The Ivy Part 5

WARNING: The series below may contain images and subject matter that might be disturbing to some readers. [18+]

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I woke up with the bed empty and cold, but his shirt had been left there just waiting to hold me and tell me all the truth I wanted to hear. The apartment smelled like lemon, almost antiseptic. There was a new present for me laid out on the dresser. A silver locket lay there ready to be placed on my neck. I put it on and smiled. My body was still shivering from the night before, ridding the sheets like waves was hard on me, but I simply composed myself, walked to the fridge, grabbed an apple and bit into its flesh. I took myself in the shower to clean off from last night. The shower was odd this morning…. a lot of towels again, Troy must have cut himself shaving again…. I get into the stall, feel the steam….but that’s all. I don’t remember now what I was doing, or what soap I was using. But I do remember stepping out of the shower, looking in the mirror. I was not Ivy anymore was I. I was his Ivy, a different Ivy….

 

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It was on our anniversary, that I asked Troy to share more about himself. It seems kind of dumb in retrospect that I never asked him about his work. The photography in the apartment of bondage and death was always curious to me. But, I figured he was just an eclectic artist, like many of my boyfriends, he liked the same macabre things I did. We always enjoyed the darkness together, and Troy was very much that side of me. The dark Ivy, the Ivy that liked to play in the shadows.

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What I can’t tell now is why it’s all so fuzzy. Why is it so dark here…? what is that? I can’t make sense of it all, I feel like I am falling…but then there is his voice, he is calling me, Ivy….my love, come closer, feel that, take this, its wet, its dark, you will like it…. come play”

And yet I did enjoy it…. whatever the it was…. these memories are just flooding me back and forth…. there is the car. His jacket…the smell…. the room and this toe…. why in the fuck is it itching? There I am again, floating back, his chest pressed against me, his lips, the steam of what was twisting in the sheets, the throbbing heated desire that dripped from me…that lingers…. Why can’t I recall what happened between us? Why is it so hard for me to know what time it is…?

I can still smell him on the pillow….my body was limp from the passion that we showered on the bed last night, my body still feeling him in me, and on me….gods Troy, I love you when you do that too me…makes me all tingly, wanting to do that again, now, here, wherever, take me like that…destroy me….that is what your dark Ivy wants…give it to me, tie me, bind me whatever you want. I give you all and everything of me…. It’s our love I feel and yet I look down and feel something. My hands are raw and red, as if I have been scrubbing things way too hard.

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But it was not that…I don’t remember cleaning anything “Ivy…. Ivy…look closer”, “Who’s there?”, “I don’t see you, I can hear you, where are you?” I feel like I am walking in fog, this place is not clear. I can’t see where I am, I call out again, “HELLO??”

I start feeling nervous, as no one answers. I reach out, and feel the air around me, I feel like I am moving towards a thing, but there in the fog, there is nothing, I am nowhere, I am alone. I feel cold, I reach my arms rubbing them, but they feel wet, and do not heat my body from the cold. I find myself in a room, it’s cold here, so very cold. There is a single chair, a table, a mirror, a cup, and paper…. that is all. Where am I? “TROY???”, “Please answer me??” …” TROY” I scream out…sobbing, I collapse on the floor…

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I see a letter, I feel the paper in my hand, so heavy…it tells everything…everything about it…there is something I am missing, but the paper is there. It looks like my hand did this, but I can’t recall, its so frustrating…. the fog, the table, the chair, the cup…nothing makes sense here. I feel something…. something on my hands…. its sticky and dripping…. something isn’t right.

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The room was dark, it was always dark there…My room where the stuffed animals guard the secrets of my scars, of the screams, the figures in the night, slipping slowly in and out of my room

I hear him…he is breathing

His hand strikes hard onto my face…he was doing it again, I was a bad girl, I was nothing

I am no good anymore…I am dirt…he told me that.

I scream out “Daddy no” he does not stop

The belt comes out

I know what happens next….and still I look at myself in the mirror

Little Ivy innocent no more…

I am broken

I am not the same…

It was these constant terrors in the dark, that walk with me…and what now strikes me to my core as the blade nicks at my wrist

Each cut a reminder that you are nothing, you feel nothing, you deserve to die

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I found the monsters that feed me this narrative, again and again, they stripped me from the good Ivy and left only the jagged rocks of a girl no longer innocent but forged into a dishevelled husk. Each partner I chose, was one that reflected back to me those nights when I was little, the hot steaming pain of each strike, bruised and bleeding, my heart, my soul.

Do you love me now daddy… Am I what you hoped for… LOOK AT ME… I am the result of you… You made me this… I am with this knife the monster that you forged. Troy…Troy was not to blame for Ivy, no, he only saw what was broken in me. In a different life, I would have taken these scars to a place of light. I would have found a way to be a better Ivy, but the darkness was my chamber of solitude and in that chamber, he found me, he embraced me and the monster I was… I became a toy for him to foster, I was the product built to perfection. Ivy 2.0 and she was not the innocent one anymore. She as his and his alone and thus I give you…. The makings and reasons for me.

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What was it about the smell that was familiar, I recall the feeling of thrusting something, a cold wet liquid spilling on me, but it was not his…there was a whimper, a sigh and there I was, writhing over the sound, riding over the wave of the smells the sounds the feeling of cold. I slump over a table, Troy shoving my skirt over my hips, “I am taking you here Ivy, spread your legs” …” Not here, Troy…no, can’t we go back in the bed?”.

“No, my love, not there, here is where I want my dark Ivy, you are mine now, bend over like a good girl and smile love smile…you are mine now love, mine alone”.

I give and consent to him, riding his hardness with a pleasure I have never known, I am in ecstasy, he lifts me slightly, bouncing my round bottom off his manhood, I was surrounded by him, whimpering, and gripping the table….

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“Ivy…..the mirror….look….its time now” a voice reaches out to me, I search for it but it is not there, I can hear it, and without knowing why I pick up the mirror…..what I see….this is not me….what is happening…oh my god why…why am I loosing myself…..TROY….WHERE ARE YOU!!! I am panicked…I cannot find him, my heart is racing, I pick up the mirror…and in there is us…our apartment, but what…. what is this…. what did I do.

Looking down now at my hands it all comes into play. There in the mirror, we were that night, ridding pleasure like a never-ending wave, back and forth in the deep and dark places only known to that which holds my intimate places…cradling them with care, he honors them like a jewel and worships at the temple of my secret places for which he is the high priest. That is not water….it is blood. It’s clear to me…the thing that I am riding on is one of his doe’s, he is fucking me on her as if she is nothing…. this is the last of what I am the last part of me that was clinging on in denial.

Then the memories become clear…. looking into that mirror, I see who I am, Oh Ivy…what are you now…there on our first night…there on the bed in which I loved him…his toys lay under the bed rotting like raw meat. The smell becomes clear, the house is laid with stains of that which has left its mark, the claws in the floor, the bits of blood and teeth that spew up into the sink…I am suffocating…. I feel it now…gods Ivy, you are a killer aren’t you.

I recall now what that feeling was that night….it was the knife in my hands, he told me…Ivy just do it, you are helping me my love. Come on he said in his honey voice….do it for me…twist her good. The blade went into her like butter. Blood soaking us both, and he fucked me in it, right there, the feelings of blood, the puddle, it was more than I could take, but if I was good at all, or even possibly in the light still, I would have run from this place, but no, he knows me too well, I am like him…I am not Ivy anymore…I am his creation. The time slips from me, as corpse after corpse piles up like stacks of paper, one on the other, I begin to loose whatever I have left, I tell this one “shut up, and die”, I become deeper and darker, loosing myself in Troy, in his heat, in this sickness, I want to be doing this don’t I….I want to put this mirror down, I don’t want to look…but my hand….its stuck….I cannot help it…I am forced to obey, forced to look…

There again…those nights in darkness, ridding me, holding me, twisting and turning me over and over, the memories flooding back and forth and I am here, and I am there, and it is cold….so cold…I cannot see myself, in this thing…only the apartment, only the bodies, only the squealing, wrenching sounds of the doe’s wide open throats then me and Troy and the writhing agony. But, it got to me…like a festering wound I could not continue to be like him…it was because I grew afraid…. seeing how deep and dark he was, I may have hurt them too, but not like him. I wanted to spare them, he wanted to prolong it…. I couldn’t anymore….

I wrote it down….i walked in the rain, I left the letter in a box by the door of a police station, I ran….how did he know…but I know now, he was following me…stalking me, his Ivy, because his Ivy could not look at him anymore, she was scared, I was scared, I wanted out….and that night…there was the dinner, there was the last night and now here I am…wherever this here is.

The mirror fades to my face, I finally see me…I am not the Ivy I was, my face or what remains of it a haunting memory, and I finally understand…. I see someone walking towards me…a woman smiles at me reaches out her hand

“forgiveness is this way, my dear” she says

She takes me to a room, there I am in the void, around me circles the doe’s.

“ask them for forgives” she says, “and mean it”

“please forgive me” I sob into the darkness

They come closer, surrounding me, they hold me, I feel something, they take out their knives, this time it is for me, I surrender to them just like Troy, I am nothing now, nothing but the dark black earth…nothing but these bones….nothing but that piece of tooth you see in that jar….I am there…my story is one of many, we are in this jar….together, waiting, to be free…

There was a time when I was innocent, all around me there was love and care and hope…. I don’t know how that was lost…it was not my music, I am not insane, I have never hurt anyone before.

Yet there was something wasn’t there. This darkness in me, growing like a cancer. Troy is not to blame for finding that, I let him. I let him take me, touch me, penetrate me, and in the safety of his arms there is crumpled, died and there left bare the deepest darkness. It was always the blood…the blood the feeing of it…I can see it on my arm as a girl, the cuts, the coping…the silent reminders of the covering of the pain…. the sobbing, the darkness, my heart…broken and shattered like glass. They took it from me, my innocent heart. There in the dark, my wrist painfully scared from the flimsy blade…releasing the pain, why could I not take this pain into the light…why is it pushed me to darkness. I Ivy, admit fully, that I do not think everyone becomes like me….but there is always something in us, that chooses the light or the dark there is no middle, there is no semblance of grey, we are either drawn to live in the sunshine or the darkness….and I fell in the abyss, like a dying star, I gave way to it, and it engulphed me. I should have never let them silence me, the silence was deafening for me, I felt things, heard things, I was not whole anymore, and life just went on.

My scars were that which made this Ivy whole and yet broken. When Troy saw them he knew I was like him, even though his wrist did not bear the brunt of my secrets he knew, that this shattered fragile little bird could be wrought into the darkness, for she was seeking it out, and in him she found it…He knew what was in me, and if by any other circumstance, I met anyone else that day, I could be Ivy the well-rounded suburban housewife instead of this….this disgusting mass of decaying flesh, bone protruding over the skin…my dress hanging from me like oiled cloth, I am rotting and unnatural, I am what you see in the dark on Halloween, I am not Ivy anymore….but a shell. Troy knew me, he knew that shell was waiting to be filled and he filled it. Not just filled it, but reformed that shell-like clay, he molded me. His precious Ivy, his creation, his desire. I was his masterpiece and yet in the end, it was me….I am that which took him down, and for that you should understand that this means some part of me deserves redemption, even though I know you will not grant it. Why should I expect anything other, the women who kill, you understand nothing about them, how much do you expect us to take….there are things in us that force us to commit unspeakable acts, and in that you will never understand what it is like to have all that is in you taken….until all you have is a black, decaying heart, where no light can reach….and that heart finds another just like it….someone who whispers understanding, acceptance, one who is there to comfort you and mould you, but yet this other half…..is as rotten as you, perhaps even more so…and your hopes lay bare on a mountain of decaying bones with only the scars of what you have done reminding you of what you did. You cannot erase it, you cannot remove it, you face it, and know you did that, you became the thing that all fear, you become death.

So, when the knife went into my hand, slicing them this way and that, his was slicing me. I was killing me, I wanted to end myself and Troy knew. He knew that even in my normal perfection I was inside a shell. Judge me if you want, I would. Seeing them dying on me, the blood, the knife, these bones in the jar…. they tell my story, and theirs…The ivy that was is no more and yet they will not weep for me, because I killed and to tell you the truth…I liked it.

The cold is now something I am, I understand why I felt it so harshly, I understand now why I cannot saccate my desires, corpses do not get that. We don’t get the comforts of life, but instead get only the reminder of what we have done. The doe’s now around me, those fragile hands that took their pound of flesh, that stabbed what was left of this decaying husk…they deserve peace, and I hope they find it…I walk these halls, while my bones sit on his mantel, and I wait for him….however my love, when you find your Ivy, I hope you know this time….your monster, your creation, is coming for you…..

There was in the distance the sound of a blade, sharping itself on the stone. The knife is waiting, its ready….it calls out…and says “Come play with me” …. the knife is there, its ready….it sings to me, and calls me, there it is….my little darling, my little friend…. its cold steal waiting. The blade is the only comfort now…my only solace. It has taken the place of my precious stuffed animal, it has become what holds my secrets. This blade, she is my only release, she knows me, maybe she is an extension of me, this bitter, cold, hopeless blade…. she is waiting to find her resting place….and she is hungry.