Page 64 of Under the Waves
“Sweet dreams, Poppy.”
As my bedroom door closed, my eyes shot open.
My legs carried me to the shower, almost on instinct alone.
I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until I felt even the littlest bit cleaner.
As I scrambled back into bed, clutching the sleeves of my red Marvel hoodie to my chest, the tears I’d fought so hard to hold back began dropping from the corners of my eyes one by one.
Taking my notebook out from underneath my pillow, I fell into the comforting grasp of my imagination as I started to scribble down tonight’s new story.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who grew up just wanting to be loved…
The details of the story flooded from my mind and onto the paper, ink bleeding across my skin and smudging across the pages. That little girl was brave and courageous and resilient in every way. She fought and survivedevery battle thrown her way.
She waseverythingI was not.
My body disgusted me.
I was repulsed every time I looked in the mirror.
But, in my stories, I could be whoever Iwantedto be.
Little Romanoff. Little survivor.
A superhero.
An exiled princess.
A girl whose parents loved and adored her like she was the brightest star in their universe.
My restless mind buzzed as I wrote, the anxiety that flooded my veins from before was almost an extinguished flame.
I didn’t sleep at all for the rest of the night.
My eyes squeezed shut on their own accord, forcing the childhood memory away.
I held my breath.
Counted to ten.
Stepped inside that house.
Andbreathed.
23
Poppy Wells
“Where have you been, you little slut?”
The slurred voice of my mother echoed through the darkness, woven between the creaks of the wooden floorboards and entwined through the shadows of the family that used to flourish here.
The house wreaked of alcohol and smoke. A scent that used to make me gag but now just served as a reminder of just how much I was trapped here.
I tentatively closed the door behind me and tucked off my shoes by the old, worn-out doormat that was coming undone, thread by thread. My eyes stayed low to the ground as I navigated my way to the kitchen counters, taking out a bowl just as her voice grew closer.
“I’m talking to you, missy! I can’t have yourunning around town like a whore. People thinking I madethat—” her eyes surveyed me in disgust. “Such an embarrassment,” she tutted, disappointingly. “And what do you think you’re doing? Eating all the cereal like a pig. Honestly, Poppy, I thought you wanted to win.”