Where the Ivy Hides Read Online Free Page B

that one. Karen’s favorite.”
    The crowd around the camp fire gets loud with laughter and someone screams, “Pussy control? Her favorite song, is Pussy control, Ives.” Laughter echo’s the night again and if I cared enough to correct them and ask for Purple Rain, I’d probably forget.
    “Whatever,” I mutter, trying to remember my earlier inner dialogue before deciding to concentrate on the stars and constellations above, this time, trying to remember which constellation was mine and Ry’s. Did he have the...? Yeah, he had the little dipper tattooed across his left rib cage representing me, and I had the big dipper inked in the exact same place. But I don’t think the constellation I’m studying is either dipper…maybe I’m looking at Pegasus. Maybe. I forget that the seasons change what stars I’m looking at.
    And sadly, when he spoke to me the last time and said every time I missed him all I had to do was look up at night and see our stars…it was a lie. The stars change. Based on when you look and where you look from, they fucking change all the time. In all honesty, I’m probably looking at Cepheus, the most boring, non-relevant to me and Ryker, constellation.
    You know what? Fuck constellations.
    When I go to stand up, the ground under my feet tilts and I’m down on my hands and knees, laughing at the irony and crying for the same reason.
    I ask the sky the same thing every night, “Why won’t you just let me go? Just please, let the shit in my veins take me across that shifty line in the sand! Can't my heavy eyes rest and never wake? Please, God. Fucking, please. I'm too tired.”
    And in the next moment, I feel Ryker Killian’s strong arms surround me and I snuggle into his crisp button-up tailored dress shirt. I inhale and immediately, I’m fucking home.
    The world doesn’t cease to exist until his words register that shred me apart.
    “Can’t let ya go, baby girl. Can’t let it happen. Goddammit, why do ya have to be such a fuck up, and why are ya looking for me in the stars, Winter Ivy? Huh, love? Because, you’re fucked up. And this shit stops, right the fuck now. You want me to have you, fucking all of ya? Fine. I will.” His deep voice reverberates against my frail, cold body tucked against him.
    I feel like I’m floating. And as long as Ryker keeps me clutched to his chest, he can carry me wherever. I don’t care.
    “Please, don’t leave me, Ryker. I can’t live through it again, I won’t,” my words slur so bad, even I barely make them out.
    “Then like I said, baby girl, you want me to have you, I will. And I wouldn't be lettin' ya go.” His voice chokes out right before my consciousness does.
     
    When I wake, the pain I feel rivals any pain I’ve ever felt. Actually, I can’t ever remember hurting so fucking bad a day in my life. Box days included. Every muscle contracts to the point of agony, seizing my body. Every joint aches. My legs feel like ants are crawling and biting them underneath the skin, and my stomach cramps feel like hunger pain, but the thought of food sends bile splashing up the back of my throat.
    “Where the fu…” These are the only words I can muster before the excruciating pain of what I can only imagine to be another seizure racks its way through me.
    “Tsk, tsk, child. You can shut your mouth, young lady, and thank your lucky stars that self-important Irish prick of a boyfriend of yours got you to the most incompetent, yet in his defense, nearest hospital to where ever the hell you currently hail from. He said, San Destin? Really, Ivy?” Blythe’s tone is dripping with disgust and if I could think straight, or get fucking high enough to numb the pain, I’d tell her exactly where she can go and precisely how hard she can go fuck herself. But for now, as sober and in hell as I currently am, I’m forced to let it slide.
    Especially when Ryker’s voice cracks through the still silence of the room moments later.
    I hear a chair’s legs scuff