Page 68 of Dirty Behavior

I was hard enough, cold enough, and dark enough to do it on my own.

This was what I was bred for; slow, painful destruction.

Ivy was worth dying for.

I tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching as they dug into the pavement. These assholes had come and whisked me away from the store, nabbing me when I came out. The officer had cuffed me, threw me in the back of the car and said it was for his own protection.

I had to walk six blocks just to get back to my car. It was late, I had been gone for way too long, and I had no way to call Ivy.

I spent every dime I took with me on the list of shit she gave me. Not that it'd matter, pay phones were a thing of the past now.

My foot fell like lead down onto the pedal, my hand shifting gears in a frenzy of pulls. The engine choked with each shift, bucking from the quick jerks. I had to get home, home to my family.

The blackened tar lit up under my lights, guiding me down the long and winding roads back to the house. I couldn't get there fast enough. The tires gripped against the road, holding on through each turn, bearing down the harder I pushed it.

My brain was strangled with thoughts of her. Everything she had gone through, everything that had been forced on her; it wasn't fair. Ivy had been stripped of her voice, what she wanted didn't matter, what she needed didn't matter.

She deserved so much more than what was passed onto her by all of us. By her father, by Remo. . .

By me.

I was no better than the other assholes who took advantage of her and used her for gain. My stomach cringed at the thought. I had been just as selfish as everyone else. It was wrong.

Ivy meant more to me than she could ever imagine. I had to tell her that I was different, that I changed. I would never treat her like an object.

I loved her.

But I didn't have a choice either. We were both forced into this.

And I never expected to find something so precious, so amazing, that my world would never be the same if she wasn't in it. We had created life together, that had to mean something.

It means that your not who you think you are.

It means that your life was never carved out by hand.

It means I had created a different path to take.

The driveway crept up on me as my head fought with my heart. Slamming on the brakes, I whipped the car onto the thin dirt road. Dust billowed up in the rearview mirror, immersing the darkness in a cloud of filth.

The house lit up like a Christmas tree as the car crested over the hill, the lights illuminating out, reaching for me. Throwing the car into park, I left the engine running and jumped out. I didn't take the time to shut it down or close the door. I had to see Ivy.

My feet hit the ground with force, tearing up the gravel with every step. Using my shoulder, I plowed through the door, cracking the hinges as it burst open.

“Ivy!” My eyes frantically searched the living room, heart racing inside my chest. “Ivy!” I yelled again, anxiously straining to hear to voice.

Climbing the stairs by two, I reached the bedroom and threw myself in. But she wasn't there.

Where is she?

Where the fuck is she?

I couldn't think straight. My head was spinning, my lungs were heaving. Each breath was like inhaling thick paint fumes. I couldn't breathe, my chest felt heavy and soiled.

She had to be here, she couldn't go anywhere. But she wasn't answering me. Fear had stained me in red and white. I was afraid she had gotten hurt, that a panic attack had latched onto her while I was gone, and now she was hurt, curled on the floor someplace inside.

“Ivy! Fuck, Ivy where are you!?” Turning the room upside down, I checked the rest of the house.

She's gone.

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