“Are you still covered?” “Yes. I’m careful, Poppy,” he said without hesitation, gathering up our clothing and my boots. “I wouldn’t risk a child.” Between us. He hadn’t said that, but it hung in the air nonetheless. And there was another odd, irrational bite. One which made no sense because of the idea of having a child with anyone was more terrifying than finding an actual creature with fins for legs and tails for arms under my bed. There was something obviously wrong with me because it still hurt. Because what was real to him wasn’t the same for me.
