Page 69 of The Beginning and End of Everything
"Can you… " I hesitate. It’s not wrong, I tell myself. I have to live. "Come lay in here for a little while?"
He inhales—hard—like he’s contemplating, then he tilts his head back. I expect a groan to follow, but it never does. Just silence.
His head lowers. "Whatare we doing, Poppy?"
I wish I had an answer for that. "I don't know.” My words are barely a whisper and more like a plea.
He props his arms against the frame, and the movement pulls his shirt tight across his thick chest. Despite how hard I try, I can’t seem to drag my eyes away from him.
"You don't want me sleeping with you, poss.”
"Please?"
There's a beat of silence before he steps into the room. A fissure of unease crawls through my stomach when he strips out of his shirt, the lies on top of the comforter. Spreading his arms wide, he pulls me against his chest, and I go willingly, breathing in everything that is Brandon.
"Just for a little while," he whispers into my hair.
"Just for a little while."
This isn't complicated. It's simple need—the need to have someone. To be loved, even in the most complicated of ways.
40
Brandon
All I can hear around me is the thunder of gunfire, the snap of bullets cracking through the air and a hoarse cry beside me. I glance to my left just as another soldier hits the ground, clutching his thigh. Blood wells around the soldier’s fingers as he grits his teeth, throwing his head back against the mound of mud we're using for cover. I drop my weapon and try to quiet my pounding heart as I struggle to breathe. As my focus returns, I hear someone nearby radioing for air support, and I manage to tie a tourniquet around the top of Serg's thigh. Once it's secure, I pop up with my gun in tow, staring down the sights of my rifle. A small cluster of buildings sits about a hundred yards away, and it's there that the enemy is taking cover. We're firing blind and hoping something hits.
The rumble of the jet on the horizon can be heard long before I see it. And it's then that I see a woman dart out of a house, a child clutched in her arms. She ducks behind a building, but I already know it's too late for her.
The sound of the pilot's voice crackles over the radio, and then the jet splits the air overhead at the exact time as the entire area erupts into a ball of fire. I drop down beside Serg just as the heatwave ripples overhead. And then there's nothing—just the sound of fire and destruction…and the screaming inside my own mind.
I gasp awake, sitting bolt upright as I drag air into my lungs. It takes me a second to focus my vision, but when I do, I find Poppy, sitting up, huddled on the edge of the mattress, staring at me. My pulse clangs against my eardrums, my muscles tremble under false stress, and a shiver works over my damp skin.
"You okay?"
I give a jerky nod, then swipe a hand through my sweat-dampened hair. And I wait, terrified to ask, "Did I hurt you?" I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper. All I can think about is the first night she found me when I woke up with my arm across her throat.
"No." She pauses. "But, you scared me." A stray piece of hair falls in front of her face when her head tips forward, and I catch myself wanting to push the strand behind her ear.
We sit in silence, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to shake away the last remnants of the dream.
"Brandon." Her fingertips brush my jaw, and I open my eyes to find her in front of me on her knees. The street light outside streams through the window, casting an orange glow over her face. A small line sinks between her brows as her eyes search mine. "Come here.”
She lies back on the bed, taking me with her until my head is resting on her stomach. "It's okay," she whispers, and the softness of her voice makes me want to believe her.
I want to believe that there will be an end to this, that eventually, I will be able to stop reliving the same thing every night.
"Do you remember that time when we went shrimping in the harbor and I fell in?"
I laugh. "Yeah."
She fell off the old jetty because the wood was rotted. Honestly, it was past midnight and dangerous as hell, but we were fourteen. We didn't care. The water was pitch black, and Jesus, she screamed when she went in. I thought she was hurt until she started shrieking that the shrimp were going to get her. Connor and I laughed so hard we couldn't even help her out of the water, and my God was she savage.
"You always rescued me when I needed it." Her fingers rake through my hair, that familiar touch so soothing it forces my eyes closed.
This is what Poppy does, she comforts and soothes. She takes in little birds with broken wings and tries to fix them, and when she can't, she cries.
And I hate it when she cries, so for a moment, I'll pretend that she can fix me, that she can make me fly again, even though we both know she can't.
