Page 81 of The Beginning and End of Everything
“Don’t pretend this place isn’t a shithole.” I watch her expression intently.
Honestly, I'm nervous. Poppy living here is, well, a friend helping a friend, I guess. Only we're not just friends anymore. Still, I'm basically making it official without even asking her.
Her eyes haven't moved away from the key in her hand. "Ourflat?"
"Yep." I go for casual, attempting to hide my anxiety. "Unless you....you know, if you were planning on getting your own place." I shrug. "I could do with a new place anyway."
"No, it's great. It's really sweet of you."
I hiss a breath through my teeth. "Sweet?”
“My only place is with you, Brandon, and you know it."
"Good.” I press my lips to the side of her neck “We move tomorrow."
She pulls back, eyes locking with mine. "How much deposit did you have to put down?"
"Six months’ rent," I say, warily.
"How much is the rent?"
“Poss, I make more money off one fight than most people make in a month. Don’t worry."
"It's not the money, well, I mean it is, but it’s not that." Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. "You’re not the same person after a fight. And I don't know how much longer you can…” she trails off, dropping her gaze to the worn carpet.
"How much longer I can what?” My heart rate ticks up. “Deal with your fucked-up fella?" I clench my fists as a wave of anger washes over me. Anyone but her. It can come out around anyone, but not Poppy.
She hesitates, and I can tell there's something she is tiptoeing around. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."
“What do you expect me to do, Poppy? I fight, and I make money. How is it any worse than getting paid to shoot people in a war zone?" It's the only thing I'm good for, the only thing I'm goodat. I still have enough pride to earn money and pay my way, even if itisthe pikey way.
"You’re stillina warzone. And that's what scares me."
"I know. Trust me, I damn well know. But there's not a lot of opportunities for an AWOL soldier now, is there?"
Her head drops forward, sending hair spilling over her face. "I hate that you ever went into the army. Hate it."
"Can't change it. All I can do is survive." I get up and walk out of the room because I need a minute. This was supposed to be a good day. This was supposed to be a moment for us, something that would cement Poppy in my life more permanently. Now, it just feels like she’ll up and leave at any moment. That she doesn’t want to be permanent.
I go to the kitchen, and my hand lingers over the handle of the whiskey cupboard. After a solid thirty seconds of going back and forth in my head, I finally drop my hand and walk away, picking up my fingerless gloves. I take to the bag that's hanging in the corner. The heavy chain creaks against the ceiling hook each time my fist connects with the worn, bloodstained canvas.
"Brandon."
I pause and feel Poppy’s finger graze my sides. Her palms slide over my bare stomach before her cheek presses against my back. I grip the bag and rest my forehead against it, breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "And thank you."
I cover her hand with my own before turning to face her. Her arms fall to her sides. "I just want you to be happy." I sweep her hair behind her ear.
"And that's the sweetest thing you've ever said."
"How about, I love you?"
She smiles. "That goes without saying, now, doesn't it?"
"Getting cocky." I pull her close before kissing her to show just how much.
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