𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕟

Chapter 27 : First Aid Kit

It's five p.m. now, and I’ve spent the last few hours responding to emails, talking to Eva and Tom on the phone, and strumming my guitar. The day’s rhythm has ebbed into that slow, in-between moment before dinner, and I need a way to keep myself busy until then.

With nothing else to do, I decide to clean the house. Ivy was supposed to join me, but she’s still holed up in her room. To be honest, I’d rather avoid facing her right now. So, I tackle the work alone, moving through every corner. I sweep, mop, and dust until the place is spotless, imagining Ivy's approving nod if she were to see it.

Afterward, I take a shower, letting the hot water wash away the afternoon’s restlessness. Once dressed, I head to the kitchen to start on dinner, pulling open the fridge and checking the cupboards. That’s when I realize just how useful it is to have Tyler around. He’s meticulous about the groceries; without him, we’re down to the last scraps. I’ll have to make a run to the store because there’s not much here to work with tonight.

Grabbing one of Ivy’s neon-pink post-its, I jot down a grocery list, ticking off essentials as I go. Just as I lift my head to shout out a quick heads-up that I’m heading out, Ivy walks into the kitchen. It throws me off—her timing, the way she steps in as if the air between us isn't charged with unfinished words.

I clear my throat, ready to say something, but she beats me to it.

“I come in peace,” she says, hands up in a half-surrender.

A small smile escapes me as I glance down at the post-it in my hand. She leans forward on the kitchen island, her eyes downcast.

“Alex, I really am sorry.” Her voice is quiet, almost tentative.

I know she means it. But that doesn’t make everything okay. Not anymore. I’m tired of these ups and downs, of everything seeming fine one moment and then unraveling the next.

“I can’t keep doing this, Ivy,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intend. “I keep messing things up, and I hate how I feel when it happens.”

Ivy flinches but presses on, “You’re not messing it up.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yes, I am. Maybe it’s better if we keep our distance.” The words feel sharp, but I know they’re true.

She steps closer, pulling one of the kitchen stools around so that I’m facing her directly. “You’re not the problem, Alex. I am.” She looks away, her voice softer now. “I know you mean well. But sometimes it’s not about what you’re saying—it’s how you say it.”

She hesitates, gathering her thoughts. “When you try to help, it feels like you’re telling me what to do. It makes me feel... like I’m losing control. And that feeling brings back things I’d rather forget. And because I can’t forget, I get mad. I lash out.”

I nod slowly, unsure of what to say, letting her words settle over me.

“I sabotage things when they’re good, probably because I’m scared they’ll hurt me later on.” She takes a shaky breath. “And you’re so good to me, Alex. I hated that at first. I kept looking for ways to push you away... but now, I don’t want to picture my life without you in it. And that terrifies me.” Her voice cracks, and I can see the rawness of her fear.

“I hate this,” she whispers, tears welling in her eyes. “But I’m trying. I swear I’m trying. And I’m sorry.” Her voice breaks completely, a quiet plea.

All I can think is how anyone—especially Tristan—could hurt her, seeing her this vulnerable.

“Can I hug you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She nods, a sad smile forming as she consents. I step forward and pull her into my arms, holding her tightly as she leans her head against my chest. Her hands grip my arms like she’s grounding herself, her breathing shaky but steadying. Gradually, her sobs quiet, and after a moment, I pull back, reaching up to twist a chocolate-brown strand of her hair around my finger.

“I love your hair,” I say with a gentle smile.

She swats at my chest with a laugh. “I love it too.”

“So, we’re out of food,” I say, trying to shift the mood, and Ivy groans, tilting her head back.

“Where the heck is Tyler when you need him?” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Let’s just order pizza?” Ivy suggests, eyes hopeful. “It’s late. We can do groceries tomorrow.”

“Lazy,” I tease, and she laughs, the sound lightening the room.

An hour later, we’ve settled on a Harry Potter movie marathon. Thirty minutes in, the doorbell rings, and I get up to grab the food. When I return, Ivy’s sprawled out on the floor.

“You’re pushing it,” I say, arching an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes.

“If you don’t think this is the best way to eat pizza, you’re not worthy of the Margherita you’re holding.” She makes grabby hands. “Hand it over!”

I place the pizza on the coffee table and grab two Sprites from the kitchen before joining her. She’s halfway through her third slice when I notice her scratching her arm again. Every now and then, I catch the movement, but I bite my tongue—until I see a thin trickle of blood.

“Ivy, stop!” I gasp, reaching to gently pull her hand away from her arm.

“Oh, damn,” she mutters, glancing down at the raw, irritated skin.

I look at her, my expression pleading, and she sighs. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll ask Dex for a dermatologist recommendation tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Now, where’s the first-aid kit?”

“I can get it, Alex. It’s fine.” She tries to stand, but I’m already up.

“Bathroom?”

“Tyler’s.”

I find it on a high shelf, next to his razors. For a second, I pause, unsettled by the sight—the thought that something as small as this kit could be the line between life and loss. But Ivy’s downstairs, safe. That’s all that matters.

Returning to her, I open the kit, but she takes it from my hands, moving with practiced efficiency as she cleans her arm, wrapping it with quick, unfazed motions before resuming her meal.

I stare, feeling that familiar helplessness. She catches my gaze, her mouth full, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Were you a nurse in your past life?” I shake my head. “And also, enough of this.” I close the pizza box.

Ivy pouts, but she doesn’t argue. She wipes her mouth, finishes her Sprite, then shrugs. “I guess tending my own wounds trained me well. Cuts like these don’t even sting anymore.”

Her casualness unsettles me, but I hold my tongue. This, too, is something I can’t just fix.

We wrap up after the third movie, and as I walk her to her door, my eyes drift to her arm.

“I’m fine, Alex. I’ll see a doctor, and they’ll fix whatever’s going on. Stop worrying. I’m a big girl.” She pats my chest with a small smile before slipping inside.

After a quick text to Tyler to let him know everything’s okay, I head to bed, my mind racing until sleep finally takes over.