Tied (All Torn Up 2)

The bad man would step on my books, leaving his smudged shoe prints on the white pages that I loved so much. He’d pick them up and hold them behind his back, taunting me until I knelt, and obeyed. And I did. I choked, and I cried, and I begged until it was over and my books were given back to me.

“Fairy tales don’t come true, little girl,” he’d say, zipping his pants. “No matter how many times you read them.”

“It’s not true, Poppy,” I whisper, shivering against the cold breeze. Dead people should stay dead, especially the bad ones. But they don’t. They keep living in our heads and come out whenever they want to keep hurting us. I know Tyler tried, but he didn’t kill the bad man. He’s still here, torturing me, even from the grave. I won’t let him win. And I won’t give up on Tyler.

The secret to fairy tales is believing in them. That’s what makes them come true.

“Where did you get a dog from?” the taxi driver asks sharply, peering over her shoulder, when I climb into the back seat.

“It’s my dog. A friend was watching him for me.” I settle Poppy on my lap. “Is it okay for him to be in the car?”

“Usually I’d rather not, but I guess it’s okay,” she frowns. “He seems well behaved, and he’s tiny. I wouldn’t want some huge-ass dog back there.”

“He’s very well behaved. Is there a pet store we could stop at on the way back to my apartment? I need to get him a few things. It won’t take long, I promise.”

She shrugs. “Sure thing, honey.” I wonder if she thinks I’m crazy. She knows the place she picks me up and drops me off at is a recovery facility, and with this being such a small town, I’m sure everyone knows what kind of people live at Merryfield.

When Poppy and I lived in the basement, all he had was a food and water dish, which is about the same as I had. He never had any toys, bones, or doggy beds to sleep on. He went potty on the floor, and I would have to clean it up with paper towels and put it in a bucket until the man came and threw it away. Sometimes the smell would be horrible, but I loved the company of the dog so much I didn’t mind.

I pet his head absently as I stare out the window, making a mental list of things I will need to buy at the pet store. Finally, the money my father sends me is going to some use. “Get yourself something nice,” his card always says. I hope dog supplies fall into that category.

After a quick stop at the local pet store, the taxi driver expertly navigates through the afternoon traffic and pulls in front of my apartment unit at Merryfield.

Poppy whines in my arms and licks my chin as I grab my bags, thank and pay the driver, and walk up the small walkway to my and Feather’s apartment. Because we’re considered residents now, we have a private apartment with a separate doorway that leads outside. When I was just a patient here, I had a much smaller shared space in the main building, like a hospital room, with a door opening into the main hallway so the staff could monitor us.

Feather is draped across the couch, engrossed in a phone call, when I walk in. She does a double take when she sees me, bolts up, and tells the person on the phone that she’ll call them back.

“You got a dog?” she asks incredulously.

“No…I found my dog. This is Poppy. Remember I told you about him?” I ask excitedly.

She eyes me suspiciously. “Okay…how exactly did you find your dog? I thought you went for your usual walk?” Her tone is laced with disbelief like she thinks I’ve possibly lost my mind.

“I was looking for the Forest Santa, and I found him in the woods. The man who saved me had him. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him! Poppy, I mean. And the Forest Santa! He’s the guy, Feather, my prince! He didn’t talk to me, but seeing him again was so unbelievable.”

Her eyes go bigger, and she shakes her head really fast.”Wait…what? Slow down a little, because I’m lost. You were looking for what?”

Sighing with impatience, I put Poppy down on the floor, and he runs over to sniff Feather’s feet. She leans down to pet him, and he licks her hand, making me smile. Even after everything he’s been through, he’s always been a friendly dog.

“The girl at the store where I bought the Christmas photos said there’s a legend that a man they call Forest Santa decorates them.”

She nods. “Okay, yeah. I think I’ve heard of that before, when I was younger.”