She looked up when he arrived, ignoring the aching in her limbs. She had dark circles under her eyes, but she seemed to be trying to appear cheerful. "Hey, Francis," she said easily. She slid the hand across the table to him. "Here's the final result."
She frowned, realizing that perhaps her performance hadn't been very convincing. "I'm fine," she replied. "Why do you ask?"
She pursed her lips, staring at him thoughtfully. "Everything's fine," she said, dropping her gaze. "It's all fine."
She pursed her lips and started down at her lap. When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper, as if she would cry if she spoke too loudly. "Please don't push this," she murmured. "Okay?"
When the bell rang, Poppy packed up as quickly as she could and left the room, turning the corner to head down the hallway.
Poppy turned down an empty hallway, and leaned against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. She sat there for a couple moments before pulling up the sleeve of her shirt to look down at the deep, mottled fingerprint bruises that trailed all the way up her arm. She inhaled deeply before pulling the sleeve down again and closed her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her eyelids.
Francis didn't bother to look for, as he respected privacy and could see that she didn't want to be disturbed as she left.
(Time skip!) Poppy merged lanes and checked the rearview mirror for what felt like the 50th time that hour.
A message would bee on her phone, and once she checked, she would see it was Francis. "Are yoiu okay?"
