“Zac.” Mrs. McIntosh’s voice brings me out of my thoughts. “Would you just stay still? Stop looking in Ivy’s direction. Look at the whiteboard.”
Suddenly, the whole class turns to me. I blush and concentrate on my drawing, trying my best to ignore those heated stares from everyone around me. When I think it’s safe to look up again, Zac’s eyes are focused on the whiteboard.
It’s a grueling fifty-minute session of my life, filled with tension so thick I can’t breathe properly. When the bell rings, I pack my bag before everyone else and flee out of the art room before Zac gets a chance to talk to me.
It’s now late afternoon. I’ve an empty period, but not wanting to think of the pain in my heart, I go to the art room again to finish my painting of Zac.
“Hey, Ivy.”
I don’t know when Sam appeared, but he did and is now sitting beside me. Perhaps my mind is too cooped up with the current event in my life that I fail to notice his presence.
“Hi, Sam,” I respond quietly. I dab the paintbrush into green paint to paint Zac’s eye color, but somehow it doesn’t look right. Wondering why Sam is still sitting beside me, I ask, “Do you need something? Our lesson won’t be until next week.”
“I… ur… I was just wondering, is anyone going to take you to the prom?” I look at him, wondering why he would be bringing this subject up. “It’s tomorrow, and I know it’s a bit late, but if you have no one to go with, I want to ask you to be my partner.”
I put the paintbrush down. Releasing a deep sigh, I tell him, “I’m not going.”
I decided long ago that I wasn’t going. When Zac bought me that dress, I thought I would wear it if he asked me to go, even as a friend, but now it’s not going to happen. I let my feelings get in the way of reality. And now my heart is paying for the consequences.
“Why not?” Sam asks.
I find it annoying that he’s being persistent like this. I sigh again. “I don’t want to go.”
“Ivy, I think you should go. It’s your last year here. Plus. I’ve already bought you tickets.”
Mandy appears out of nowhere and voices her comment.
“You two go,” I tell them, returning back to my artwork. “Prom is not my thing. I’ll pay you back for the ticket you bought.”
“Ivy. Please.” Mandy begs me. “It’s our last year here. I don’t know what’s going to happen when you enter law school. You might be even too busy to socialize with me. This is our final year of high school. Shouldn’t we spend it memorably?”
Sam has to add, “Yeah, Ivy. Come on.”
I give in, mainly for the fact that I want to be left alone to finish this painting of mine rather than my enthusiasm for wanting to go to prom.
“Fine. We’ll go as a group, then.”
“Excellent. I’m not going by myself and Sam won’t go if you won’t go. So that settles it, then,” Mandy chirps in happily.
“Good. Now can you two leave me in peace? I want to finish this project.”
Sam chuckles and Mandy only shakes her head, saying the usual line of my obsessive nature of hard work.
When they leave, I sigh again. I really don’t want to go to prom. Everything is happening so fast. Prom is tomorrow already.
It’s now three thirty in the afternoon. The sky has an orange glow to it, like the sun is about to set. I wish for the sun to not set just yet, wishing for the sky to not grow dark just yet, for it’s this sun that I crave, because in the dark, I dream of Zac… or the nightmare.
Ignoring this gnawing feeling inside me, I pick up the paintbrush and start mixing the paint on the many trays. Suddenly, I hear footsteps approaching me. It must be Sam or Mandy again.
Ignoring those footsteps, I focus my attention on mixing the paint so it turns a lovely shade of green, that emerald of Zac’s eyes.
The footsteps stop behind my back. I still don’t flinch. Then all of a sudden, a deep voice speaks, a voice I know so well that I start shaking in fear and trepidation.
“Ivy.”
Chapter 20
ZAC
Confession
The sounds of my footsteps echo along the empty corridor, leading me to the art room at the end of the hallway. I really hope she is alone there. I don’t want to have a private conversation when people are about.
I’ve been meaning to talk to Ivy for some time now, since our heated fight from two weeks ago. I decided to let her cool down first, without texting her or calling her constantly. But it’s approaching prom night, and I want to ask her out for my date. I think it’s about time I man up and fire the bullet.
When I was in the art class, posing as a model, I kept on wanting to talk to her, but the opportunity never presented itself. Then when I wanted to approach her after school, she left class early. Now I’ve found out she is working on her art assignment, so I make sure I stay behind and confront her.
When I open the door, I expel a breath of relief. Ivy is all alone with her back to me. All her attention is focused on mixing her paint.
I find each step I take leading me to her makes my mouth run dry. I wonder why. It feels like I’ve swallowed sawdust. It’s so dry and gritty. I simply deduced it to plain nerves.
I’ve never been nervous like this before. Maybe I’m just scared I’ll be rejected. This is the point of no return. This is going to be the day I confess.
I shake my head and make my way to where Ivy sits. Upon hearing someone approach her, her body stiffens and tenses. Her fingers grip onto the paintbrush tightly, making her knuckles go white.
She doesn’t speak as I go to her. Nor does she move or turn around to look at me. She just sits there listening to my movements.
I let out a heavy sigh and take a chair to sit down. I sit close to her; my face is just inches from her back. Ivy still doesn’t say a single word.
“Ivy,” I say, the sound of my voice resonating onto her back. She stiffens a bit more but still says nothing.
I try again. “Ivy.”
Ivy still doesn’t respond to me. I’m a little upset but then put it down to plain feelings. Maybe Ivy’s still feeling upset over our fight, so she doesn’t want to talk to me. So I’ll let her listen and I’ll talk instead.
“Ivy. We have to talk.”
“I have nothing to talk about,” she says after a little while.
“But I do. You can just listen,” I tell her. “I want to ask you out to the prom.”
She stays silent for a moment and then starts dipping the paintbrush into her array of paint trays and then dabbing them onto the canvas. Only then does she speak. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got someone I’m going with already.”
“What?” I shout in my sudden surprise, screeching my chair back and standing up. I wasn’t expecting anyone to take Ivy out to prom since she’s such a bookworm, so I thought this was the perfect opportunity for me. “Who’s taking you, Ivy? Who?”
“Sam will be taking me,” she replies impassively, as if she has no emotion at all. She puts her paintbrush down again and remains silent.
“No. That four-eyed geek can’t take you,” I shout, as if by doing this she will choose me over Samuel.
How stupid can I be to act this brash? I know she dislikes me acting in this tyrannical manner of mine, but right now I can’t control myself.
“Sam is not a geek,” she says in that impassive tone of hers.
“You still can’t go with him,” I demand.
“You can’t demand me not to go out with Sam,” Ivy says, picking up her paintbrush and dabbing onto the canvas again.
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I say calmly, clenching and unclenching my fists, trying very hard to control my temper. Sam and Ivy together make my blood boil. I sit back down again once I’ve regained control of my temper.
Ivy’s right. I can’t control her. I can’t demand her to do anything. Even if I lost this round to that four-eyed geek, I’m still going to make Ivy my girlfriend. See who’s the last one standing. Samuel or me.
> We don’t say anything else. We just sit there in silence.
To stop this deafening silence, I ask, “How’s Moon doing? Is she well? Her diabetes not playing up?”
“She’s fine.”
“Has she been eating the sweets I gave her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh,” I let out. “And you. Have you been keeping well? Eating well? Sleeping well?”
“I’m fine.” And that’s it. She doesn’t say any more.
There’s another long stretch of silence. I hate silence. It’s frightening not to be able to hear any sound at all. That’s why I always have Elsa with me, everywhere I go.
I curse myself at this very minute. Maybe if I had Elsa with me, I could confess to Ivy easily. Maybe sing her a song as my confession, instead of talking to her like this.
Because I don’t know how to broach the subject of my confession, I look for something else to do in the meantime. My eyes catch sight of Ivy’s messy bun atop her head.
“You know,” I say, “if you put your hair in that messy bun, it destroys your hair.”
“Zac, don’t.” She flinches when she feels my fingers touching her hair.
I don’t listen to her and, without her permission, take the band out. Her hair becomes loose and flows freely like a waterfall.
Her hair is so beautiful. Everything about Ivy is so beautiful. Without knowing, my fingers start threading through the tresses, untangling them, separating them so they run more freely between my fingers.
“Zac, what are you doing?” she speaks, a slight shudder to her breath.
“I’m combing your hair,” I tell her as I continue to run my fingers through the strands.
“Stop it,” she says, her breath heavier.
“No. I want to touch your hair. It’s beautiful,” I reply.
Her hair is so soft. Why have I never touched it before? I take a bunch of her hair and place it against my nose and inhale. It smells nice and fresh, like she just washed it.
“Zac, let my hair go. You have no right to touch my hair,” she begs, her voice breaking.
But I don’t listen to her. “I have the right to touch your hair, Ivy. I’m your friend.”
I brush her comment aside and sink my whole face into the realm of her chestnut tresses, kissing them, inhaling them, embracing them, and when it’s not enough to satisfy my craving, my arms go around her body and I hug her, pulling her body closer to mine so I can nestle into the nape of her neck. There I inhale her hair again, taking in her sweet scent, kissing her hair, drawing all of her sweet nectar. God, I could lose myself with just this simple action.
“God, Ivy, you’re so beautiful,” I groan, feeling my pulse plummeting to at all-time high and my ears ringing. I want more. I need more of Ivy.
Through my lust-filled haze I pull at her cardigan until her shoulder blade is exposed. Seeing naked skin, I drop a kiss on her shoulder. And then one little kiss turns into two and then three and then four. And before I know it, I rain kisses on Ivy’s shoulder. But I still want more. So I part her hair to reveal the nape of her neck and start planting kisses there too. Ivy trembles within the folds of my embrace.
“No, don’t do this, Zac. You can’t do this,” she begs me again. But still I don’t listen.
“Yes. I can do this. I’m your friend,” I find myself answering.
“No, you can’t,” she says, her body shaking, trying to free herself, but I only hold on to her tighter, increasing the strength of my trap around her, pressing her back onto my chest.
“Yes, I can,” I say determinedly. “I’m your friend. I can touch you.”
And when the kisses on her shoulder and neck are not enough, I kiss a trail down her earlobe and up along the jawline of her chin. Cupping her chin, I tilt her face upwards so she’s slightly facing me. From this angle, I take her lips once again.
God, it’s been so long, far too long. I missed those lips. I need those lips. They’re like my bloodline. I suck at them; they taste crispy and sweet, like wine if that’s what wine would taste like.
I’m drowning, Ivy. I’m drowning in you. Ivy, I love you. I want you, I tell her through this kiss.
Again and again, I lunge my tongue into her cavity and take my fill, capturing her tongue, drawing out all her scent and nectar.
“Zac… urggghhh… nnnnn…” Ivy lets out between our kisses when I come up for air.
“Yes, Ivy, yes. I can touch you because I’m your friend. I’m your friend. Ivy. That’s why I can do this,” I mumble in my heated craze and then go in for the second round. Again and again, while I kiss and mesh my lips to hers, I mumble this out, telling her I’m allowed to do this.
“…mmm… ugghh… No, you don’t.” She yanks away from me, somehow managing to break my protective circle. Ivy turns to face me for the first time.
“Ivy,” I speak, coming out of my lustful craze. I look at Ivy and my eyes widen in pain.
Ivy, she looks horrible. What has she been going through? I knew I was affected, but it makes my journey to misery seem a walk in the park compared to the hell she must have been facing. She has hollow eyes and cheeks. It looks like she hasn’t even slept nor eaten for days.
Juliet, my sweet Juliet. Why are you not looking after yourself? Even though you were affected by our fight, you still have no right to do this to your own body.
I go to embrace her again and take her face between my palms. “You lied to me, Ivy. You said you were sleeping well. Look at your eyes. They’re all hollow.”
“Zac. Let me go.”
I ignore her and start tracing the outline of her eyes.
“I said don’t touch me.” She yanks her face away like she’s been burned and goes to stand a good distance from me.
“Why?” I ask her. “Why can’t I touch you? We’re friends.”
“We’re not friends,” she seethes at me. “I’ve told you already that I’m no longer your friend. The day I left you at the hospital.”
“No, Ivy. I don’t believe you. You’re still upset. You’re still mad about that accident. Inside, I know you still want to be my friend. How long do you need? I’ll give you more time. Just don’t say we can’t be friends. Tell me, just tell me if you need more time. I’ll give it to you. I promise I won’t bother you and interrupt you again. Just tell me. I want us to have a good relationship again.”
“Stop saying the same thing over and over again. How many times do I have to tell you I no longer want to hang out with you? I no longer want to be your friend. I don’t need any more time to dwell over this matter. I want to move on with my life.”
“That’s good.” I go to embrace her, holding on to her tight. Ivy struggles out of my grasp like a fish, but I don’t release my grip. “Move on with your life, Ivy. Forget about the past.”
Ivy stands still. This is strange. Usually, she would struggle. Why is she not struggling like before? Curiosity makes me release her. I part her hair and look into her face.
“Yes, Zac. Move on with my life. A life without you in the picture, a life without being reminded constantly of Dillon whenever I see you.”
Like I’ve been burned by hot flames, I pull back and unleash my anger. “You’re not being fair, Ivy,” I shout at her, tears threatening to come out. “You know I can’t decide my fate. You know I can’t change who I’m related to. Why can’t you differentiate that much? Why do we always come to the same point? Why do we always argue about the same thing? You know I’m not Dillon, yet every time we talk, it’s always about that. What has that got to do with us?”
“It has everything to do with us,” she shouts back at me. “I am the one your brother almost killed in that accident. I can’t live knowing the brother of the man who had killed my family is a friend of mine. It hurts too much.”
“Ivy,” I stress. “Why? Why can’t you ever forget about the past?”
“Because of your eyes. They’re like Dillon’s.” She turns away from me, her gaze no longer on me.
&nbs
p; I want to shake her. I want her to look at me. Why can’t she forget about the past? Even though she said she wants to look toward the future, she keeps on saying the same thing over and over again, but she can’t look at me in the face.
“What do I have to do for us to be friends?” I shake her. “Do you want me to scratch my eyes out? I could even be blind just so I could be next to you.”
“You don’t need to go to that extreme. Just don’t talk to me in the future. Just pretend we’re strangers. That should be enough for me.”
“Ivy,” I cry. “Why did you say that? Why are you being so cruel?”
Her words, they are like a knife, stabbing into my heart again and again. It’s so painful that I can barely breathe.
“I am a cruel person, Zac. Hate me, Zac. Don’t come near me, Zac,” she says, fighting back the tears welling up in her eyes.
“No, no, Ivy,” I tell her when I see the look in her eyes. “You’re not cruel. You’re the kindest person I know. You’re so devoted to your family. You take care of them. I’ve never seen anyone like you before. Ivy I… I…” Before I can say I love you, I plunge in ahead of time, surprising her, forcing another desperate kiss on her. This is what I’ve wanted from the very beginning. This is what I want to do, to touch her, to kiss her.
My passion and emotion that I have kept hidden from her breaks free from the tightly enclosed lid that I have kept wrapped up for so long. I want to tell her this is what I want. This is what I need.
Juliet. I need you. I need only you. My Juliet. You’re the only one that can satisfy my craving.
I kiss her some more. But the more I kiss her, the more she struggles against me until she breaks down and cries.
“Let me go, Zac,” she cries into my shoulder. “Stop doing this to me. Just stop doing this to me, please.” She trembles and shakes. Her body is as light as a feather as she clings onto me, leaning onto me to rest against my frame. “It’s too painful. Just too painful. I can’t bear this anymore. Please, just let me go. Let me go, please.”
Let Me Love You: A Novel Page 19
