Page 8

“I’ve battled wars my entire life. I may have just created the one that finally kills me.”—Ivy

I stand here naked in front of the mirror, my body on full display and my soul fully exposed like never before. I’m grasping the marble countertop so hard my knuckles have whitened. Just moments ago, my legs laid here, opening myself to him for the first time. I catch myself in the mirror, watching as beaded tears slowly stream down my cheeks as I release a gasping breath so fierce, fighting the war behind my eyes. Fog forms on the mirror, expanding wider with each heated breath I release, as I fight to control my emotions.

“The water’s almost ready, Amor. Don’t keep me waiting,”

he taunts from the bedroom.

I’m truly not sure why I am crying right now.

Maybe it’s guilt over Liam, Red, or Anastasia? Maybe the pleasure of finally experiencing what I felt my heart was destined to have but never allowed myself to grasp.

The thought of all the times we could have been together without betraying two people we love and didn’t.

The years left wide open before we ever met them, to allow this, allow us.

Freedom without betrayal.

Although I must admit, our timing has never made it that easy, someone would have always been hurt regardless.

We were written in the stars, not for this earth.Possibly, it’s the fear that this will ruin me forever, kill me even.

Perhaps the fact it was everything I ever dreamed it would be and more, fucking euphoric.

So many emotions run through my head when I do what I do best—lock it in, shut it down, and file it away.

Taking my finger, I leave myself a message on the mirror that within seconds shall pass, just as my regret.

You are not evil.

Smearing the tears from my sweaty skin, I build myself up mentally in a stare-off with my worst enemy for a moment to draw strength, my enemy a direct reflection of myself.

I am her, and she is me.

Regardless of our actions, I won’t allow my guilt to take away from the pure bliss our bodies just created, the love and intertwinement our souls just weaved.

Fuck was it everything I imagined and more.

If only for this weekend, I deserve this happiness, and the rest of the world’s problems will not take this from me.

Even if they are my own, they are simply for another day.

I’m selfish, yes, and greedy as fuck, but he’s my best friend, my first love, my unspoken desire.

They say don’t play with fire, and for years I could abide by those rules, but being burnt feels so fucking exhilarating.

“Coming, my love, there better be bubbles.”

My words trail off as I push open the French doors leading into the bedroom.

I stop, momentarily striking a pose in all the skin that is me, like my insecurities have all been washed away, and for a few moments, I am okay with myself.

I want to ride this emotion as long as possible.

For I know with every high, there is an even bigger low waiting just ahead.

Self-sabotaging at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

He’s so beautiful.

I know that’s an odd term for a man, but he truly fucking is.

Sitting there, his chocolate eyes dig into the depths of my soul, his hand brushing through his hair as the water and bubbles slide down his forearm, trailing off as they reach his elbow.

The candles lit, the array of plants growing up from their pots trailing back down from the ceiling is truly a picture-perfect moment—one I wish I could capture.

“Look at you looking all Rico Suave, like the cover of a GQ magazine,”

I state, my eyes developing this moment into the film of my brain.

“Why don’t you climb in and make the picture worth a thousand more words,”

he relishes.

Sliding into the majestic clawfoot tub, he grabs me by the waist, pulling me onto his lap. My legs slide down the sides of his thighs, forcing me to straddle him. Our breaths touching, our two souls admiring one another, getting acquainted. Reaching up, he pushes the golden strands from my face. Gliding his hand back, cupping my cheek, his thumb trailing off my bottom lip, his eyes darken.

“I love you Ivy Sage Rutledge, I’ve loved you for most of my life, and I can’t imagine you ever not being a part of my world. Please don’t ever let that become of us.”

“Vulnerable looks good on you. I love you too, T; however, I don’t think the stars would allow that to ever be in our lifetime or the next. Somehow, we have the galaxies on our side. Unfortunately, I’m not sure it will bring us much luck though. Hope…. Hope it brings for certain, but star-crossed lovers never truly become one,”

I reply, trying to avoid the seriousness of his gesture and emotional nakedness. I appreciate his attempt to feed my emotional and verbal needs, as I’ve requested all these years. Things between us have always had more of a sexual intertwinement in conversation.

Truth is, as much as I love his attempt at vulnerability, a very unfamiliar place for him, I have never done well with receiving them.

I always wanted the man to say the right things and pull the grand gestures; however, accepting them, well, that’s a math problem I can’t solve, along with every other one that exists in the world.

That’s why just like T, faceless fucks and unobtainable relations have been my go-to.

They are easy, yet complicated.

Pretending the world is your own hallmark movie for a night can bring one such peace, knowing damn well when you wake up, it will all be gone.

But to have those few hours of sex and emotional conversations with a complete stranger you’ll never see again feeds something in me, something in him.

I’ve never asked him why he is the way he is.

I guess I always just assumed it was for the same reasons as I.

Knowing you could have someone is better than having them, just as well as loving and fucking for a night brings more than doing it for a lifetime.

Each time is a new story with the same ending.

An ending you find comfort in—loss.

A great pull and push, if you will, while allowing yourself the ability to never allow yourself to be truly seen or known, all while leaving room for a chase.

Sure, this life has brought complications and unforeseen turns, cue Liam and Anastasia.

I still find it so ironic how T and I both got into a relationship just a few days apart, even though we hadn’t spoken in a few years at that time.

We truly are connected. And fucked .

“Look at you, being all rational and evasive,”

he taunts, a smirk growing on his face as he latches onto the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss.

His cock hardens between my thighs as the water washes away my shame.

Our mouths ravishing in one another, my hips forcing his dick to be cradled within my pussy.

His body is so warm, yet his hands are so cold, causing my nipples to peak as he rubs them throughout my body, holding onto me like it’s the last time we will ever fuck, the last time we will ever be this connected.

The water starts splashing in all directions escaping the tub, as I ride his cock with such passion and force.

My hands pressing onto his chest, holding him pinned against the porcelain.

My head drifts back, the weight of the water pulling on my hair, riding out the orgasm I feel building as his dick trusts into my gem, taunting it and teasing it.

Suddenly, he stands, bringing me with him, our bodies cradled, perfectly forming into one another’s.

Flipping me around, our bodies back into what water remains.

My stomach folds over the side, my face almost flush with the floor as he opens me with his cock once more, thrusting into me from behind.

His hand grabbing into the back of my hair, jerking my head up using it to thrust into me like there is no end, a chase for my orgasm.

“I don’t give a fuck about the stars or the galaxies; you are mine on this earth. I want you in the grass, against the trees, on the banks of the rivers, and in our home forever.”

“Then fucking claim me, T. Claim all of me now,” I gasp.

His words causing my back to curve even more, meeting him thrust for thrust as the oxygen leaves my lungs, fighting and climbing away from my own climax until I lose all control. My release, elevating my moans three octaves, as I give into all that is my climax.

“Fuck,” I grunt.

“Yeah baby, come all over that cock, fucking release it because I’m never releasing you,”

he taunts, his thrusts becoming more powerful with each moan I let escape. My hair tugged with such strength, my neck jolts back as he releases his sweet cream into me, filling me full. His body jerks with each shot leaving through the tip, my head feeling dislodged yet pain-free all at once. Pure fucking bliss.

“Well, I guess we need more water if you’re going to cleanse my body,”

I joke, throwing what little water is left in the tub up in the air; by my calculation, it’s only about two inches.

“Agreed, but let’s relax for a bit. I feel we have so much to catch up on. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Amor. I’ll wash every inch of your beautiful skin soon, baby.”

Reaching behind, he turns the hot water on full blast as we sit facing one another, our legs mingling between each other and the warmth of the water. Fuck, the water feels so good. Especially since my body is starting to feel like a Mack truck hit it the more the adrenaline subsides. I am absolutely certain my ribs are bruised.

“So, how’s business? How’s Dallas?”

I question, trying to small talk my nerves away. Tayden and I have had many conversations over the years but never face-to-face, much less naked in a tub together. The fuck else does one start with?

“Business is good. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, actually, but we haven’t really had the right moment since my arrival. I’ve been rather intertwined,”

he jokes, his gaze shifting from me, his expression revealing his uncomfortability of my question, raising red flags, intriguing me. He’s been hiding something.

“How’s Liam? Is he enjoying his retirement from the architectural world?”

he fires back, confirming my suspicions. He is hiding something. Something I will get the answer to by the end of this tub, but I’ll bite. Sacrifice the pawn to get a kingside space advantage.

“He’s been well. You know, he’s Liam, a man of mystery, one in which I have yet to figure out, even after all these years. It can be frustrating at times, as you know. Funny story: he actually left retirement for a big project last year for a shell corp or something. It was a long winter, but I did enjoy my seclusion. Since then though, he’s really been enjoying re-retirement. Anastasia? Still an emotional mess?”

I breathily respond, my dig apparent.

“Yeah, it’s complicated. I wish she would figure stuff out and get help. It’s not like we can’t afford it, but I can’t force her. Still ups and downs. I try to hold onto the good ‘cause the bad can be fucking exhausting. We got into it the other night, and such small things bring out the worst in her. I just do my best to shield Laila from it. Honestly, she’s a great moth—stepmother figure to her. She has issues; however, we all do. She didn’t have the easiest life. Neither of us are blind to who her family is or what they do.”

His eyes lock with mine, reading my thoughts. I give him none before he dips under the water, coming back up, his hands brushing through his dark hair as he rises up through the water. Unable to hold my tongue, I fire at him, sarcasm across my face, insults lashing off my tongue, “Not surprising, you always have liked them broken and emotionally complicated. It’s how you thrive, T. Always has been.”

My head tilts to further sell my statement.

“Is that so?”

He plays into my words.

“Look, I’m not judging you, trust me, I get it, you know that, but at the end of the day, I do worry that things will end very badly if she doesn’t get the help she needs. I worry about you T, more than I’d like to admit and sure, I understand you. Trust me, I fight it every day with Liam and fail at times. We are fuckly wired humans. The chase is so fucking fun, the validation it brings pure bliss. However, to play devil’s advocate, is she crazy? or do you make her that way? And when will you push her over the edge? As far as her family, that’s a whole separate issue in itself.”

Watching as all I say sinks in, the air in the room feels a little heavier.

“You are right, Ives. Fuck you are always right. We are certainly fucked up humans,”

he jokes, in an attempt to mask the depths his thoughts just plummeted to.

“Again, I’m not judging; obviously, I have no foot to stand on, especially after today, here with you. Liam knows of my indiscretions, unlike Anastasia with you, but he doesn’t know of you, so I am not saying I’m any better, not by a long fucking shot. But fuck T, when does it all end for you? Not everyone can be saved; trust me, not everyone can do the work they need to, to save themselves. It’s hard work, babe, dark and twisted work. The kind that either ends in better understanding or absolute desolation far beyond where you started. I want you happy even if not with me, and I just worry your desire to be with broken women while fucking emotionally scarred women will never allow you to truly settle down. You deserve that; Laila deserves it, too. I mean, don’t go crazy and get fucking married, obviously, but you deserve to settle down and have what your parents did until they didn’t. What you’ve always dreamed of having for yourself in their image since you were a little boy. Even if I don’t like them,” I tease.

I can sense my words cut him deep as his head thrusts back, inhaling a deep breath.

“There she is, the only one that can pretty much without fail always understand exactly who I am and what I’m feeling, even when I don’t fully understand it myself.”

We may never be honest with each other about us, but we have always been honest about everything outside of us when it comes to our personal lives.

“Speaking of, I’ve been wanting to bring something up. I have racked my brain a million times over again trying to find the best way to inquire that pretty little head of yours, but I’m not sure I’ve found one.”

His reservation is concerning.

Whatever he has refrained from asking must be deep to have him flustered mid-course in conversation.

That has never been his style.

My brain starts racing, wondering what it could be. Is it about Dallas and work? Is this where he leaves me before the sun has even had the opportunity to rise?

No, it must be deeper. What could possibly have him struggling to find words?

“Well, we’ve always shot each other straight, so shoot,”

I whip out, my defenses growing taller brick by brick, vine by vine.

“I ummm—Well, fuck, Ives.”

His pause allows the wheels in his head to spin as he unscrambles his words. “I love you, Amor, no matter what, but I have some questions, and I just—I just don’t want you to freak out. Regardless, I will always love you, Ivy Sage Rutledge. Always.”

Adjusting myself in the tub, my arms find comfort laced in one another. The web of ivy thickening over my heart as I wait for him to continue.

“Your childhood. You never talk about it; you never explained to me why you disappeared so much or fuck why you disappeared for so long after my birthday. I feel like I’m missing so much of you. Why did you leave? Where did you go? What the fuck happened, Amor?”

His eyes soften, guilt washing over him for even asking.

I guess I have never actually talked about it with him, but it wasn’t something I ever felt the need to share.

Just as I tried to protect him from my world as a kid, I carried that duty into our adult relationship when we rekindled.

Sharing that part of my life with him makes me less perfect, scares me, and allows him to love me less—or love me more—because he’s built to love from a place of guilt and protection—he loves to save people.

I never wanted to be someone he needed to save; no, I only wanted to be someone he loves.

I never wanted to be anything less than pure when it came to him, the woman I thought he deserved—perfection.

A woman in total control and successful, more like Red.

As much as it kills me, she’s the type of woman I imagine him to be with.

Rubbing my eyes, fearlessly trying to process my thoughts and find my way out of this with as little truth as possible, he reaches out to my hand, pulling it down, encasing it with his.

“I love you. Nothing can ever change that,”

he pleads with me for a response—for honesty.

I know his love will never disappear, but what he is asking me to divulge is every part of me I hate. He doesn’t even realize the scars this will open, the mental space it leaves me vulnerable to. What has already cracked merely by just his presence.

Hurry, Ivy. Fucking think. This is the biggest chess game you have ever played, fucking faster, speak, fucking say something. Don’t fuck this up; remember, nobody can ever know.

“Well, we moved a lot. I’ve told you this, I’m not sure why the questions and mystery now?”

It’s not, not the truth, but certainly just the tip of a massive fucking iceberg. God, I hope he marks my answer as acceptable and moves on. My anxiety begins climbing up to my throat, and this tub suddenly feels more like a box than an oasis, and I need the fuck out. Now. Standing up to step out, I walk towards my robe, reaching out, grasping it, I wrap it around me, securing it with a knot.

“I’m not really sure what you’re hoping to find, but it just was what it was. We missed time, moments, and opportunities. Happens to a lot of childhood lovers.”

I knot the robe around me, my face focused on the floor as I sense him come up behind me, reaching for another robe from the wall in front of me.

“I want the truth,”

he whispers into my ear from behind.

“That’s the fucking truth, T. What the fuck is this?”

I fire back, trying my hardest to deaden this conversation.

“Way to ruin a perfect fucking day. This is why I never allowed this to happen between us because here’s the fall after the high like goddamn clockwork, every fucking time.”

I rush to walk out, his icicles grasp around my wrist, yanking me into him. His hand brushing my cheek, the feel of him, flipping my stomach.

“Ivy, I want the truth. I know that’s not the truth, partially yes , but fuck, Ivy, talk to me, Amor. Why always the shield and sword with me? I am the last person you need to be that way with,”

he pleads.

“Oh yeah, it’s not the truth? Okay, T, what’s the truth? What have you created in your brain to explain to yourself for years as to why I was gone and back and then lost forever? Go ahead, let me hear it, this will be fucking epic. Come on, spill it, all-knowing Tayden Bergess, ”

I scream at him, my hands flying through the air forcefully, matching my anger. A chuckle escapes me, showing my uncomfortability. Reaching out, he yanks me into a hug, my arms lying dead at my sides as he holds me, pulling me tighter with each second.

“Your father sent you away,”

he whispers.

My eyes widen like a deer in headlights. How the fuck would he even know this? What the fuck? My rage getting the best of me, I shove him off me with all the strength my body possesses, throwing him off balance, sending his body crashing into the wall.

“The fuck are you talking about? Sent me away? Yeah, okay, T and Santa’s fucking real!”

I’m so fucking mad I begin to see red, my hands ball into fists, and I’m nine years old again, defending myself for a dead man’s decisions; the only difference is I’m defending them to the only man I never wanted to know any part of it. I would literally burn the entire world down for him to never have this information, even if it meant killing every human in it. This was not only my burden to bear but it was mine to never have to share with him.

“What the actual fuck, T?”

“Ivy, amor, listen to me. I’m not judging, but if I’m being honest, finding out this information makes me understand you so much more—love you more.”

“See, see that right there , that was exactly what I didn’t fucking want. I didn’t want you to love me more because of my horrible past. I didn’t want you to fucking understand me more because of the horror of my childhood. I wanted it without your savior complex. I wanted it purely for loving me T, loving the woman who stands in front of you now, the perfect girl who loved you then, not the broken girl behind closed doors that spent her whole life trying to kill me.”

I stop talking immediately, realizing I just confirmed what he already knew. I blew it. I confirmed my worst nightmares to him. It’s over. We will never be the same . FUCKKKKKKKKKKK!

“Ivy, there is nothing in this world that can make—”

I abruptly cut him off.

“How did you know?”

I demand. His eyes unknowingly already staring at me differently. His words ferment without release.

“How did you fucking know, T,”

I scream, my eyes deadly, my finger pointing down to the ground as my voice gets louder. “Don’t fucking make me ask again.”

“My dad,”

he responds, tears filling his eyes as I look into them, emotionless yet feeling so many emotions all at once. My face begins to soften at his words, tears forming in my eyes.

“Your dad?”

I cry out, my tears flowing like a river down my face, his words the dam that broke me.

“I was in my dad’s office. I needed to get some papers for work. I couldn’t find them, so I went to the storage closet, and I stumbled upon your name. Ivy, I swear I didn’t know, but I had to open it, and what I found told me a piece of your story. It fucking broke me, Ives. I didn’t eat for days. I was drunk for weeks on end, angry, and confused with all this information—it broke me. I haven’t spoken to my dad since. My assistant, Brooklyn, is handling all his calls playing referee between us. Every time I see him, this rage fills inside me unlike any feeling I’ve ever felt before,”

he confesses.

“Talk to me, Ives,”

he pleads, both of us standing in a stare-off, completely broken and raw. Tears falling from our eyes at an alarming rate, our breaths heavy, the tension so fucking thick a hack saw couldn’t even make a dent in it.

“Your dad? Why did your dad have a file on me? What was in it?”

is all I can muster to ask.

I want to run.

I want to run so goddamn hard and fast and curl up in the darkest hole on the earth to never return.

Fuck that. I want answers to my own puzzle even more, one I thought I had already solved and filed away in the game closet.

“The night of my birthday party, you left. Apparently, you were taken to a place in Massachusetts that night for children with psychiatric issues. There were tapes, like cassette tapes and VHS tapes. There were recordings of you screaming and of your father. I didn’t listen to them fully, and I stared at those tapes for weeks, never able to press play again. I could only stand about the first few minutes of the audio before I had to shut it off,”

he cries out.

Tingles begin to fill my entire body. I’m about to fucking break; I feel it.

“T, why did your father have those, and what files?”

I demand. My nostrils flare as I fight like hell to keep myself together. I know I can’t hold it back much longer. His eyes broken, his soul crushed, he reaches out to pull me into him. I step away from his grip as I repeat myself.

“What was in the files, and why did your father have them? Last fucking chance, T.”

“The files were records and receipts. From what I could make of it, he helped finance and/or arrange your stay that time and a few others. There were so many; I swear I had no idea, Ivy,”

he pleads, terrified of my response.

What the actual fuck? I knew my dad was a fucking dick. I knew he wouldn’t stop at any cost to have me as his own, to have complete control, but to use the only good thing in my life I ever had as a weapon against me. FUCCCCKKKKKKK.

“How long, T?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you known?”

My hands clammy, my knees threatening to buckle out from under me. The room begins spinning.

“How fucking long, T?”

I repeat psychotically.

“A little over two years, Amor.”

My heart shatters, my worries confirmed.

We go on and off without talking, but this, this is why he crept back in after a long stint of not talking.

I found it odd when he initiated it, as I’m always the one to reach out first after long spurts of radio silence, but this last time, it was him, and now I have my why.

Guilt .

Guilt for something he has no reason to feel guilty for, exactly what I spent my whole life protecting him from.

The tragedy of me. That’s what this entire home is, an apology he doesn’t owe me. The love of my life has the one emotion towards me I never wanted from him. Pity.

“Did you know? That day at my birthday party?”

he questions, but I don’t respond. My thoughts are spiraling, my mouth as dry as the Sahara, my words all jumbled in my brain. Fuck I can’t breathe. Think, think, retreat, revert, do something.

“Work?”

I question.

“What do you mean by work, Amor?”

My lack of engagement in his initial questions confusing him.

“Earlier, you said work was good, but you’ve been meaning to talk to me,”

I choke out through the tears, wiping them from my hot, reddened cheeks.

“Ives, we can talk about that another time. Please talk to me, and if not, at the very least, just let me hold you,”

he begs, grabbing me as I once again jolt back. My words slashing like throwing knives through pine, “Don’t fucking touch me. Work. What’s up with work, T?”

His eyes plead for understanding as he whispers, “I’m here because I just moved back to Boston. Well, Manchaca Square, just outside the city.”

I look up in complete shock. I have absolutely nothing but just fucking sadness. Distance made this easy—uncomplicated. What the fuck was he thinking?

And now that we’ve fucked, he’s living all of twenty minutes from my city loft—forty from mine and Liam’s place if we’re getting technical.

“I—I can’t be here, T. I’m sorry.”

My robe feels like it’s strangling me.

My hands rip it from my body, my lungs thirsty but left unfulfilled with each breath I take as I start rummaging through everything in the closet, trying to piece an outfit together.

Suddenly, I drop to the ground.

My strength is gone, my will obliterated, fucking shattered.

Screams release out of me as my fists bang against the floor, tears bursting from the depths of my soul.

My father and his father racing through my mind, my hand on the glass, the smiley face smiling back at me as the worst human of all humans drives me away from the only person who ever saw me for me.

Him before him now.

Now he’s older, wiser, more handsome, and riddled with my burdens that have now become his own.

Suddenly, this house doesn’t feel like a home.

It feels like a small, padded white room with no exit, and all I want is a nurse with a needle and sleep.

In this moment, I would gladly take the terror of my alternate universe over this reality.

He knows.

He knows I’m a sad, pathetic, broken woman posing as a put-together one in the pretend pretentious world I created.

He fucking knows me—the me I never wanted him to meet.