The Evolution of Ivy: Poison

by Lauren Campbell

  My dick has never been so hard in my life. It was just a hug. A hug! What the fuck is wrong with me? Eliza told me to make Emily feel better because she’d just found out her boyfriend cheated on her. I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know her and didn’t know what to say, so I hugged her because it seemed an appropriate reaction at the time with how devastated she seemed to be. But then I felt my dick getting hard. It was like I had just popped some Viagra, and no amount of thinking about baseball would make it go down. I spent the next few minutes standing awkwardly, praying to God or Buddha or whoever that Eliza wouldn’t see it.

  I feel insanely guilty about it. I should jump in front of a train or cut off my dick. I’m engaged. I’m getting married, for God’s sake. I can’t be getting boners from other women. But it was like a switch flipped when I put my arms around her, and when our bodies pressed together. I know it’s ridiculous and unfair, but I almost blame Eliza for it, because I never would have hugged Emily in the first place, if she hadn’t told me to comfort her. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that Emily was only in a bathing suit. Regardless, I don’t know why I got hard over such an innocent thing. Who, in the history of men, has ever gotten a boner from a hug? Not me. Maybe it’s because hugging other chicks isn’t a hobby for me like it is for some guys, I dunno. Eliza also has small tits, and that’s what I’ve become accustomed to. There’s not much there, nothing to really notice in a hug, anyway. But Emily, well … let’s just say she has a lot there. They’re so big, yet so soft. The way they molded against my chest was something I don’t ever remember feeling before. She must have silicone, because they’re not at all fake looking, but they have to be. She’s too tiny to have tits that big.

  “Babe!” Eliza yells. “Watch!” She holds her breath and attempts to swim the length of the pool without coming back up for air. She never succeeds, yet she makes me watch every time.

  I give her a thumbs up after I set my beer down on the patio table. “Keep trying,” I shout, and Deacon laughs.

  Eliza and I met junior year of high school, when I was on the heels of recovering from another heartbreak. I had dated Kate Rushton for a year before she’d had sex with some other guy and broke my heart. She had embarrassed me, but I probably would have forgiven her had she just been honest and not vehemently denied the whole thing. I had been pissed, because it had taken me forever to get into her pants, and then she had just given herself away to someone else. It was brutal.

  I’d had sex with Kate about ten times, and that’s something I should feel guilty about, because I told Eliza she was my first. Except I don’t feel guilty, because I know Eliza lied to me about being a virgin, too. She didn’t bleed when we had sex the first day we started going out, and I only told her she was my first after it was over, which I only said to make her feel guilty. I wanted her to feel bad, because I hadn’t even asked if she was a virgin when she lied to my face of her own volition. But I never mentioned it, and I forgave her. I knew she was just trying to impress me, and sex with her felt good. I wanted to have more of that sex, and I wasn’t even thinking about forever at that point because I had still been stuck on Kate. But then forever happened, and that one teenage lie has caused suspicions at times. But boners for Emily aside, there is nothing significant in our mature adult lives to make me question if I’m doing the right thing with moving forward. Eliza wants a family, and I want a family. We’ve been together for so long that it just seems like the next step. She wants to be a mom before her eggs crumble and dry up, and I guess I should be young enough to throw the ball with my son or have tea parties with my daughter.

  Emily is sitting in the hot tub, sipping on a glass of wine and looking glum. Her eyeliner has smudged on her face like she fell down my chimney, and she’s slumped in the water, but I can still see her tits.

  I shake her out of my mind and take the empty plates inside, and Deacon follows me.

  “Dude. Emily is fucking gorgeous.” His eyes are larger than one of those anime characters. “I thought she was hot before, but seeing her in a bathing suit is, like … wow.”

  “Yeah, she’s pretty.” But pretty is an understatement. I hate myself. I feel so shitty, but there was something there in that hug, some … connection that I can’t explain. I felt it when I first met her. I felt it again when I was on her couch after Front Page News, but it slammed into me like a fat kid on the playground when I hugged her.

  “Do you think she’d go for me?” Deacon asks, grabbing another beer in the fridge. “I mean, after she’s done crying about that dickwad, Elliott.”

  His question is perfectly acceptable. I shouldn’t be bothered by it at all since I’m engaged. Deacon is good-looking and single, and with us all hanging out, I know it’s possible. But jealousy cuts into me like the knife I just absentmindedly sliced my finger with while scrubbing our plates and silverware.

  “Fuck.” I instinctively bring my finger to my mouth and suck off the blood. “Throw me a Band-Aid, man.”

  Deacon fumbles through the cabinet above the microwave before tossing me the box. I fish a Band-Aid out and apply it, watching the girls out the window as I do, unable to keep my eyes fixed on Eliza, and it bothers me.

  “Well? What do you think, dude?” he asks.

  “Oh.” He’s expecting an answer about whether he can fuck Emily or not. “Yeah, man. I’m sure she’d go for you.” It was the right thing to say, because I’m not available, and I want the best for my friend.

  “Really?” He smiles, his eyes moving through the window and to the hot tub—to Emily.

  “Yeah, man. You’re a catch. Why not?” I push Emily out of my mind, and I suck Eliza back in.

  September 19, 2015

  This is the life. The jet from Brooks’s hot tub beats against my lower back, and I’ve made it. If my parents could only see me now, sipping wine with the rich. I remind myself that I’m rich, too, now, but sometimes it still doesn’t feel real. I guess it’s because it was Grandma’s money. A grandma I didn’t even know. But it was the state’s before the lottery gave it to her. Before she gave it to me. Destiny.

  Mom and Dad probably wouldn’t be pleased I had all those surgeries, though. They’d probably say I’m crossing an ocean for someone who wouldn’t jump a puddle for me. But ultimately I think they’d be happy I’m doing something other than sitting in the house and hiding away from the world. I miss them terribly. The day they’d died is when outsiders would probably say I’d started to lose my mind. When the only two people you have in the world die on the same day, that’s a great recipe to make anyone go a little nutty. But I’m not nutty. I’m simply determined. Really, what’s so insane about getting a little plastic surgery to make a person feel good about themselves? All I did was fix what Eliza did to me … and a little extra. Millions of women get plastic surgery, that’s what I’d tell any Negative Nancy. I’d look them straight in the eyes and ask if they know what it’s like to be ugly. I’d ask if they’d ever had food thrown at them as a kid or roaches put into their locker. I’d ask if they know what it’s like to never ever get a second glance from a guy. To see the chick in front of them at the tire store get a discount they know they’ll never get. To love someone and think about that person every day, only to have that person come back and ignore them. Would those same people who’d readily call me a nutcase tell me they’ve never done anything to try and get an ex back? Maybe I’m pushing the boundaries a little, I don’t know. But this is just how it has to be done because of the circumstances.

  Eliza and I towel off before we change back into our clothes. Deacon is all over my shit. Eyeing me up and down from across the room with those neon eyes of his. If something happens and none of this works, maybe I’ll hit him up for real.

  We settle in the living room. Eliza sits on Brooks’s lap in an overstuffed chair, and Deacon and I sit next to each other on the loveseat. A slobbering German Shepherd comes click-clacking down the hall, and I have a brief moment of fear, wondering if it can sniff out the forme
rly ugly girl with bags of silicone in her chest and ass fat in her lips and a human-carved nose. I imagine it barking at me incessantly until Brooks reads the dog’s thoughts screaming fraud alert! But I take a deep breath and try to redirect my negativity like my old therapist taught me, because negative thoughts negate, and positive thoughts polish. And I’m polishing our dusty, yet very real, love.

  The dog gallops over to me and proceeds to lick all over my arms. I can’t tell if it likes me or not. But it will like me … or I’ll poison it. Just kidding.

  “Janie, lie down,” Brooks commands before the dog can lick my legs off.

  Deacon holds out a protective arm in front of me, and Brooks lets Janie out into the yard.

  It’s not long before we’re all halfway to Drunkville. Eliza suggests we play Scrabble, which I think is funny because she doesn’t seem that smart … not smart enough to win. I doubt she even reads. I have no idea how she graduated from UGA.

  Brooks grabs the board from one of the built-in shelves, and we set it up on the coffee table. All of us draw tiles, and Eliza draws an A and gets to go first, because apparently she doesn’t win enough in life with her rich parents and her Calvin Klein model boyfriend and her perfect, giant diamond.

  Deacon passes the bag to me so I can put the Y that I drew back into the bag and draw seven new letters. He looks into my eyes a second too long, and I’m confident he wants me. Fucking him will be easy. No problem. But it can’t be tonight. I have to lose my virginity to someone else first, because Deacon can’t know I’m a virgin, just like Brooks can’t. I need some practice, anyway. The last thing I want is for him to tell Brooks I’m awful in bed.

  We play and drink. Eliza sucks at Scrabble just like I’d suspected she would. Deacon is decent enough, but poor Brooks is just unlucky in the tiles he draws.

  “Dude, I have nothing but consonants,” Deacon groans, his hair now in a man-bun to keep it out of his eyes.

  “You’re not supposed to tell us, dumbass!” Eliza blurts.

  Brooks shakes his head at her obnoxiousness. She’s the dumbass, because she totally could have gotten a triple word score on her last move instead of the paltry points she got.

  Deacon made his move, and now it’s Brooks’s turn. What a genius he is. He manages to make the word VICTORIOUS. I can’t help but watch his biceps move as he places the letters, and his dimples make me wet again. I crave to jump on his cock and screw on the Scrabble board. It’s my turn, and my tiles are shitty, but I can make the words tick, slick, or lick.

  “Nothing too spectacular, but…” I call out an “I” from VICTORIOUS. “L-I-C-K. LICK.” I keep my eyes on the board, and I lick and bite my lip after spelling my word, because Brooks is watching me. I hope he’s about to cream his pants thinking about my tongue on his cock just like I thought about his tongue on my pussy at Freezer Treats. I stifle a laugh, because when this is all over I’ll be victorious, and he’ll be licking me. But then Eliza goes and makes the word CUNT, and it kills my vision.

  Brooks and I tie in the end, which seems rather statistically improbable, but it’s clearly a sign from God that I’m right where He wants me.

  Brooks and Eliza clean up the board. Deacon nudges me with his elbow. “So, you doing okay? You know, with the boyfriend.”

  This is my chance. “Oh, that? I’m done with him.”

  “Wow, you got over that fast,” he says. “So you weren’t, like, in love with him or anything?” There’s hope in his eyes. He really is an adorable guy. He’s just not my guy.

  “I mean, I cared about him, but … anyway, it’s not a big loss.” I find a tile on the floor, and I hand it to Brooks, our hands brushing together as it transfers from mine to his. I have to step this up. The sooner this situation is all handled, the sooner Brooks will be naked on top of me and declaring his love. “What about you? Are you okay? I heard about your girlfriend … ex-girlfriend. Sorry.”

  Deacon smiles, then pulls his man-bun down. He kisses me on the cheek, his lips brushing my skin as gently as a butterfly’s wing. I feel a tingle between my thighs—partly due to it being so long since I’ve felt another person’s lips on me, and partly due to the thrill of Brooks possibly being jealous. Jealousy is caring.

  “I’m good now,” Deacon says. I start to feel guilty, like I’m cheating, but this is exactly what needs to happen.

  I will myself not to look at Brooks and hope I’ve watched enough television and kissed my old blow-up doll that I used to pretend was Brooks enough to get this right. Brooks and Eliza are looking for Twister and can’t find it. All the alcohol we’ve had helps me seize the moment. Deacon is still looking into my eyes, still smiling, and I grab his smooth baby face and pull him to my mouth. His breath smells like beer, and his lips aren’t smooth like Brooks’s twelve-year-old lips were, but his mouth is good, and I can’t believe I’m having my first real kiss in front of Brooks. I feel evil.

  Deacon moves my hands down to his neck, grabbing me gently by the face just as I’d grabbed his. I’m scared as his tongue enters my mouth, but I find it, and we move together. He tastes good even though I don’t like beer. I hope I’m doing well at this whole kissing thing. No, I’m doing great. I’m the best kisser ever, because, you know, positive thinking.

  Brooks clears his throat. Eliza laughs and says, “Wowwwww.” Deacon releases me from our perfect kiss.

  “Sorry,” I say softly, and I do feel guilty.

  But Deacon is smiling as big as humanly possible, and he doesn’t look sorry.

  I can’t bring myself to look into Brooks’s eyes. I saw him looking at me while I was in the hot tub. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I think he already has a thing for me, which would be slightly disappointing because he’s supposed to be a faithful guy. Maybe I really don’t know him or his pearl. Maybe he’s as fake as my outsides are right now.

  Nah, that’s stupid. Brooks can’t help if he’s attracted to me, and he’s done nothing out of line.

  “Well,” Eliza says. “Should we play Twister, or should we leave you two alone?”

  Brooks puts his arms around her waist. She smiles up at him and says they can be alone, too, and then she purrs like a fucking kitten. I hate her more every minute.

  “Who’s gonna spin?” Deacon claps his hands together.

  Brooks suggests that we all roll dice, and that the loser does the spinning the first round. Deacon loses, so Eliza, Brooks, and I twist and contort our bodies on the mat until Eliza falls over because she’s a sloppy drunk. It’s just me and Brooks now. My face is almost in his armpit. He has B.O., but it’s just barely there, and it’s a hot B.O., and it’s turning me on.

  “Right leg green,” Deacon calls.

  Brooks ends his move with his stomach facing up, almost in a back bend position. I make my move so that I’m all but straddling him, even though I could have moved somewhere else. Eliza is in the kitchen swallowing Pepto, preparing for the worst since she’s a lightweight.

  “Left hand yellow,” Deacon laughs.

  Brooks tries to shift his body, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m about to make mine when I spot something on the bookshelf—a framed sketch that grabs my attention. But now Brooks and I are falling down like London Bridge. I’m sitting on top of him, both of us laughing hysterically. This feels like old times—the summer before he’d left—when we’d arm wrestle at the creek. My attention turns back to the framed drawing of a panda and her babies. He’s kept it all this time, and it’s like a … like another sign that I’m doing the right thing. It meant something to him, because I meant something to him.

  We’re still laughing, and Deacon is cracking up, too, when Eliza comes walking back in and says we’re the worst Twister players ever. Deacon’s arm pulls at me to help me up, and as I slide off Brooks I think I detect disappointment in his eyes.

  Eliza says she wants to go to bed, and Brooks says okay. He says goodnight to Deacon and me, but it doesn’t seem like he wants to leave.

  “So, tell me more about yo
u.” Deacon pulls me to the couch and turns his face to me. “I wanna know more.”

  “What do you wanna know?” I ask.

  He gets close to my mouth like he’s going to kiss me, but he just says, “Everything.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But maybe we could start with where you grew up, whether or not you have any brothers or sisters, and … if you’ll go out with me sometime.”

  I smile, my eyes flitting nervously down to my lap. Even though I’m here for Brooks, this feels good. A guy asking a girl out on a date is something I’ve only seen in movies, so my heart yearns to play along. I can see how easy it would be to become addicted to dating around if this is the feeling you get every time.

  “Well, I’ve lived all over,” I say, in an effort to ward off detailed descriptions of any specific place, “but I was born in California. No brothers or sisters. I’m the one and only.” I smile.

  “What about my third question?” he asks, and he wants me so bad.

  “Oh.” I blush. “Well, I guess my answer to that is … yes. I’d love to go out sometime.”

  He smiles. A creaking sound comes from the hall. Brooks emerges from the darkness, walking faster once we look over.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Just getting a drink of water.”

  I ignore Brooks. Men who look like that and always get what they want go crazy over girls who don’t find them special.

  Deacon tells me he’s an attorney. I’m unsurprised because he is smooth as butter—genuinely, however. He grew up in Marietta, a suburb not far away. His mom pulls babies out of vaginas for a living, and his dad is an attorney, too.

  Brooks must go through three glasses of water before he finally goes back to bed.

  September 20, 2015

  Nothing else happened last night between Deacon and me. He took the couch, and I took the guest bed, and Eliza and I left before they woke—her way of getting back at Brooks and Deacon for leaving us. We’d laughed about it at breakfast this morning, and she’d texted him HAHAHA! that we left before they could wake up, and he’d texted back LOL, loser. I love that man.