Chapter Sixteen
Poppy
I dial Amber’s number again.
It’s the thirteenth time.
I’ve counted.
The more I add, the more I feel the sting. The abandonment. The way she could turn her back on Reno and not look back.
It fractures something inside me.
Piece by piece I break apart.
Filling with a void that’s cold, empty, and missing connection.
The apartment feels so empty without them.
I haven’t touched either one of their rooms, leaving each a mausoleum of their memories. Pippa’s sorority stuff. Those records she always claimed to love but never listened to. The pictures of Eddie secretly taped to the bottom of her drawers she thought I didn’t know about.
And Amber’s…
The single poster haphazardly hanging off the wall. The old dresser she left that was missing a foot, and the wedding dress, ripped to shreds and hanging in the closet. A single reminder of the day that tore us all apart.
I just don’t have the heart to get rid of anything.
Not right now.
“Come on, Amber. Pick up, please. I need you.”
The call goes to voicemail, but this time, I leave a message.
“Amber, it’s me. I know you’re avoiding everything back home, but something has happened.
Pippa… she’s… she’s… dead. I know you probably don’t care after everything that’s happened, but I was hoping you’d at least care about me.
You’re all I have left. My parents won’t even talk to me or look at me anymore.
It’s almost like they’re pushing me out of their life.
I missed my first week at Stanford. I just couldn’t go.
And now my father hates me for it. They don’t care that I’m going through a really bad depression, or that I’ve contemplated suicide more times than I can count since the two of you up and left me.
I’m a mess, Amber. I need my best friend.
Please don’t stay away too long. Come back to me.
Prove to me that there’s someone in this world that actually gives a fuck about me. ”
The call ends before I can finish my call, and I don’t have it in me to call her again.
We’ll leave it at thirteen. An unlucky number that will fester and rot with the rest of me.
I need something to ease this ache, something that will feed this emptiness and make me numb. It’s been almost a year since I made my pills, and I’ve been out of them for months. So, I do the only thing I can think of, I go searching for something else. Something unholy.
A man stands on the corner of the street, hands shoved in his pockets, watching me as I cut across the road and approach with an air bubble lodged in my throat.
He eye fucks me for two seconds before painting on a fake smile. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing out this late at night?”
I clear my throat, unable to find my voice.
“Looking for some fun, sweetheart?”
I nod, knowing whatever he has, can help me get through this nightmare.
Visions of Pippa’s funeral take over, dragging me down the dangerous rabbit hole again.
“Mom,” I cried out, rushing into her outstretched arms, welcoming the comfort as she held me tighter than she ever had before.
“My baby,” she whimpered, brushing the tears from off my cheeks. “My darling Pippa.”
The name hit me like an arrow, realizing whatever acceptance and love that hug was supposed to bring, was meant for her.
“Mom, I’m Poppy.”
She frowned. Her hold on me lessening. “I knew that,” she said coldly, straightening her dress. “How are you doing, dear?”
Before I could answer her, my father marches over, his eyes filled with tears I’d never seen him shed before. “Come on, dear. The minister is waiting for us.”
“Daddy!” I called out, reaching for him, hoping he’d greet me with something at least somewhat comforting. He didn’t. He was still pissed that I missed my first week of Stanford. Even though it was the same week of Pippa’s funeral. Maybe he just didn’t want me here.
I followed behind them, stopping when I realized they didn’t leave me any room on the pew next to them. Their closest friends have taken my spot, all of them too focused on my parents to scoot over.
“Mom, is there somewhere for me to sit?”
She briefly looked up, then quickly hung her head. “I’m sure there’s a seat somewhere.”
The words stung. Like even my mother who gave me birth didn’t give a fuck about me anymore. Not when their precious daughter Pippa was gone.
“You heard your mother. Go find somewhere to sit. Somewhere not near us.”
The coldness in his voice sent shivers down my spine.
I was seconds away from fleeing the ceremony, when a protective arm wound around my shoulder, centering me.
For a second, I thought it was Wesley, but I looked up into that familiar mask, finding Rich staring down at me with pity in his eyes.
“Wesley wouldn’t let you do this alone.”
“Wesley?”
He nodded. “He had a feeling your parents would do something like this, so he sent me in his place. Come on, I saved you a seat over here.”
He guided me over to an empty pew, and sat down next to me, allowing me to soak his shoulder with my tears.
Wesley sent him.
The words shook up something inside me, but I kept it down, refusing to give in.
You don’t love him… I reminded myself.
You don’t.
But maybe there was more to Wesley than I thought. He did send Rich to be there for me, and I didn’t know how much I needed a friend until that very moment, even if the olive branch only lasted until the end of the funeral.
At least I didn’t have to go through it alone.
“Hey, sweetheart, either fucking talk or kick rocks.”
“S—Sorry,” I stutter out, unable to control my nerves. “A f—friend told me you might have something to help me forget my existence for a while.”
His smile pulls evilly. “Seeking something for recreation, pain, or do you just want to get lost?”
“I guess the second two.”
He nods, motioning for me to follow him into an alley. Everything in me tells me to turn around and run, but the fucked-up part of me keeps moving forward, refusing to give in.
“What’s your poison?” he questions when he has me out of the view of others.
“I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
He produces a syringe. “This shit will knock you off your feet.”
My stomach instantly coils. “Is that he—heroin?”
He nods, his smile pulling evilly. “Hell’s dust, smack, call it what you want. If you need a release, this shit will get you high as fuck.”
“How much?”
“For you, baby, five hundred.”
Instantly, I feel sick. “All I have is a hundred.”
He puts the syringe back in his pocket. “A gram is five hundred.”
“Is there anything else you’ll take for payment?” I ask reluctantly.
His eyes light up, the brown hues looking almost as dirty as his face. He’d be attractive if he wasn’t dressed like a bum. But maybe that’s his cover? Pretending to look like just another vagrant on the street so it’s easier to blend in.
“What are we talking about here?” He licks his lips.
I tug at my shirt, instantly regretting the words before they escape my tongue. “I’ll give you my hundred, and you can do whatever you want with me.”
“Whatever I want?”
I nod. “I just need something to make me forget.”
He scrubs at his jaw. “I have been looking for a business partner. A pretty girl like you could fetch me quite some change on the streets.”
I gasp. “Are you asking me to become your hooker?”
He laughs. “Relax, baby. I’ll ease you into it.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
His smile fades. “Then don’t fucking waste my time. If you don’t got the money, get the fuck out of here.”
My brain screams for me to leave, but my body betrays me. I stay like an idiot.
“Okay, what exactly do you need me to do?”
He smirks. “Well, I got to test out the merchandise first, and see how worth it you are.” He motions to a doorway to his left. “Follow me.”
My body moves without any hesitation. He leads me through a door, then into a small room lit by one of those camp lanterns. There is a box spring covered with a thin, flimsy mattress set on the floor, that’s littered with needles and other nefarious things.
“You sure you want to do this, sweetheart?”
My head nods before I can stop it.
“Well, let’s get you high first. Don’t want you screaming rape on me or some bullshit. My name’s Jericho, by the way.”
“Poppy.”
He smirks. “I like the name.”
“I don’t,” I whisper, eyes widening when he pulls out the syringe again.
“Sit down and give me your arm.”
“Is that needle sanitary?”
He laughs. “Does it honestly matter?”
To a drug addict… no. But to me…
“I guess not.”
“Good, now give me your arm.”
I can’t even look. Not when he ties the rubber band around my arm. Not even when the sting of the needle sinks into my vein. I block it all out, refusing to look. Refusing to recognize what I’m doing by giving it life.
It only takes a few minutes for the numbness to soak in. Then the euphoria follows, my lust building.
“Damn, that’s nice.”
Jericho grins, shooting himself up with the same needle. “The high is what gets me every time.”
“Now, about payment?”
I hand him the hundred in my pocket, which he greedily takes, before making his move, boxing me onto the mattress, so I’m positioned underneath him.
His lips feel like sandpaper as they cover mine. The stench coming off him is revolting, his hands leaving little smudge marks on my skin as he starts touching things he shouldn’t.
But I block that out too.
I block everything out.
Even when my clothes are stripped off and I’m laid back down on his bed, I let the high take over, refusing to wake up from this nightmare and realize it’s real.