Blue Mirth

Unreal

Ivy Lisa

There's crimson blood on the white floor of the greenhouse.

And then utter darkness.

*********

I hear grunts, and stuff being thrown around. And a periodic, "Ivy. Wake up, please!" A last plea, and then complete silence.

*********

I wake up under a black, starry ceiling. My room. I instantly jerk awake, and, at the exact moment, there are hands on my shoulders, forcing me down into my bed. I scream, and one of the hands clasps around my mouth. I bite it. I don't even know where all this aggression is coming from, but I don't care. "Stop!", I scream. "Ivy!.", and I stop struggling. And turn sideways at the person whose hand is on the back of my neck. And it's John. I swallow. And continue staring.

"How could you?!"

"What?"

"You were in on it!"

"Wha-Ivy, I would never!"

I get out of bed. Correction: I run out of it. I pick up the vase on my vanity, and hold it up. "Get out, or else...", I try to taunt him. "Ivy. You really think I'd do that?", he says, gesturing to my face. I touch it self-conscious. He shakes his head. Walks over. I raise my vase again, but I'm not fast enough. He snatches it from me, and tosses it onto the bed. His hand comes towards my neck. I draw back.

"Wha-?"

"Goodness, Ivy. Just relax, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Sure, you won't,"

"See for yourself."

His hand comes on top my shoulder, next to my neck, his fingers on my collarbone. I shudder. The area he's touching stings, and I draw back. I turn around and consider my vanity mirror, and see a six-inch bandage running from my neck to my collarbone. There are tears in my eyes, but they don't fall. Thank goodness. It's awfully quiet in the room right now, and after my tears evaporate in their ducts, I break the ice. "Perfect. Just what I needed for the Trio to notice me.", I say, and as soon as I say it, my face heats up. I didn't mean to say that, it kind of slipped out. My hand is pulled, and I don't resist John pulling me. He sits me down on the bed, and crosses his arms. And stares, with his eyes the gravest I've seen them. I stare back, noticing more than just the blue colour of his eyes.

Blood. Trickling down the side of his lip. I will myself to look away, at his clenched fists. Bruised. He didn't. "Ivy... what is going on?", he asks, abruptly sitting down on his knees in front of me. I look away. I can't tell him. Not now, or ever. "Nothing.", I say. Cue the invisible slap.

"Look at me."

"No."

"Ivy..."

"You can't know, okay? Not now."

"Ivy, you have to tell someone."

"No."

"Hey, hey, Ivy. Look at me.", he urges. And, for some reason, I give up my stubbornness of not making eye-contact. I raise my head, and as soon as I do, his hand is on my cheek. His thumb is stroking it too. My face feels wet where he's stroking it. I'm crying? "John, what happened there?", I ask him, wanting to know why he's bleeding. His hand doesn't drop.

"That's exactly what I want to know."

"No, as in, why are you bleeding?"

"That's not important, Ivy. What's important is your story."