The Evolution of Ivy: Poison

by Lauren Campbell

  I never want spaghetti again. The smell of whatever died in her butt is indescribable, and it beckons the contents of my stomach. I hold my stupid nose and blow out a quiet, deep breath. Tears fall onto my tray as I calculate the number of days that I’ll have to keep doing this.

  The bell finally rings for all students to make their way to class. The teacher is long gone, but the smell never dissipated. I exit the bathroom, drop my uneaten tray off in the cafeteria, and start heading to World History when I hear a voice that is familiar but isn’t.

  Feeling a sudden rush of heat, I look up from my crappy shoes. My head is dizzy as I search for the source of the voice, my eyes frantic before they settle. I’m either hallucinating or on drugs. But I don’t do drugs. I couldn’t do them if I wanted to, because I can’t afford them.

  I blink repeatedly, but the scenery doesn’t change. He’s there. Him. Brooks.

  I try in vain to speak his name, but nothing escapes my lips. I’ve dreamed of this day for three long years, thinking it would never come to fruition, wondering if his parents had decided to stay in France forever. But he’s here. He’s back! Without realizing it, without telling my body what to do, I’m drawn to him. My feet carry me slowly, involuntary baby step by involuntary baby step, as my heart pounds forcefully, happily. I worry it’ll thump so hard it bursts out of my chest and onto the floor, bloody and still pumping.

  Stopping a few feet shy of him, I become a statue. Observe him. Make sure he’s real. He’s laughing with some other guys, and I want to drop my backpack and throw my arms around him. Tell him I love him, too, which I never got to say.

  It’s surreal … overwhelming. He looks the same, yet somehow different. He’s taller. His hair abandoned its golden-brown hue and is now a dark chocolate. His voice a husky version of what it once was. Teeth impeccably straight, like he’s had braces he didn’t need. He’s gorgeous. Angelic.

  His eyes glance in my direction, connecting with my own before turning back to his friends. His expression was odd. It wasn’t that he recognized me. It was the opposite, like he didn’t. Like he wondered who the ugly girl staring at him was. Or maybe he did recognize me but was repulsed by how I’ve changed. In that case, I’d rather die.

  The girl from class—not the cunt, but Kate—approaches him. Asks him a question. I stand there, frozen, unable to decipher their conversation. It’s loud in this hall, so loud, and the breaking of my heart is so real it’s nearly audible. This just can’t be. My Brooks, the beautiful boy I’ve thought of every day for three years, the boy I missed so desperately, whom I love, who kissed me that hot, muggy summer before sixth grade and told me he loved me and would never forget me … has forgotten.

  It’s been one hour and twelve minutes since I saw him, and it’s been one hour and twelve minutes since my heart stitched itself back together before self-destructing. And it all happened in under a minute. I sit here in science, without a partner to work with, and thoughts of Brooks consume me. This is simultaneously the best and worst day of my life. The best, because I never thought I’d see him again. The worst, because he didn’t know me, and he’s only a shell of the boy I knew.

  I jerk up my backpack with the ring of the bell, racing for the hall in hopes to be the first one outside. I need water. I need fresh air. I need the protection of our stupid van. I stop at the fountain near the entrance.

  Water flows into my mouth, cooling my warm veins. But my thirst isn’t waning.

  “Had enough water yet, loser?” a voice says, one that I recognize. One that I’m scared of.

  Before I can look up, I’m thrust into a glacier as freezing water splashes onto me, wetting my hair and dripping into my eyes. Hysterical laughter ensues as I lift my face from the fountain, still bent over it, moving the wet hair from my face.

  “Hey!” a voice shouts—his voice.

  “Oh!” a familiar voice says. “You’re finally back. Did you bring me any souvenirs?” she laughs.

  A hand grabs my arm. I don’t know if it’s his or hers or someone else’s, because I’m rubbing water out of my eyes and can’t see.

  “You’re such a bitch, Eliza.”

  “Lighten up, Brookster. She was thirsty.” She laughs, and people laugh with her.

  Finally, I open my eyes. Grab my hair and wring it out.

  “Ivy?” he says, mouth hanging wide, though I only see him peripherally because I can’t bear to look at him.

  The surprise in his voice confirms he didn’t recognize me earlier today. I’m petrified, and I wish I had the ability to teleport, to disappear from this world, because I know I’m not good enough anymore. Things will never be the same.

  Kate appears alongside him, her eyes moving from Eliza to Brooks and then to me.

  I push past them, past all the kids. I run for the doors, and then burst into the parking lot. Running so fast, just as he ran from me that day at the creek. Running, running, running.

  October 10, 2015

  When I open the door to my apartment, Deacon is naked, pouring a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. His hair is a mess in a way that could never look good on a woman, but somehow it does on him.

  “Babe, where’d you go?” he asks, opening the fridge.

  “To check on Eliza.”

  “Dude, are you out of milk?”

  “Probably.”

  “Nothing better than dry cereal,” he groans, then shoves a spoonful of dry flakes in his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I mutter. Nothing other than feeling like I’m blowing everything and wasting time. If the damn cat hadn’t freaked out, and if Deacon hadn’t called, maybe I would’ve had time to go through all the boxes. There’s no telling what’s in them.

  Deacon crunches on the cereal, his flaccid cock and bare ass a mild irritation. The only cock and ass I want to see belong to Brooks.

  “Would you mind putting on some clothes?” I ask.

  He stops crunching. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

  I bypass the soda and pull a bottled water from the fridge. I worked hard for this body, and I’m not willing to ruin it unless it’s from popping out Brooks’s kids. Speaking of kids, I should have taken one of those pills that keeps fertilized eggs from hitching a ride in your uterus. According to the internet, it’s probably too late now. So in a week I’ll take a test, and in the meantime I’ll pray, and if it’s positive I’ll kill Deacon.

  I find my pills. Toss one in my mouth. Pray it calms me down.

  Deacon exits the bedroom. Buttons up his pants. He’s still shirtless. His arms wrap around me, and I rub his chest, but it’s more of how you’d rub a friend’s back.

  He pulls away. “Do you want me to go?”

  I can’t blow things with Deacon, too, so I lie. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.” But it’s not really a lie, anyway, because I am starting to feel sick, except mentally. My future husband is engaged to another girl, and he’s fucking her, and he’s not fucking me, and if my life were a Facebook status, it’d be It’s Complicated. So. Damn. Complicated.

  “Really? Anything I can do? Get you some ginger ale? Food?” He rubs my arms and tucks my hair behind my ears.

  I meet his eyes and force a smile. “I think I just need to rest. I like to be alone when I’m not feeling well.”

  “I understand. I’ll go.” He puts on his shirt, then grabs his shoes. “Call me later, okay? Let me know if I can bring you anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  I’ve been on the couch, brainstorming ways I can get into Eliza’s apartment and inspect it with a fine-toothed comb. Brooks doesn’t strike me as the type to go through her things. There could be all sorts of goodies in there, just waiting to be found. If she’s sentimental and has kept things from each stage of her life, maybe I’ll get lucky and find something about Tenth Grade Guy. Hell, maybe they even wrote letters to each other.

  There’s a knock at my door. I’m not sure how much time has passed since Deacon left. Rolling my eyes, I pull myself off the couch. He m
ust have forgotten something. I open the door aggressively, but Jared is standing there, smiling, with two coffees in his hands.

  “Thought you might like to have coffee.” I wonder if anyone who lives in here actually works, or if everyone’s parents pay their bills.

  I let him in, because he’s just what I need—someone so fucked up they’re trustworthy. Someone unconnected to me emotionally, who won’t care if shit ends and will simply move on to the next conquest. Someone who can withstand a little drama unscathed.

  We sit on my purple patio chairs on the balcony, the air cool and crisp. Summer has passed away, and the weather is finally changing, though it’s nowhere near as chilly as Colorado. Below, people run along the sidewalk with their dogs, but never strollers with babies. I’ve yet to see a child since living here.

  “So, was that your boyfriend?”

  I look at him. Narrow my eyes at his bold question. “Were you spying on me?”

  “I live across the hall,” he reminds me. “It’s hardly spying.”

  I shake my head at his nosiness. “Sort of.”

  “That’s cool.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Does that mean I have no chance now?”

  “What?” I stop short, my own cup of coffee not making it to my lips.

  “I mean, are you exclusive? Does he mean we can’t go out again?”

  “We haven’t gone out,” I hiss.

  “Touché. I guess I should have said, does your thing with him mean I can’t take you on a date?”

  “Come on, Jared. Don’t fuck with me like this.” If those words came from Ivy, they’d be because she was convinced his question was a trick. But Emily says them because she doesn’t appreciate bullshit.

  “Like what? I want to take you on a date is all.” He gets a text. Peeks at his phone, then locks it.

  I know his type. And since I need him, I’ll test him. “Like, I’m not your average sport fuck, so don’t try to treat me as such?”

  “Wow,” he says. “Are you always such a bitch in the mornings?”

  “I’m this bitchy to assholes,” I correct him. I’ve watched too many movies too many times in my loneliness to let him think he can play me. If this Italian stallion is going to use me for sex, it’s going to be me holding all the cards.

  “What?” His mouth hangs open, but I ignore him. “You’re crazy,” he says, finally. “I ask you a simple question, and you go psycho.”

  “I’m not an idiot. You don’t want to take me on a date. You want to fuck me.”

  “I have fucked you,” he retorts.

  “Yes.” I nod. “And if you want to fuck me again, you won’t treat me like the average cunt you bring home who’s probably stupid enough to think you’ll call the next day.” I’m sure he has broads walking out of his apartment hoping their physical gifts will cement something of substance just because he’s smoking hot and has a good job.

  “Well, good chat,” he says, standing up.

  “Sit down,” I say, but he doesn’t move. “Come on. Sit.”

  He rolls his eyes. Sits reluctantly, and empties his coffee out onto the street, unconcerned with any potential victims.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I say. “But you and I both know there’s nothing more than sex here.”

  “Why not? I said I would take you on a date!” he protests.

  “A pity date, sure. It’s not a problem. Really, Jared. You want to have sex with me, and I want to have sex with you.”

  “You do?” The confusion on his face is worth every penny in my bank account.

  “Yes. I do. Tomorrow night.”

  “Works for me.” He grins.

  We finish the coffees, mostly in silence, before he asks, “But why not today?”

  “Do you want sex or not?”

  “I do. I very much do.”

  “Then you’ll be patient. What are you doing on Halloween?”

  “Uh, I don’t know, why? I’m spontaneous.” No shit. Spontaneous fucks are the thrill of his life.

  “It’s my birthday. I think I’ll have a party. You should come.”

  “Okay. But wait, what about your boyfriend?”

  “He’ll be in Cancun for a bachelor party.”

  “Sweet. I’ll be there,” he says, then changes his tone. “Have you ever had a threesome?”

  I cut my eyes to him. “Okay, coffee time is over. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I woke up this morning to a text from Eliza, asking me to work on getting a seat on her flight. I did my best, but the flight was already full, so I’ll be traveling alone. But I managed to get a seat on the return flight.

  I saw Jared as promised. He ordered Chinese, we watched a really boring documentary, and then we banged on his couch. I really need to practice as much as possible before Brooks and I commit, but I’m kind of disappointed. Either the first time with him was awesome, or the second time was just okay, or maybe Deacon is just better. I didn’t get much out of it today, no matter how much I pretended it was a Brooks dick and not a Jared dick. At least I didn’t want to cry after it was over. But that’s what happens. Part of why people cheat so nonchalantly. Everyone is always fucking, and after you do it so many times, it’s like eating breakfast or brushing your teeth.

  The internet says it’s different when you’re in love, though. I can’t wait to test that out. I smile to myself. Brooks has no idea the former Ivy Hobbs has evolved to Emily Brandt, The Walking Sex, and that she’s coming for him.

  October 18, 2015

  Deacon squeezes my knee, then walks his fingers teasingly up my leg.

  “Eyes on the road,” I command.

  We’re on our way to Brooks’s parents’ house for a celebratory lunch pertaining to Jansen Brewing’s acquisition of a smaller company. Eliza didn’t invite me. Didn’t tell me anything about it. Deacon had insisted I come along, and I’d gladly accepted. Any time with Brooks is well invested.

  Deacon didn’t lie when he’d said Brooks’s parents’ place was larger than his. It’s a massive, castle-like Tudor with ornate mahogany doors. Like the Sanders’s, there is a fountain, and a guest house is visible on the back right of the property.

  Brooks’s parents greet us, hugging Deacon and thanking him for coming. We didn’t speak at the dinner party at the Sanders’s place, so I’m nervous.

  “Hello. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Brooks’s mom says, sticking her hand out to me to shake. “I’m Brooks’s mother, Catherine, and this is his father, William.”

  She’s being very cordial, but I can’t help but wonder if she’d treat Ivy the same. “Emily. Nice to meet you.”

  She ushers us into the backyard where a group has gathered, albeit more casually than the Sanders’s party. Brooks and Eliza sit on the patio near an unlit fire pit, their hands locked together, his eyes gazing adoringly at her.

  “Emily,” she says. “Come sit.” She motions to another couch facing the one they’re sitting on.

  Deacon and I sit, our fingers intertwining as I lean into him for show. Deacon’s parents appear, chatting with Brooks’s parents about stock and margins. His mom looks at us. Smiles halfheartedly at me before turning her platinum blonde head back to the conversation.

  Eliza and I pretend to be interested while Deacon and Brooks discuss football. Though my eyes dart between Brooks and Deacon, peripherally I see Eliza’s eyes cut to me. Like she’s watching me—studying me, like her insecurities are finally making her question her friendship with me.

  My laugh pierces the air, unprovoked. Everyone looks to me.

  Deacon squeezes my leg. “What’s so funny?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I wave him off. “I was just thinking about how you’re still introducing me as your friend.”

  Deacon looks caught off guard. “Oh,” he says. “I—”

  “Is that all we are?” I cut him off. “Friends?”

  “Babe, of course not.” He smiles.

  “Good,” I say, and I kiss him.

  “As a matter of fact,”
he says, getting up and kneeling comically before me. He takes my left hand into his. “Emily Brandt, I am proposing that you please do me the honor of being my girl—”

  He stops mid-sentence. Turns his head toward a barking dog. I follow his gaze to find a striking redhead in a navy dress, making her way down the stairs. She stops. Chest heaves up and down as she presses her mouth into a thin line.

  I look at Brooks and Eliza, hoping for an answer of some sort, then back to Deacon, who is still kneeling with my hands in his.

  “Oh shit,” Eliza says.

  Brooks says, “Huh.”

  I’m completely oblivious and confused.

  “Deacon?” the redhead shouts, her voice thick with surprise.

  Everyone in the yard faces her. I tug on Deacon’s hand. He stands up hurriedly. I want to know what the fuck is going on. The redhead turns. Runs back up the stairs and into the house and slams the door. Deacon looks at me, then to the door again, his forehead drenched with sweat.

  “God, uh … fuck!” he says, a pained expression on his face. Before I can ask questions, he runs for the house.

  My jaw is slack, eyes stinging from the cool air, because I think I forgot to blink.

  Brooks’s mother puts a hand on my arm. “I’m sure he’ll be right back, dear. Ex-girlfriend,” she whispers. Pity.

  Deacon’s mother doesn’t offer any words of consolation. She bypasses me and rushes to the house, demanding her husband follow her.

  “Well, that was awkward,” Eliza says, squinting her eyes at Brooks. “I thought they were over for good?”

  “Yeah,” Brooks says. “Me too.”

  “That was his ex?”

  Brooks’s head nods as he clears his throat. “Kara. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on.”