Where the Ivy Hides Page 2

  “We’re not hooking up. We’re dancing.” I cut my halfhearted glare from Ryker and divert my attention to Coach White. “Are we in trouble, Coach White? The punk said it wasn’t us who,” I add air quotes for effect, “stole his wallet.”

  “No, ma’am. No one’s in trouble, not yet anyway. But you two will cut it out. No front to front contact while dancing,” He turns, scanning over the crowd of students before finishing, “Oh, and Miss Ivy, your gym has clean-up class duty turn after the dance. And you officially are assigned trash duty. I better see you here.” He points to the gym floor and stalks away.

  “Yes, sir,” I mutter at his back just before Jaci comes dancing towards us.

  “Who’s coming with us to Delilah’s?! Her parents are out of town, well they’re alcoholics AND they’re out of town, which is perfect! So who’s coming?”

  Jaci, Delilah, and half the varsity cheerleaders scream and cheer, and immediately I feel my defenses pull up as awkwardness possesses and destroys my earlier swagger. “Can’t, I have duty turn, but I may swing by when I finish.”

  “Cool!” I swear, they all say it in unison, and I’m this close to gagging by the time Reese and I extricate ourselves from their inner circle.

  “Hey, you want me to wait on you?” Reese asks.

  “Nah. You go ahead. If I’m not here too late, I’ll catch up with y’all later at Delilah’s.”

  His smirk is absolutely adorable.

  “You sure?” I nod and hug my best friend’s neck. “Sorry about earlier. I guess now you know my reaction to hot girls.” He shrugs. “Pretend it never happened? For me?”

  Smiling, I seal it with an Eskimo kiss. “Pretend what never happened?”

  After the dance is over and everyone is gone, I’m the last one to leave once my gym classmates and I finish clean-up. I step outside and drop the trash bags to the ground before fumbling with my lighter to light my cigarette while muttering random cuss words. “Shit.” I continue to fumble the stuck Bic. “Fuck.” And after investigating it closely more curse words fall when I declare it nonfunctioning. “Ass. Damn. Seriously you piece of shit lighter?”

  “Don’t be mad at the lighter, it’s rarely the inanimate object at fault, love.”

  Before I smart off again, Ryker’s lit my cigarette and grabbed both trash bags, tossing them into the dumpster behind the gym. “Thanks. I guess.” I say as I awkwardly follow behind him.

  “I’d do a lot more, if you’d let me. Ya know it, hon?” He smiles before handing me a helmet. “Let me take you home?” Something unlike anything I have ever felt causes the insane thought to flash in my mind…

  When in the hell did idiot boy Ryker David Killian get so tall, and where oh where did he find those dreamy dark blue eyes?

  “I guess… Oh, and thanks...by the way…In case I forget, but just don't forget, Ryker Killian. You cannot catch what doesn't want to be caught." I huff, humiliated, "Can we just go?”

  Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God. Oh. My God, please let the ground swallow me whole, now. Right this second.

  “Come on, baby girl.” His voice is thick and husky, “Let’s getcha home, yeah?” I swear the stars sparkle in his eyes as he buckles his helmet strap under my chin.

  The moon and stars must have had a hand in this tonight, well, that and his deep chuckle reverberating through me clutched to his back, didn’t help.

  I can barely muster a, “Mmmhmm.” And we’re off, speeding through the cool fall air.

  Nothing can touch us.

  Hell they can hardly see us, he’s going so fast, and my heart pounds and pounds against the wall of his back. For the first time I can remember in my whole life, in all sixteen years of my existence, I feel home. Right there on the back of Ryker’s bike, going 140 miles per hour on I-10, my mind finally blessedly goes still and I feel complete and utter peace…hanging on to Ryker fucking Killian for dear life.

  Chapter 2

  I’ve never much liked the idea of being just one thing, I’ve always shyed away from things considered either black or white, showing preference for things with colors.

  As a loner, or a parentless offspring, I adapted to adapting.

  When other kids were learning to spell their names, I was learning to relearn my name and birthplace.

  For whatever reason my parents left me, or didn’t want me, I’ll never know, but I’ll use that fact as a stepping stone to become a better person for it, no matter what.

  Once in the box, in an effort to probably keep insanity from sinking her claws in, I told myself that even blue and red are prettier colors than white and black, meaning even battered and bruised, my body and soul are colorful.

  I like chaos.

  Reese and Ry have laughed while explaining me to our new clique members, saying, “Walking the razor’s edge and toeing the line is where you’ll find Ivy, dancing like there’s no one watching.”

  And I guess that sums it up, in a black and white non-dimensional kinda way.

  I feel calmest when the world is spinning apart around me. Like I said, I like chaos.

  And currently, chaos is defined as four thick rails across Jaci’s vanity mirror dresser. After all have been efficiently snorted from the surface, I lick my finger and sweep up any remaining residue before licking it clean of my recreational little habits. “I don’t know, when I talked to him, he just said he was worried the two of you would never be on the same page, Ives. Whatever that means.”

  The same page? I’m so tired of the ‘same page’ speech. Ryker’s beginning to sound monotonous and I’m beginning to want to fucking scream!

  “Oh my gahhhh! I can’t do this. Come on, let’s go, Jaci. We gotta go out tonight. I can’t take sitting here much more!”

  “Well, as much as I’d love to hit downtown with you, I don’t think he’d like that very much.” As her head nods towards her bedroom window, it dawns on me what took her so long in the bathroom.

  “You bitch!” I snatch her cell phone from her hand and start pulling up her texts. “You told him we were here?!”

  “No, he already knew. And if you were hoping to keep your little habit a secret, I’d wipe away the evidence from your nose and think of a better excuse for your eyes being glassy. The old, ‘I’m tired, stressed, or both isn’t working so well anymore.”

  Jaci’s never dabbled in drugs before, her addiction is a legal enabler, alcohol. Vodka, to be exact. Vodka in copious, gluttonous amounts. The only difference between Jaci and I is she judges. Me? Not so much. I live by the creed, who am I to judge? I’ll tell you who, absolutely no one.

  A knock at Jaci’s bedroom door cues my time of exit. “Jaci? A Ryker Killian is here for Ivy, but he looks a little suspicious. Should I call Ivy’s mother?”

  I smirk and cut my eyes to Jaci, “Yeah, tell her to call ‘mom’.” She responds with a shake of her head and chuckles.

  “No, Mom. He’s a good guy. Just a sec.” She motions for me to exit and opens her door.

  “Hey, Ms. Daniels.” I wave and on the same breath say, “Bye, Ms. Daniels.” Jaci’s eyes roll and we laugh, making our way out the door, only for my feet to stop dead in their high as hell tracks at the sight of Ryker leaning against his black on black Harley Davidson.

  “Go iron this shit out with him. Or hell, let him iron it out for y’all. He makes it too easy for you. He always has.”

  I hate it when Jaci’s on his side. And she’s always on his side. Always. “Reese and I will probably go out later. If you two get this page thing figured out, text us and we’ll meet up. Okay?”

  I nod without taking my eyes off Ryker and chill bumps race up my skin thinking of how many ways we can ‘figure’ it out involving skin on skin, not words, when his deep voice reaches me.

  “Hey, love. You ready?” Again, silently I nod just before the excitement he stirs alive within me causes my steps to quicken and before I know it, I’m exactly where I’ve needed to be. Zipping through cars and intersections, clutching on to Ryker’s back.

>   Ry and I are too alike, yet too unalike. And it’s always vice versa with him. I’m hot, he’s cold. He’s fast, I’m hesitant. He’s chill, and I’m a million miles a minute. I’m hard to his soft. Fury to his love and unspoken devotion. He calls me his everything, while I lie and call him my nothing.

  Adapting has lead me to chaos, and chaos has lead me to learn the importance of defense and power exchange. When the house is stacked against you, and everything feels like it’s going to go off the rails, make it believe it is nothing…and it can’t touch you. Do you see the exchange of power? Whoever has the best defenses, has the power, and the best part is, even though you know you’re lying to yourself, it still works.

  This has been my mind frame for as long as I can remember, and so far, it hasn’t let me down. Well, I mean, other than preventing me from happiness, but who needs happiness? I’m almost certain it too is overrated.

  It doesn’t take long for him to get us back to his house, and we’re standing in the living area of his garage apartment, where this morning’s argument spiraled into this afternoons final falling out.

  We fight constantly. And usually I’m okay with that. I love our silly banter and constant shit talking, it makes us, us. But this morning was something a little different. This morning he decided to take it to the next level, the serious level. I don’t like that level. I like to stay as far away from that level as I possibly can, but that apparently didn’t work out in my favor. Apparently.

  Apparently, last night I may have drank too much before using. This seems to be one of my more popular faults. I always go in with seemingly full intentions of just drinking. But God forbid, when someone shows up with any other form of intoxication and I’ve knocked a few back already. Somewhere between ten-foot-tall and bullet proof, I become my own worst nightmare, or villainess co-conspirator…and just like always, less than an hour later, I’m unconscious, face first in whatever I drank to kick the party off.

  And apparently, boyfriends do not like being called to clean up their significant others messes, over and over and over.

  “You ready to talk, love?” His eyes are too piercing and knowing, so I quickly divert mine to the ground to escape his glare.

  “There’s still more shit to say?” I purse my lips before biting them, and in an attempt to lighten this evenings subject matter I say, “Let’s stop talking, and start trying to rid you of this imaginary virtue of yours, you love to fiercely protect.” I pull and tug at his belt until I feel the slack loosen, all while trying so hard to keep the smile in my eyes.

  “The only thing I will ever fiercely protect, is you. And right now, the only person I’m trying to protect you from is yourself, Ivy. Start being straight with me, or else…”

  When his fingers dive through his dark blonde hair, the coke in my veins flare and ignite my earlier agitation back to life. “Or else? Or else what? How many times do I have to tell you, Ryker, you cannot catch something if it doesn't want to be caught." I feel like I'm rambling, and I am, it’s pretty difficult to stay on track when you feel defensive and there's coke in your system. "And what the fuck do you mean, start being straight with you? I am being straight. I’m straight as fuck!”

  Shit. The second his eyes bore deeper into mine, I know. I know, he knows. Hell, he always knows. Who am I kidding?

  “You’re fucking stoned. Again. It’s not downers this time, thank fuck, but you’re high just the same. The day after you od’d on God knows what. What the fuck do you want me to do with this shit? I’m just supposed to keep watching you tear yourself apart and put you back together every time I finally get me hands on ya? And then, until when? Until it gets boring for ya, or until you fucking kill yourself?!”

  My voice begins as soft as a calmly spoken vow, “Yeah. Let’s talk about until I kill myself, shall we? How many times do you think you can keep saving me before you just fucking can’t anymore? Huh? Then what? Then shit’ll be straight enough for you?!” But in the end, I’m screaming bloody murder.

  I’m not mad or angry with him. I’m tired of him. I’m tired of him always fixing me. I’m tired of being the one always needing to be fixed. I don’t not like myself, or particularly hate my life, I’m just over it. I don’t see the fucking point anymore… and I’m so fucking tired of the never ending cycle. As well as the sadness darkening Ryker’s eyes as they settle on the scars on my inner wrists.

  “Are you ever going to learn to just give up?” I quietly ask.

  “Yes. As soon as you learn to give into me, Winter Ivy, I’ll give up on you. Deal?” He smiles and it makes the sting of his words lessen, as does his warm kiss.

  Before I know it, I’m under, again.

  He’s chaos. He’s everywhere, and in everything. He drives me mad, and he uses me up, then leaves me for dead, and I’m okay with that. Because as long as we’re here, right now, and I am his everything, then nothing else matters. Nothing.

  Somewhere between my tears and his kisses, even with the uppers on board, I must have drifted asleep, only to be awakened by his weight dipping the mattress.

  “Sorry. I was trying not to wake ya, love. What’d you take at Jaci’s? Enough to keep you up a few days, probably, huh?”

  “Probably,” I mutter.

  The awkward silence is deafening, but I refuse to break it.

  After a few minutes, he finally nods. “Probably. Okay. Well, you wanna stay here? Blythe’s is out of the question, and I’m sure you’re probably pissed at Jaci for telling me where you were at, so…”

  “Sure. But can I ask you something?”

  “Anything. You know that, Ivy.” His kisses are warm and wet and divine, and when his tongue brushes mine, chill bumps break out across my skin.

  “Why won’t you take my virginity? Or whatever’s left of it? I want you to take it, there isn’t anyone else for me besides you, and I’m not just saying it to say it or because I’m young and stupid. I mean it, Ryker.”

  His chuckle is probably taken out of context, but in my mind, he’s laughing at my idiotic seventeen-year-old concocted ideas. He’s laughing at me and therefore brushing me off. Before I can think rashly I’m off the bed, shoving my bare feet into my doc martin boots and pulling my wife-beater t-shirt over my head.

  “Never-fucking-mind.” I storm towards the door.

  “Winter FUCKING IVY!” He shouts, “Stop right there, love.” His hands are gripping my shoulders then suddenly there is no space between us. There’s no him ending and me beginning, we’re just us. Taking what we can and giving what we can’t. It’s just his mouth on mine, his hot breath mixing with mine. It’s rough. It’s hurried. It’s hungry. And as soon as I forget what the hell it was I was saying or trying to prove, I’m lost, then just as abruptly, I’m alone.

  Left standing bereft in his place, with my mouth hanging open as his riddles and words settle around me, “I’m taking as much of you as I can. But I won’t take of ya what you won't let me bloody catch, and that's your heart, love. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” I say I do…even though I don’t.

  The door closes after he leaves, and I want so badly to scream. But I won’t.

  Chapter 3

  I want to be the girl Jaci liked to play dress up with and gossip about the girls at school. The grunge girls, the skank cheerleaders, and every other wanna-be in between.

  I want to be the home-body Reese told himself I was. The girl he dragged to his parents at Thanksgiving and church on Easter.

  I want to be the broken beautiful girl who only needs love and acceptance to grow into the healed beautiful woman, Ryker believed me to be.

  But I’m not. I’m none of those girls and I never will be.

  I’m an unwanted adopted child with a history of substance abuse, cutting, Bipolar and Narcissistic behavioral disorders, two minor drug charges, and last but not least, suicide.

  I’m untrustworthy. Selfish. Annoying. I’m a compulsive liar. Severely untrusting. And I’m fake as fuck.

  So f
ake that sometimes I just wish people would see the truth. Get the hating me part over with and get straight to the just leaving part. That’s all anyone would do anyway if they knew the truth.

  Alas, I am here.

  Ryker hasn’t spoken to me in over six months.

  After fighting with him for over a month about the whole virginity thing, he finally left. And within twelve hours, I’d ingested more pills, snorted more coke, and had more shots of tequila than I’d ever had before. The next morning, I woke up sore and naked in a stranger’s bed, with no recollection of anything that occurred after my fight with Ryker. Two and two equals I’m pretty fucking sure I consensually had sex for the first time in my life. And it wasn’t with Ryker.

  And at least every other day since, has mimicked the first. Jaci and Reese hardly have anything to do with me anymore. Reese still tries, but Jaci stopped months ago. I’ve somehow situated myself in an artsy crowd. The kids of the upper class, if you will. The ones who have opted for a year of travel instead of straight off to college.

  I mostly crash on Delilah’s couch. She has a three story beach house that is usually infiltrated with loners like me. I belong here as much as Karen, the washed up, homeless, ex-socialite, and Nicolai, the fifteen-year-old high school drop-out, who plays a harmonica like no body’s business on the beach for extra money. Delilah is a not-so starving artist, with clueless rich parents. Last summer I traveled, smoked, shopped, and snorted, my way across Ireland, Italy, and Spain and I guess Delilah must have liked my fake ass compliments and total BFF façade, because she’s kept me around ever since. Paying my way and keeping me high enough to be just pliant enough to not give a fuck that my body is being photographed or painted for whoever’s pleasure…hers, her dad’s, her dad’s friends. For the most part, I’m usually only used for my nude modeling job description; which involves just lying there in my birthday suit draped in sheer, see through sashes and clothes her father or her father's photog and painter friends choose. But most of the time, the dirty deed is done wearing nothing at all.