Page 52 of The Beginning and End of Everything
Brandon places a hand over the tattoo and scowls at me. "Don't start."
I realize, instead of two rat tattoos, there is now only one. My chest tightens, but I fight against it and manage, "It's a rat,” hoping to pick a fight and change the somber mood that’s settled between us.
"It's a possum," he says and shoulders past me on his way to the kitchen.
With his back to me, I notice the raised scar that zigzags along his side. A multitude of tiny blemishes accompany that one.Shrapnel.He disappears into the kitchen, and I sink back against the cushion, closing my eyes and trying not to think of Connor.
Cabinets open and shut, and Brandon comes back, shoveling dry Coco Pops into his mouth. "Why does my flat look like Mary fuckin' Poppins has been in here?"
"Because it was disgusting. I'm worried I've caught something from sitting in here for too long."
He cocks a brow and smirks before sticking his hand back into the cereal box. "You might from that couch."
“That cereal is crap. You need better than that for breakfast, Brandon.”
He frowns. "Don't you have a life or something?"
The sad thing is, no, I don't. Not without Connor. Not without Brandon.
"You should go home, Poppy. This is no place for you."
I take a breath and let the shame drown me. "They'll have repossessed the house by the time I get back."
He crouches in front of me, and I nearly jump when his knuckles trail across my cheek. My gaze meets his, and there’s nothing but pain.
"It's not that I don't wantyou," he whispers. "I just can’t handle the memories. We were happy once, and now—look at us. We're nothing more than empty shells. You remind me of everything I've lost, and every time I look at you, it breaks me all over again."
My gaze drops to the floor, then his fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Did you hear me?” he says. “It's not that I don't want you."
His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, and I cling to him. I cling to the familiar safety I thought I’d lost.
"You can stay here. I'll sleep on the sofa," Brandon murmurs, his warm breath blowing through the strands of my hair. "But, you can't be throwing my Coco Pops away."
30
Brandon
Ihold the lighter to the small glass pipe until the green ignites in the bowl and fizzles to embers. The pungent smoke fills my lungs, and I can feel Poppy's judgment from across the room—I ignore her.
“Really, Brandon?” She huffs. “Weed?”
I hold the smoldering pipe out towards her. "Want some?"
"No."
There's a moment of silence while I take another drag. I wait desperately for that numb feeling to kick in. "This will make you forgetallyour troubles," I offer.
She shakes her head, and, for a split second, a hint of shame crosses my mind, but I quickly brush it off. Poppy always did have this way of making me feel guilty. But in the grand scheme of things, smoking weed ranks pretty low on my guilt scale. And that’s exactly why I do it, to try to forget all that shit.
I'm blissfully numb when the front door clicks open, and Kyan, one of the guys from the fight ring, walks in. I frown at him. "You could knock, prick."
His dirty-blond hair is dragged into a haphazard man bun, and his eyes are bloodshot. I'd put money on the fact that he rolled out of bed sometime in the last half hour.
"You're normally too pissed to get up and answer, so why bother?" His eyes stray to the burning pipe, and he holds his hand out.
I pass it to him, and heavily tattooed fingers clasp the glass as he brings it to his lips. Poppy makes some noise in the kitchen, and his gaze darts across the room, sliding over her body.
He coughs, waving the smoke away from his face. "Well, hello there." He stares at her with all the subtlety of a brick.
