The Evolution of Ivy: Poison

by Lauren Campbell

  She could have saved me the tidbit about she and Brooks having sex nearly every day, and also that he has an affinity for fucking her in the shower. I wonder if it’s because she smells or if he just really likes shower sex. Either possibility is utterly revolting, because it’s her he’s banging and not me. And since we can’t talk while we run, it’s giving me a lot of time to think. I believe my neighbor, Jared, can be useful to me in some way. But first I have to keep getting to know Eliza, because I need to be around Brooks as much as possible. He has to get to know the new me. It’s crucial to the seduction—for the rekindling of our love

  Eliza wipes the sweat from her forehead. It’s hot as shit and muggy as hell. Georgia Augusts are brutal. “Do you ever...” she wheezes, unable to catch her breath.

  “Are you okay?” I put a hand on her arm as if I care.

  She nods. “Just a little out of shape.”

  No shit. “What were you going to say?”

  “Do you ever wonder if there’s another path you should have taken?” Her eyes are blank, staring out into traffic like she wants to run in front of it. Things would be a hell of a lot easier for me if she did.

  “What do you mean?”

  She takes several deep breaths. Coughs up and spits out some runner’s phlegm. Disgusting. “I love Brooks. I do. He’s perfect. Gorgeous, funny, sweet. But we’ve been together since we were seventeen. Sometimes it’s just hard not to wonder where else you might have ended up when you settle down that young.”

  I’m shocked. Appalled. Even though Brooks is a mean person who hates ugly people, I know he’s really good deep down inside. He was good when we were together. He loved me before I was ugly. And he’ll love me now that I’m beautiful, and I have until January to make that happen.

  “I think it’s normal to feel that way,” I lie. “Everyone gets cold feet before a wedding.”

  She nods. “Yeah. Thanks for listening and not judging.” But I am. “I feel like I can talk to you.”

  “You can,” I assure her. “I like listening. And we’re friends.”

  “There are just some things that eat away at me. Like, for one … I’m the only girl he’s ever been with, but he’s not the only guy I’ve been with.”

  “Oh,” I mutter. “Well, so? It’s not like your numbers have to match.”

  She shakes her head. “If I tell you something, swear you’ll take it to your grave?” Her head turns to me, eyes serious.

  “Of course.”

  “It does matter, because I … I cheated on him.” Tears well up in her eyes, and she folds over onto her fat thighs and sobs.

  “Oh, honey.” I put my hand on her shoulder. Pat her on the back. “It’s okay.”

  “It was only once,” she blubbers. “Back a few years ago. I think he knew. He was suspicious, but he let it go. I just feel so guilty.” Snot creeps from her nose and stops just above her lip. My stomach weakens at the sight.

  “It’s okay. That was a long time ago. You have to forgive yourself.” What dumb bitch tells someone something like this after only a week? Typical desperate girl, latching onto a complete stranger and spelling out her sins. Maybe this entire thing will be easier than I thought.

  She continues to cry and wipes her eyes.

  I steadily rub her back, consoling her. “Don’t beat yourself up. Everyone is allowed to have one fuck-up. You’re human.” But she’s not human. She’s the devil. And I would never cheat on Brooks.

  “It’s just … I still think about him. I freaked out when Brooks questioned me. Told the guy I couldn’t do it again, that it was a mistake.” There’s a long pause before she continues, “I still think about him. He was, like, my first love, you know?” She looks off into the distance. Shakes her head. “I told Brooks I was a virgin, but that was a lie. I lost my virginity in tenth grade to the other guy. He sent me a Facebook message a few years ago before we hooked up again, and I just couldn’t say no.”

  I stand. Grab her hand. Pull her up. “Let’s go back to my place. We can have a glass of wine, and you can get it all out.”

  Inside my apartment, I pour two glasses of red, and we sit on my brand new cream couch. I’ll choke her if she spills it.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” Her finger points to a random hottie from the internet framed on my table. “What’s his name again?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.” I smile. “Elliott.”

  “He’s cute.” Except he’s hot, and now she’s trying to act reserved.

  “So I don’t understand. Why would you keep dating Brooks if you were so torn over this other guy?” I would really like to know, because I want my boyfriend back.

  “He’s dead.” Tears make rivers down her face, and she is way less pretty when she cries. She buries her face in her hands, and her voice shakes. “It wasn’t long after I told him I couldn’t see him anymore that I changed my mind. I was going to tell Brooks, but … he died in an accident a few days later. It destroyed me.” I shake off a memory as she continues. “And, you know, when Brooks proposed, all I could think about was the other guy and what might have been.” That makes two of us.

  “I’m sorry. That’s terrible, Eliza.” I can’t believe Brooks was Eliza’s backup plan. She should feel so lucky to have a boyfriend, a fiancé, because she has no idea what it’s like to want something you can’t have. If only I could tell Brooks. I could hit record on my cell phone and digitally memorialize her confession forever. Could let him hear it. But then I’d look like a calculating psycho. No. This can’t be quick. I need to be firmly planted in his mind first. I need to be the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up in the morning and the last thing he thinks about before he goes to bed. He needs to develop feelings, which can only come with time. Then, just when Eliza thinks she’s about to get her happy ending, I’ll turn everything upside down, and she can reap what she’s sown.

  “Do you love Brooks?”

  She plops back onto the couch. Puts her nasty feet on my table. “I do. I really do.”

  “Then forget it. Forget the whole thing. Lock it away and never think about it again. I know it’s easier said than done, but the guy is dead, Eliza. Brooks isn’t the alternative. He’s the only card on the table.”

  She sighs. “You’re right. I just need to let it go and never tell him. It’s in the past.” Another long pause. “I really do love Brooks.”

  September 18, 2015

  Front Page News is bumping—a bar full of young, hip richies. Douche bags, sluts, and the random adorable gay couple crowd the upstairs bar area as we wait for Brooks, who is regrettably running late from his power position at Jansen Brewing. Eliza fidgets on her bar stool. Fusses with her hair. Absolutely reeks of that floral perfume she likes for no justifiable reason. She looks cute, but she’s wearing shorts. I’m not sure shorts compare to my miniskirt.

  A guy appears next to Eliza, standing awkwardly, looking at me. He’s really hot, but not quite as hot as Brooks, and I’m a one-man woman. Suddenly arms hug around Eliza’s neck. Her face lights up as she tilts her head to kiss the owner of those arms—my future husband—and I want to be sick. Brooks smells so damn good, a fresh woodsy cologne wafting to my personal space as he caresses her. I know people would think I’m crazy for subjecting myself to all of this. But true love requires true sacrifice. I do need to be careful, however. What if he recognizes me? Impossible, I think. I take comfort in the fact that even my own parents wouldn’t—if they were alive.

  Brooks’s arms stay crossed around Eliza’s neck, but he turns to me, his genuine happiness of being with her crushing my heart. “This is my buddy, Deacon.” Nods in the direction of the not-quite-as-hot guy. “Don’t worry. He knows you have a boyfriend.” Deacon blushes.

  “Hi.” I smile. “Emily.” I reach around to shake Deacon’s hand.

  Deacon requests a round of Coronas. They all claim a seat, and Brooks’s fingers interlock with Eliza’s. I’m a casserole of emotions. Each time they touch is another minute burning in the oven.
I’m afraid eventually there will be nothing left of me but blackness. I don’t know how I’ll make it until January having to watch them grope each other. Watching her live out my dream.

  Brooks yawns. “Excuse me,” he says. So polite. “I feel like I need a coffee instead of a beer. Long day at work.” I think about how funny it is that an heir to a coffee empire is having trouble staying awake.

  Eliza leans into his neck. “Aw, I’m sorry, babe.”

  Brooks takes a sip of his beer. Some is left behind, glistening on his lips, and I want to lick it off. “So, Emily, what do you do for work?”

  It’s hard becoming a new person. There are so many things to think about, so many questions to answer with lies. Up until now, it’s been a toss-up between what I actually do—graphic design—and what I’d like for him to think that I do. Under pressure, the options glowing in different colors in my mind, I choose the latter. “I don’t. Not right now,” I explain. “I moved here from Cali a few months ago. I help run my parents’ company, but I’m taking a few months off.”

  “That’s cool,” Deacon says. “What company?” Fuck him for being all inquisitive.

  Hesitation hangs in my voice. “Sex toys. My parents own a factory … in China.” Dammit. Not a good lie, not a good one at all. If they keep pressing for a name, I’m screwed. I should have just told the truth and said my parents are dead. Much easier.

  Eliza’s eyes widen at Brooks. “Ohhhh. We could use some new ones, babe.” Brooks playfully bites her ear, and I want to smash my beer bottle over her head.

  “Get a room,” Deacon jokes.

  Eliza sucks another drink, halting abruptly before the last sip. Swallows several times. “I’ll be right back.” She stands. “I don’t feel so hot all of a sudden.”

  Brooks steadies her with his hand. “Babe, you okay?”

  “Want me to go with you?” I add.

  She shakes her head, a strand of hair sticking to the corner of her mouth. “No. I’m fine. Be right back.” We watch as she skitters to the bathroom.

  Deacon nods in Eliza’s direction and starts to say something when his phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket. Frowns at it. “Work. Give me a minute.” He finds a corner on the other side of the bar area and turns his back to us, commencing what appears to be an agitating discussion.

  Brooks and I are alone now. This is the first time I’ve been alone with him since that day he left for France.

  A bit of awkward silence hangs in the air until he clears his throat. “You look really nice tonight.” Eliza would be upset if she saw the sheepish grin that just passed over his face, like the one he’d get when we were together years ago. The comment was meant innocently. A respectful ice-breaker. But we’re soul mates, and now that I’m fixed we can finally be together.

  “Thank you.” That grin appears again. My heart flutters. Almost flies away. His eyes are pool blue, and I could swim in them for eternity. Part of me wants to slap him. Knock him around a little for ending up with my nemesis. For choosing such a cruel bitch. The other part of me wants to make him feel good, to let him ravage me.

  Deacon steps between us. His face pink. Veins bulging. “Gonna step outside. Can’t hear shit in here.”

  Brooks and I bathe in the silence a bit longer before he nervously clears his throat again. “So how long has your boyfriend been in Europe? I’m sure that’s difficult, being away from each other.”

  “A few months.” It’s awful having to lie to him. It hurts, and I almost feel it deep in my bones. But Emily has to have a story. Creating a past for her—a past I never got to have—is simply a necessity.

  Brooks brings his beer back to his lips before saying, “Hmm. That’s tough. How long have you been together?”

  “Two years. But it’s not super serious yet, not at the commitment level.”

  He nods, understanding. “Well, take your time.” His head turns to the bathrooms. Searching for Eliza. “Eliza and I have been together for ten years. Even with that amount of time, you sometimes question.”

  “I’m sure.” He has every right to question why he would want to marry such a terrible bitch.

  His head careens around to the bathrooms again. He drums his fingers on the table. “Hey, would you mind checking on her? She’s been in there for a while.”

  “Of course. I was thinking the same thing.” I hop from my stool.

  I find Eliza slumped on the floor in the first stall. Her ass is hanging out underneath the door. Shorts giving her a wedgie.

  “You okay, Eliza?”

  An exasperated sigh. “Drank too fast. Feel like I’m gonna puke.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “I just wanna lay down. Can we go back to your place?”

  I want to tell her it’s lie and not lay, but I let it go. How selfish of her, wanting to have her pukey self at my house and not her own. “Yeah, we can do that. Whatever you want.”

  “Can Brooks come too?” Her voice is pitiful. Weak.

  “Uh … sure, if he wants.” Brooks is welcome at my house any day of the week. But she better not try to fuck him in my house. With the way she sounds, though, I don’t think I have to worry about her having sex with anyone.

  “You’re the best,” she sputters.

  Deacon came along too. The entire ride back to my place was miserable with Eliza’s whining. She’s limp in our arms. Dead weight. Carrying her through the maze that is my apartment building was not easy. We almost dropped her once, and I imagined her head cracking against the ground, splitting open like a coconut. Except there would be no milk inside her coconut head, because there isn’t a brain inside her real one.

  Brooks and Deacon set her on the couch. She twists and fidgets, saying that she’s not comfortable and that her shorts are giving her major camel toe. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” she whines. “Can I sleep in your bed?”

  Struggling again, we carry her to the bedroom and drop her onto my brand new white duvet. She asks if I’ll sleep with her, and I say I’ll be there soon after we put a bucket next to the bed for her to puke in.

  Brooks, Deacon, and I leave her be and sit on the couch in the living room. Deacon’s hand grabs for the remote, and he looks at me as if asking for permission. I smile, and he flips on the TV, settling on Game of Thrones. Only a few minutes pass before his phone dings, and he pulls it from his pocket again. Says he changed his mind and is gonna crash instead.

  “You can sleep in the guest bedroom down the hall,” I offer.

  He gets up and waltzes down the hall. Shuts the door without saying thank you. Rude.

  “Sorry about him,” Brooks says. “He’s a little broken up. His girl left him last month, and he just hasn’t been the same. Acting weird. Drinking a lot.” He leans farther back on the couch, the disturbance of the still air delivering the scent of his cologne to my nose.

  “It’s fine. I get it.” I run my hands through my hair. Ruffle it. Hope that he’s watching my boobs bounce from the movement. “I’m going to go change and check on Eliza.”

  When I emerge from the bedroom again, I cross straight into the kitchen and open the fridge. “Would you like anything to drink?”

  No answer. My hand is still holding the refrigerator door open when I look at him. He’s a deer in headlights. Eyes wide. Jaw open. Faking confusion, I look around myself, and then let my eyes fall to my body—wearing nothing but a cami and red thong. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t … I’m so embarrassed!”

  He starts to speak but says nothing. His eyes unsuccessfully try to stray from my body, not to notice how much better it is than Eliza’s.

  I look around the kitchen. Yank the dish towel from the stove and hold it in front of myself. “God, I’m sorry. Nudity was nothing growing up. You know, with my parents and their business.” Suddenly I’m glad I chose the ridiculous option at Front Page News. Any excuse to allow Brooks to see my ass, to keep him up all night wishing he could have it. Wishing he could grip it as he fucks me from behind.


  “Yeah … yeah.” He forces himself to look away. Shakes his head. “My family was the same way.” Liar.

  I go to the bedroom and return with shorts this time, my hair pulled into a messy bun. He looks flustered with his pink cheeks and blank eyes as I sit next to him.

  “How’s she doing?” He nods to the bedroom.

  “Out cold.” I cross my legs, then wonder how his mouth would feel on them, working up to the most sensitive place on my body … a place no one has ever been in my twenty-seven years.

  Brooks leans forward, picks up the remote, and pushes play. Lust is a red aura around him, and I swear there’s a bulge in his pants. A large one. His pulse is quick in his neck, and his eyes stare absently at the screen. I’ve never watched Game of Thrones before, but I hate it already. It’s littered with sex, and I can’t help but become aroused by all the R-rated fucking. No one is hornier than a virgin, and I want so badly to straddle him here on the couch and slide down onto his cock. I know I’ll fuck him eventually. That isn’t a question in my mind. But sadly I’ll have to fuck someone else first. Brooks can’t know I’m a virgin, because Emily would never be a virgin. Emily is The Walking Sex, and she’s not a slut like Eliza, but she knows what she’s doing. It’ll take a lot of practice sex for it to be convincing, too. Deacon comes to mind. Maybe if I fake break up with my fake boyfriend, I can hook Deacon. It would give me the practice I need and ensure I stay close to Brooks while remaining a non-threat to Eliza. And I’ll be so virgin tight that Deacon will have no choice but to brag to Brooks about what an amazing pussy I have. Then he’ll think of me when he bangs Eliza. The infiltration of his thoughts—of his fidelity—will have begun. Yeah … that’s what I’ll do.

  I leave Brooks on the couch halfway into the show. Toss him a blanket and wish him a good sleep. Then I climb into bed next to Eliza, who is well into REM, but thankfully hasn’t puked in my bed. I pretend she isn’t there, and I finger myself to sleep.