Page 19 of For Fillies and Monsters

“Yes.” It’s a simple admission, but one I hate all the same. Poppies were my mother’s favorite, hernamesake, as she always told me growing up. We planted poppies outside the one spring I lived here, and I had picked them off our previous neighbor’s lawn every summer before that. They were a symbol of her, and her life and love.

And the life and love she had abandoned.

Poppies are a viscous, complicated, beautiful symbol to me. And I hate anyone knowing that fact—that weakness.Dale clears her throat, and I look over at her, my heart a thrumming roar in my ears.

“Do you want me to call the cops? This feels pretty personal and a bit threatening. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” There is kindness in her words, soft and loving. Kindness I don’t deserve.

Because no, I don’t know who could have brought me the flowers, or who could know those very painful details about my life, but I also am not scared. I’m aroused, and that’s the scariest part of all.

I try to dispel the very real and unwanted thoughts from my head with a shake.

Blowing out through my lips again, I force myself to look into Dale’s dark eyes. She’s looking at me like I’ve gone crazy, which, let’s be honest—I have. Her eyes, dark and rounded, ping around my face, searching. And I want to hide—hide from what she might see there, or more so, what she doesn’t see there.

“Girl, what is going on? I would be freaking out.”

“It’s just flowers.” Feeling scolded, I can’t manage more than a whisper. I don’t want Dale to hate me, to think me fucked up and gross.

“And a rather threatening note,” Dale counters, picking the small folded piece off the counter and waving it around.

I shrug,yes, and no. Not if you’re into being chased, controlled, dominated, and degraded. And as fucked up as it is, I am into those things—really into them.

But how can I explain that to Dale? How can I make her see that the fucked up things I like in the bedroom don’t affect who I am? They don’t change the kind of friend I will be.

“Dale, I…” I close my eyes, taking in a shaky breath. It’s now ornever, and I promised myself years ago that I would stop hiding from the people I care about.And fuck, I care about Dale.

I peek out from between my fingers, still at a loss for the right words. A bark of laughter rips from my lips, a mix of anxiety and relief flooding through my veins. Dale looks back at me, a smile, bordering on unhinged, consuming her face. Both of her small hands rest on her hips, and I note how feral she looks at this moment—a crazed animal.

“You dirty slut. You like this shit! Do you know who this is? Is this like some kind of role-play? You do have a type! Who is it?” She throws her head back, a cackle ripping through the cool air. “Is he upstairs right now, naked and waiting for you?”

I rub my face with sweat and dirt-covered hands, hoping the darkness will swallow me whole. I’m embarrassed, the evidence of that climbing up my sun-kissed neck, but I also can’t fight the smile stealing across my face. I shove my dirty fist against my mouth, smothering a laugh.

This is crazy, absurd even. How can Dale be so loving, so accepting? How can she see me, understand me, and still be okay with it? I have been wrestling with this part of myself for years and I still have not accepted it—not fully, anyway.

I shake my head, my braid swishing with the movement.

“No, Dale. No one is upstairs. At least, I hope not. I don’t know who the note is from, but,” I shrug, trying to be authentic without putting too much of myself on the line, “it makes me a little nervous.”

Dale’s fingers punch into my chest, and she barks a laugh.

“And a little turned on. You dirty, dirty girl.”

I look at Dale, really look at her, and try to pick apart what she’s thinking.How is this making her feel about me?Does she hate me yet? To my surprise, I find only mischief andwarmth.

Acceptance.

“What? I don’t judge you. I might be concerned for your safety, but I’d never judge. We all have our things.” Dale winks at me and turns back to the flowers. Her words seem genuine but also hold a note of something else. Maybe reservation? I look back at my friend and wonder what her things are. I should ask her. I should offer the same kindness and acceptance, the same readily available love and advice. Dale has always been so quiet about that part of herself, but maybe she just needs someone she trusts to show interest. I want to be that for her. As I’m opening my mouth to pelt her with my own interrogation, she speaks again.

“What are you going to do with them?” Her fingers absently run over the petals, clearly lost in her thoughts.

“Admire them, I guess.” I sigh, stepping closer to her. I will also be looking over my shoulder at every turn, both fearing and hoping to find a hot boogie man behind me.

I inwardly groan.So fucked up, Stetson.What the fuck is wrong with me?

God! I am going to be living in a constant state of fear and horniness. I barely sleep as it is, and now with this?

“Think whoever it is will come back?” Dale says it teasingly, but I know we are both thinking that this might not be so funny. Not deep down. Not if we were normal.

“If they ever even left.” My eyes roam over the kitchen again for any sign of movement. There is none, just like I expected. But that feeling of being watched still hasn’t lifted, and now, I kind of don’t want it to.

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