A thousand Boy Kisses

Poppymin.
Rune’s perfect name for me.
My Poppy.
His girl.
For infinity.
Forever always.
A lump clawed its rapid way up my throat as that sweet word sailed into my
ears, piercing my soul. I tried in earnest to chase it down to join the rest of the
pain of the last two years, but overpowered and totally defeated, I could not, and
a long-caged sob slipped out.
With Rune so close, I never stood a chance.
As the loud cry escaped my lips, Rune’s eyes lost their coldness and softened
to shine with unshed tears. His head tipped forward, and he pressed his forehead
to mine, bringing his fingers down to press over my lips.
I breathed.
He breathed.
And, against my better judgment, I let myself pretend that the last two years

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had never happened. I let myself pretend that he hadn’t moved away. That I
hadn’t had to move too. That all the pain and the suffering had never been felt.
And the bottomless black void that had replaced my heart was filled with light—
the brightest light possible.
Rune’s love. His touch and his kisses.
But this wasn’t our reality. Someone banged at the laundry room door, and
reality came crashing back, like a storm-whipped wave dropping on to a rain-
lashed beach.
“Rune? Are you in there?” a female voice called, a voice I recognized as
Avery’s.
Rune’s eyes flew open as Avery’s knocking grew louder. He immediately drew
back, watching me. Lifting my hand, I wiped at my tears. “Please … just let me
go.”
I tried to sound confident. I wanted to say more. But I had nothing left within
me. No strength to keep up this pretense.
I was hurt.
It was written on my face for all to see.
Placing my hand on Rune’s hard chest, I pushed him away, needing to get out.
He let me move him from my path, only to grip my hand in his just before I
reached the door. I closed my eyes, trying to gather the strength to turn to him
again. When I did, more tears fell.
Rune was staring at our joined hands, his long dark-blond lashes almost black
with restrained tears.
“Rune,” I whispered. His eyes snapped up at the sound of my voice. “Please,” I
begged, as Avery knocked again.
He held on tighter.
“Rune?” Avery called, louder. “I know you’re in there.”
I took a step closer to Rune. He watched my every move with a deep intensity.
As I reached his chest, I looked up, allowing his hand to keep its hold on mine. I
met his eyes, recognizing the confusion on his face, and lifted up onto my

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tiptoes.
I brought my free hand to his mouth and ran the pads of my fingers over his
full bottom lip. I smiled with sadness, remembering how they felt pressed
against mine. I traced his defined cupid’s bow, letting the tears fall as I said, “It
killed me when I cut you off, Rune. It killed me not knowing what you were
doing on the other side of the Atlantic.” I inhaled shakily. “But nothing has ever
hurt me like seeing you kiss that girl.”
Rune paled, his cheeks becoming ashen. I shook my head. “I have no right to
be jealous. This is all my fault. Everything, I know that. Yet I’m so jealous, so
hurt, that I feel like I could die from this pain.” I lowered my hand from his
mouth. Looking up at him, begging with my eyes, I added, “So, please … please
let me go. I can’t be here, not right now.”
Rune didn’t move. I could see the shock on his face. Using this to my
advantage, I pulled my hand from his and immediately unlocked the door.
Without looking back or taking time to pause, I burst through, pushing past
Avery who was waiting, angrily, in the hallway.
And I ran. I ran past Ruby and Jorie, past Deacon and Judson, who had all
gathered in the hallway to watch the unfolding drama. I ran through the many
students drunk on their feet. I ran until I burst out the door into the cool night air.
And then I ran again. I simply ran as fast as I could, as far away from Rune as I
could manage.
“Rune!” I heard a high-pitched voice shrill in the distance, followed by a male
voice, which added, “Where’re you going, man? Rune!” But I didn’t let it deter
me. Taking a sharp right, I saw the entrance to the park. It was dark, and the park
wasn’t well-lit, but it was the shortcut home.
Right now I’d give anything to be home.
The gate was open. I let my feet lead the way over the dark tree-lined path,
carrying me deeper into the center of the park.
My breathing was labored. My feet hurt as the soles pounded the hard asphalt
through my ballet flats. I turned left, heading for the blossom grove, when I

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heard footsteps behind me.
Suddenly frightened, I turned my head. Rune was sprinting after me. My heart
raced faster, but this time it had nothing to do with exertion, and everything to
do with that look of determination on Rune’s face. Rapidly, Rune was gaining
on me.
I ran for a few more yards, then I realized it was no use. As I entered the
blossom grove, a place I knew so well—a place he knew so well—I slowed to a
walk, finally bringing myself to a complete stop.
A moment later, I heard Rune enter the grove of empty trees. I heard his hard
breath hammering the cool air.
I felt him move behind me.
Slowly, I spun on my heel and faced Rune. Both hands were in his hair,
gripping the strands. His blue eyes were haunted, tortured. The air around us
crackled with tension as we stared at one another, in silence, chests heaving,
cheeks flushed.
Then Rune’s gaze dropped to my lips and he inched forward. He took two steps
and bit out a single, harsh question: “Why?”
He ground his teeth together as he waited for my answer. I dropped my gaze,
tears filling my eyes. I shook my head, and begged, “Please … don’t…”
Rune ran his hand down his face. That stubborn expression I knew so well
spread across his features. “No! God, Poppy. Why? Why did you do it?”
I was momentarily distracted by the thickness of his accent, a raspier husk in
his already low, graveled voice. As a child, over the years here his Norwegian
accent had diminished some. But now, his English was overlain by a heavy
Nordic edge. It reminded me of the day we met outside his house, aged five.
But as I saw his face redden with anger, I was quickly reminded that right now
that didn’t matter. We weren’t five anymore. Nothing was innocent. Too much
had happened.
And I still couldn’t tell him.
“Poppy,” he insisted, his voice rising in volume, as he stepped even closer.

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“Why the hell did you do it? Why did you never call me back? Why did you all
move? Where the hell have you been? What the hell happened?”
Rune began to pace, his muscles bunching under his t-shirt. A cold wind blew
through the grove and he raked back his hair. Stopping dead, he faced me and
spat out, “You promised. You promised me that you’d wait for me to come back.
Everything was fine, until one day I called and you didn’t answer. I called and I
called, but you never replied. Not a text, nothing!”
He moved until his booted feet were right against mine, towering over me.
“Tell me! Tell me right now.” His skin was mottled with the redness born of his
anger. “I deserve to goddamn know!”
I flinched at the aggression in his voice. Flinched at the venom in his words.
Flinched at the stranger standing before me.
The old Rune would never have spoken to me like this. But then I reminded
myself this wasn’t the Rune of old.
“I-I can’t,” I stuttered, barely above a whisper. Lifting my eyes, I saw the
incredulous look on his face. “Please, Rune,” I begged, “Don’t push this. Just
leave it.” I swallowed, then forced myself to say, “Leave us … leave us in the
past. We should move on.”
Rune’s head snapped back as though I had punched him.
Then he laughed. He laughed, but the sound held no humor. It was laced with
fury, coated with rage.
Rune stepped one pace backward. His hands shook at his sides and he laughed
one more time. Icily, he demanded, “Tell me.”
I shook my head, trying to protest. He lifted his hands to his hair in frustration.
“Tell me,” he repeated. His voice had lowered an octave and radiated menace.
This time I didn’t shake my head. Sadness had rendered me motionless.
Sadness at seeing Rune like this. He was always quiet and withdrawn. His
mamma had told me on more than one occasion that Rune had always been a
sullen child. She had always feared he would give her trouble. She had told me
that his innate predisposition had been to snap at people and to keep himself to

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himself. Even as a child she noticed an air of moodiness about him, his
inclination to be negative instead of positive.