Wish I could bounce back from losing my mom as fast as he did after losing “the love of his life.” I can’t figure out how to get through the day without dread filling me about the fact that I have to do it all over again the next day.
18
IVY
My anger consumes me, my voice harsh as I tell my mother, “No, don’t bother. I’m going away for college. I’ll be better off without you or Dad nearby.”
“Ivy, I—” Her words are cut off; her arm swings across my chest. The bright flash of light blinds me as I’m knocked to the side. Immediate pain consumes me. I will my eyes to open, but I can’t. Screaming. My mom is screaming. No. My throat is burning. I’m screaming. There’s another flash of light, then darkness engulfs me again as a sharp pain surges through my side.
The pain feels real as I sit upright in bed and struggle to catch my breath. Pushing the images out of my head is a battle. Sometimes I get new ones, but I don’t know what’s real and what I’ve imagined. And it doesn’t make a difference if it’s real or not. The end result is always the same when I wake up. My mom is still dead.
Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I head downstairs to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. The house is so quiet at night. Anthony isn’t around, and there’s no one in the kitchen waiting to cook whatever concoction Zachary desires. The silence is great, but I still prefer to be in my bedroom.
The bed doesn’t seem appealing however because I know the reel that’ll play as soon as I drift off. So, I go out on the balcony and drop down into the chair. Thankfully I have the street view and don’t have to see the asshole’s house every time I step outside.
I lean forward to look over the rail as I hear a noise nearby. But no one is there. Relaxing against the chair, I get a bit too comfy and lose my grip on the glass between my fingers. Before I can adjust, it slips to the ground, shattering against the brick.
“Shit.” I’m trying to clean up the mess, but I keep hearing glass shattering. It rings out over and over in my ears. It’s not real, but I still can’t shut the noise out.
Bending down, I grab the biggest shards of glass and place them on the small table. When I reach down and grab another, I pause to study the sharp edge as I press the point against my fingertip. As I apply more pressure, blood seeps from my skin as I rub my thumb and index finger together.
Images of my mom flash in my mind—her unconscious next to me, blood trailing down her head.
Moving the glass, I run it along the scab on my wrist. It’d mostly healed, and I hadn’t scratched it off in a while. A tiny bead of blood pools along the cut. I need it to bleed. I don’t want it to heal. And I need to feel it burn. But it’s not enough.
A noise draws my attention to the street but I’m not sure where it comes from. Nobody is nearby from what I can see. But I feel like I’m being watched.
“Who the fuck is there?” I don’t care who it is. I just want them to show themselves instead of lurking in the shadows. And why does Luca’s stupid face pop into my mind before anyone else’s? Only when I see a stumbling figure nearby, I realize it’s Everett.
Leaning over the rail, I ask him, “What are you doing?”
“You haven’t answered my texts.”
“I was sleeping.”
“You’re not sleeping right now. Come down and we’ll go for a drive.”
He doesn’t look like he’s in driving shape. At all. “No. Why don’t you stay here and sleep off whatever you’ve had?”
“I just had a few beers to celebrate our win.” Everett throws up his arms, shouting, “Geaux Bulldogs.”
“You’re going to wake up the neighborhood.” If he hasn’t already… and there’s one person I really don’t want to deal with right now. “Stay there.”
Once I’m downstairs, I see he didn’t stay put because he’s at the front door. And as soon as I open it, he stumbles and misses a step. I reach out, grabbing him as his arm rests on me. “Yeah, I think it was more than a few beers.” Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been cheering him on and at the after-party. But zilch is normal anymore.
“Yeah, the guys and I got carried away. But damn you should’ve been there, Ivy. The game was awesome. We won at the last second when I ran the ball in for a touchdown.” His arms leave me as he holds them up in the touchdown signal. “It was fire.”
“I’m sure it was.”
He shifts, standing in front of me. “It would’ve been better if you were there though. Can you please come to the next game?” When I don’t respond, he adds another desperate, “Please.”
“Yes. If you go to bed.”
“Deal.” He wraps his arms around me. “I miss you, Ivy.”
I say, “Me too,” but I don’t feel it. Being around him reminds me of who I used to be. And I feel even more disjointed from that life than ever.
As soon as he’s in my bed, he’s snoring. It was definitely the right call not going for a drive. I debate going back to sleep for afew seconds before I decide against it and walk back out on the balcony until the sun rises.
