmother’s death.Insteadof leaving herself vulnerable, she brought alongRoseand a trusted security guard from her mother’s roster.RoseandPoppystrolled into a bar, the security guard sitting five seats down so boys couldn’t take advantage of them while intoxicated.Notthat she knew, butPoppyneedn’t worry about it.Iwould never let that happen in a million years.Makethat a zillion years.Pridestill thumped in my chest because she thought of everything.
Shewas my good girl.Mygood girl who started ordering drinks with her fakeIDand pounding shots like a pro.Justlike everything elsePoppydid, she did it a little too well.Rosevehemently discouraged the binge drinking, butPoppygot sloppy drunk.Theguard ensured they were safely returned to their dorms.Ofcourse,Istill snuck into her room, watching her throughout the night to ensure she didn’t have alcohol poisoning.
Theslight recklessness should’ve made me angry, but it had the opposite effect on me.Ifound it endearing.Partof me was proud thatPoppycould throw back drinks despite steering clear of socialization during her time in college.Theother part simply loved it when she lost herself to the moment.Poppyrarely let her guard down or made mistakes.Shewas always in control, aware of herself and her surroundings.Therare occasions whenPoppygave in to her grief by doing something bad was my favorite window into her soul.
Itmade her human.
Iliked it whenPoppywas human.
Inthe perfectPoppyfashion, she celebrated the worst days of her life.Bymy calculation, however, there was one more day that deserved a reckless celebration.Theday her mother remarried.Isaw the look onPoppy’sface; she was broken.
Nonetheless,Ididn’t know what she did to deal with her grief on the day of her mother’s anniversary since it fell over winter break.Classeswere out of session.Muchto her mother’s chagrin,Poppyopted to leave town for a winter internship atCornell.
Imust’ve gone insane becauseIdrove to upstateNewYork.Itwas a closed campus, and outsiders weren’t allowed in.Theirregularity of seeing her left a restlessness gnawing under my skin.Poppywas safe and not suicidal, yet each passing day signified a slow agony for unanswered questions.
Didshe still finish crossword puzzles at super speed?
Didshe still yell at people for littering?
Whatnew enigma didPoppyAmbanicome up with today?
Bythe end of the break,Iwas snapping at everyone over trivial shit.Myfriends stayed away in apprehension, my twin was fed up with my bad mood, and evenDadgave me space.Iwas the only senior itching for classes to resume.
Iwaited forPoppyon the first day of classes, leaning against her dorm building with my usual baseball cap pulled low.Thegiddiness in my chest could only compare to some middle school bullshit.Atlong last,Poppystrolled out in her signature all-black get-up.Otherthan not seeing her in weeks, there was nothing special about the day.Itwas cold and dreary outside.Poppy’soutfit matched the morbid weather.Bethat as it may, something was different in the air today.
Iwatched her from afar, my eyes eating her up like she was my last meal on earth.Withone glance, she fixed the problemIhad been struggling with for weeks.Theimpatience was gone, and so was the irritation.Itwas as if she was the ticket to end my suffering.
Poppywalked to campus, andIstalked after her like a man possessed.Shewas beautiful and witty, with a surprisingly strong moral compass that she’d picked up from her father (the one she liked).Poppyhid those things under her dark personality, but she couldn’t hide from me.
Andthat was when it hit me like a train wreck.
Imissed her.
Imissed her so fucking much.
ThetimeIspent ensuringPoppydidn’t off herself in her sorrows left me hooked on her.Somewheredown the line, my feelings for her transformed from protectiveness to possessiveness.Afew short weeks away made me realizeIwas downright addicted toPoppy.
