“What?” He looked almost sheepish and Poppy started to become slightly self-conscious. “What, Blake?”
“You sleep okay?” He sounded concerned.
It was her turn to look sheepish. “You heard.” Poppy didn’t phrase it as a question. Clearing her throat, she went to the bed and sat on the edge. Her feet were suddenly extremely interesting.
The bed dipped beside her, but she didn’t look up. One night and she had already probably freaked him out. Who wanted to live with someone who had nightmares that caused them to scream out, sometimes waking a whole houseful of people?
“I’m really sorry.”
A finger under her chin lifted her face until she stared into his hazel eyes. “Why are you sorry?” Blake let his finger drop away but continued to stare at her. “Like you can help it? I’m more concerned with how you’re doing.”
Poppy licked her lips and looked down for a suspended moment before lifting her eyes back to his. “The nightmares used to be really bad, a nightly occurrence, but with time, they’ve gotten better. I’ve gone weeks without them, but then they come out of nowhere.” This was one of the few things she hadn’t talked with Blake about. Honestly, Poppy had been a little embarrassed. On top of everything else that happened, she had the same reoccurring nightmare, one that had her screaming out and waking in a cold sweat.
“You never told me about those.” He took her hand in his, his eyes portraying his concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yes and no.” Poppy stayed silent for a moment.
“I dream of the accident. It’s always the same and so vivid in detail.” She closed her eyes, trying to purge herself of the memory of her dream, of her reality. The gentle sweep of his thumb across the back of her hand went a long way in soothing her inner turmoil. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the details of the accident. Both of their families knew, but it wasn’t the same, not when she had been in the middle of it all. Painful memories invaded her, and she closed her eyes tighter.
“Talk to me, Poppy.” His words urged her. “I know it’s hard, but isn’t that why you came out here, to help yourself heal? I bet you haven’t really discussed your feelings with anyone, not even that psychologist you saw.”
She opened her eyes and looked into his. Blake was right, of course.
Poppy may have spoken to a professional after the accident, but she hadn’t been fully able to unload her problems, not like she wanted to. Even years later, the accident was still fresh in her mind. The sights and smells of the carnage that surrounded her were ingrained inside her.
“Is me telling you the horror of my dreams really going to help anything?” She didn’t ask to be cynical or untrustworthy of Blake’s attempts to help her. She simply spoke the truth.
“Yes, Poppy, I do think it’ll help, but I won’t push you.” His eyes were a warm green-brown that had her wanting to open up to him.
Looking out the French doors at the swirling snow, Poppy told him about the crash, about her dream.
The sound of glass breaking and metal bending was so unbelievably loud it encompassed Poppy. Pain registered at her temple as soon as her head struck the passenger side window. Flashes of black and brightness danced before her eyes. The metallic flavor of blood filled her mouth in a gush, and she gagged as it slid down her throat.
The world felt strange, off-kilter. Blinking rapidly, Poppy’s vision cleared enough that she realized she was suspended in the air. The only thing holding her was the seatbelt that dug into her throat, partially cutting off her airway like a tight noose intent on taking her life.
Harsh, violent gusts of wind whipped by her, and she turned her head. Jagged shards of glass from the passenger side window filled her vision. Something warm and wet made a slow but steady track down her forehead. The wetness started to drip from her nose and into her eyes, and she lifted her hand, trying to wipe it away. But her arm wouldn’t move. Panic seized her chest, and her heart pounded strong and hard behind her sternum.
“Jon.” Her voice sounded hoarse, scratchy. Poppy cleared it and called out again. “Jon.” There was still no answer. Her neck hurt, and she still couldn’t get her arm to move.
Poppy turned her head to the left, and a tortured sob left her. “Jon?” Hot tears sprang to her eyes. “No, please, God, no.” She tried to reach out, but her fucking arm wouldn’t move. Poppy looked and saw the flash of white protruding from her forearm.
Poppy screamed. Loud, gut-wrenching sounds left her, and she prayed someone heard her, prayed someone came to help. She tried to use her right arm to unlatch her seat belt, but every move she made sent agony throughout her entire body. “Jon, please, wake up.” Blood covered her hand and made her actions slick and sticky. A rolling wave of pain stole her breath. Poppy cried out.