He staggered back and hit the wall. “Rune!” I heard my mamma shout from the hallway. Ignoring her plea, I fisted my pappa’s collar in my hands and brought my face to hover just in front of his.
“You took me away for two years. And because I was gone she cut me off to save me. Me. Save me from the pain of being so far away and not being able to comfort her or hold her when she was in pain. You made it so I couldn’t be with her while she fought.” I swallowed, but managed to add, “And now it’s too late. She has months…” My voice broke. “Months…” I threw my hands down and stepped back, more tears and pain taking hold.
With my back to him, I said, “There’s no coming back from this. I’ll never forgive you for taking me away from her. Never. We’re done.”
“Rune…”
“Get out,” I snarled. “Get the hell out of my room and get the hell out of my life. I’m done with you. So damn done.”
Seconds later I heard the door shut, and the house fell into silence. But to me, in this moment, the house sounded like it was screaming.
Pushing the hair from my face, I slumped down on the overturned mattress, then leaned my back against the wall. For minutes, or it could have been hours, I stared at nothing. My room was dark save for the light from a small lamp in the corner of the room that somehow had survived my rage.
I lifted my eyes, and they settled on a photo hanging on the wall. I frowned, knowing I hadn’t put it there. My mamma must have hung it today when she unpacked my room.
And I stared.
I stared at Poppy, only days before we left, dancing in the blossom grove, the cherry blossoms she loved so much in full flower around her. Her arms were stretched to the sky as she twirled, her head tipped back as she laughed.
My heart clenched at seeing her this way. Because this was Poppymin. The girl who made me smile. The girl who would run to the blossom grove, laughing and dancing all the way.
The one who told me to stay away from her. I’ll stay away from you. You stay away from me. We’ll finally put us to rest…
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave her. She couldn’t leave me. She needed me and I needed her. I didn’t care what she had said; there was no way I was leaving her to endure this alone. I couldn’t if I tried.
Before I could over-think it, I jumped to my feet and raced to the window. I took one glance at the window opposite mine and let instinct take control. As quietly as possible, I opened my window and climbed through. My heart beat in tandem with my feet as I pounded across the grass. I stopped dead. Then with a deep breath, I placed my hand under the window and pulled up. It moved.
It was unlocked.
It was as if no time had passed. I climbed inside and gently closed the window. A curtain was in the way, something that wasn’t there before. Silently pushing it aside, I stepped forward, stopping as I drank in the familiar room.
Poppy’s sweet-scented perfume, the one she’d always worn, hit my nose first. I closed my eyes, chasing away the heaviness on my chest. When I opened them again, my eyes fell to Poppy in her bed. Her breathing was soft as she slept, facing me, her body illuminated only by the dull glow of her nightlight.
Then my stomach dropped. How the hell did she think I would ever stay away? Even if she hadn’t told me why she cut me off, I would have found my way back to her. Even through all the hurt, pain and anger, I would have been drawn back, like a moth to a flame.
I could never stay away.
But as I drank her in, her pink lips pursed in sleep, her face flushed with warmth, I felt as if a spear had slammed into my chest. I was going to lose her.
I was going to lose the only reason I lived.
I rocked on my feet. I struggled to cope with the thought. Tears fell onto my cheeks, just as an old floorboard creaked beneath me. I squeezed my eyes shut. When my eyes opened, it was to see Poppy staring at me from her bed, her eyes heavy with sleep. Then, clearly seeing my face—the tears on my cheeks, the grief in my eyes—her expression morphed into a mask of pain, and slowly, she opened her arms.
It was instinctive. A primal power that only Poppy held over me. My feet dragged me forward at the sight of those arms; my legs finally gave out as I reached the bed, knees hitting the floor, head falling into Poppy’s lap. And, like a dam, I burst. The tears came thick and fast as Poppy wrapped her arms around my head.
Lifting my arms, I wrapped them—iron-tight—around her waist. Poppy’s fingers stroked through my hair as, shaking, I fell apart in her lap, tears drenching the nightdress covering her thighs.
“Shh,” Poppy whispered, rocking me back and forth. The sweet sound was like heaven to my ears. “It’s okay,” she added. It struck me hard that she was comforting me. But I couldn’t stop the pain. I couldn’t stop the grief.
And I held her. I held her so tightly I thought she would ask me to let go. But she didn’t, and I wouldn’t. I didn’t dare let go, in case when I lifted my head she wasn’t here.
I needed her to be here.
I needed her to stay.
“It’s okay,” Poppy soothed again. This time, I lifted my head until our eyes met.