Love Nouveau

by Berry, B. L.

  “Ivy was there that night. In Madison. The weekend of your bachelor party. You practically introduced me to her,” Phoenix spits at his best friend. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know you brought the roach with you that weekend. I suspected it all along. I told you no. And I tried everything I could to keep her protected from you and your fucked up antics. And somehow …somehow you still managed to fuck everything up. I said no! I actually like her, Sully!” he shouts violently.

  The weight of Phoenix’s declaration sits upon my chest. My mind can’t get there fast enough. I watch as Sully’s eyes grow wide, piecing the puzzle together, two steps ahead of everyone else. He opens his mouth to say something.

  “Just what are you insinuating, young man?” my mother barks at Phoenix.

  “Jesus, you are such an asshole,” Phoenix says, shaking his head in disbelief, still ignoring my mother. By his hip, I spy Phoenix’s hand stretching and contracting into a fist. One by one he pops each of his knuckles as anger boils through his chest.

  “What the hell is he talking about, CJ?” Genevieve asks again cautiously, tugging on his arm.

  “Your fiancé!” Phoenix shouts. “The night I met Ivy, he drugged your sister. My … my …” He can’t finish his thought, defining what I am to him. Phoenix rakes his hand down his face as my insides tumble like the melee of a washing machine. I swallow the rising bile as my pulse quickens to the point of nausea.

  “Tell the woman you’re about to marry what you did to her sister while she was passed out,” Phoenix dares him. “Tell her!”

  I wince as he shouts.

  Sully’s silence is his confession.

  We all sit there in stunned stillness, trying to process the implications of what was just said. All eyes are on Sully as we wait for some kind of response. Something to be said to prove Phoenix wrong. I need him to be proved wrong. The thumping of my heartbeat deep within my ears gets louder, faster, frenzied, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  My mind recalls a conversation I had with Phoenix where he told me how Sully would go to all lengths to help his friends get laid. Paying a prostitute for his cousin, slipping drugs to a girl at a bar for his brother. I never would have guessed that Sully would be capable of drugging unsuspecting girls and that I would be involved in his fucked up charades.

  “How dare you, you piece of shit!” Genevieve shrieks. She charges at Phoenix and starts slapping him across his face and chest.

  Phoenix grabs her wrists with force and stares right through her. The look he gives dares her to keep challenging him, to think of the implications of what is happening. He says nothing, gently pushing her to the side.

  The next thing I know, Phoenix unleashes a guttural sound and my mom is trying to pull him off of Sully, but Phoenix is just too angry. Too strong. Too overcome with hatred. I watch his shoulder snap, throwing the weight of his body into his childhood friend’s cheek. His nose. His eyes. He continues drawing his fist back, pummeling into his face over and over and over again.

  I’m not sure whose it is, but blood covers Phoenix’s knuckles and it stains Sully’s shirt. The scene unfolding around me is complete chaos. I can’t think over Genevieve’s wails as my mother tries to calm her. I can’t breathe with the gravity of this situation on my chest. I can’t process with this truth infecting the air. The room has become a whirlwind of motion, emotion and sound. And here I sit in the middle of it all, the quiet one, the eye of the storm.

  I have no concept of how much time passes before security finally rushes into the room and pries the pair apart. Genevieve fumes as she casts daggers at me eyes and coddles CJ. In an unsurprising move, my mother is right there beside her, inspecting the damage done to the groom.

  I look at Phoenix as his chest rises and falls rapidly. His wild eyes soften at the sight of me. Tears fill my eyes, blurring his image in a kaleidoscope of color. I want to tear his face off as my mind races with too many unanswered questions. But I know he’s just fucked me over on a level I never imagined possible.

  “Why?” Why what? I don’t know. I don't even know who I'm addressing with my question. I just … I just can’t process Phoenix’s accusation.

  “Ivy,” Phoenix says with a pained expression, “I was only trying to help.”

  Help? What he is doing is certainly not helping me. For the past few months, he has led me to believe that we had something real. Something not based on lies. A legit connection. But all this time he knew, or at the very least suspected that Sully had done something to me the night we met, and he never said a word.

  Who the hell does that?

  If he has been harboring this shit the entire time, how can I even begin to trust him with anything else? Is Hailey really who he says she is? Is he really who he says he is?

  Is nothing sacred anymore?

  Well, fuck Phoenix and the righteous horse he rode in on.

  “You think you can come in here and expect me to be okay with all of this? Expect me not to hate you? You can’t come in and save me, Phoenix. I’m not a fucking princess and I most definitely don’t need rescuing. Especially not from you,” I bite back, seething acid. “You are unbelievable. Just get out!”

  The security guard grabs Phoenix and removes him from my room and presumably the premises. I can’t stand the sight of him right now.

  As he leaves, Phoenix gives me a tearful, apologetic look. He understands that, truth or not, he has hurt me on levels unfathomable. The pain within his eyes could write volumes. I feel numb as I watch him walk out of my room and out of my life.

  Sully … CJ … Cortland … whatever the hell his name is, has brushstrokes of blood painted across his jaw and chin and nose. A piece of living art in front of me, features rearranged in Cubist fashion. A Picasso, to be precise. The pretty boy isn’t so pretty anymore. Good.

  “That means you, too!” I hiss at Sully in disbelief.

  The shuffling of his feet sounds like a death march toward the door.

  My heart lurches at the silence in the room. My mother and Genevieve exchange a mortifying look. The one thing Phoenix never wanted was to bring me pain. But for the truth to be told, the pain is inevitable. His heart aches for me, and mine for his, but my mind spits in his general direction as rage sets in.

  Phoenix knew. He fucking knew. He admitted he suspected Sully had done something and he never once said anything. What kind of despicable human being does that? The asshole kind, that’s who. I feel my veins surge with anger and hurt, then my insides fall through my body and to the floor when I recognize the look on my family’s faces is one of contempt.

  “You slept with him?” Genevieve gasps, tears filling her eyes. “How could you?” Her eyes plead with mine.

  Of course she believes that I’d do this intentionally. That I would bring this upon myself, upon her. That I would find a way to fuck things up beyond repair. Genevieve is so far beyond delusional that she is incapable of registering what all of this actually means. That her beloved husband to be isn’t who she thinks he is. That he’s a rapist.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” My voice cracks as emotion takes over.

  My mother barks at me. “Ivy!”

  The look in her face tells me everything I need to know. It doesn’t matter what happened, or how it happened, they will always see me as the daughter who screws everything up for everybody else. The one who whored herself out to her sister’s boyfriends and now her fiancé. The one who pursued a career not worthy of their approval. The horrible one bringing the demise of the Cotter family name.

  Round and round we go. I will never be able to get off this carousel of disappointment. And this time, I never even punched my ticket to ride. I was dragged on kicking and screaming. Without my knowledge. Without permission.

  This ends…

  Right here.

  Right now.

  I cannot handle the loathing they continue to unload on me. Their loathing turns into self-loathing and no longer will I all
ow hatred to have a vice grip on my soul.

  I am done.

  “Just get the fuck out!” I scream in a fit of rage at Genevieve.

  “Watch your tongue, young lady. Don’t you dare spit profanity at us!” My mother says as she glares at me in disgust, antipathy evident in her body language.

  Of all of the moments to step up and pretend to be my mother, this is the one she chooses. I find the look of horror on my mother’s face highly amusing, but she is no longer allowed to scold me like a petulant child.

  I take a calming breath and collect myself, calculating my next move. “I’m not spitting profanity at you,” I say in the most pleasant tone I can summon. “I’m enunciating it. Loud. And. Fucking. Clear. Like a goddamned lady.”

  The conviction in my voice surprises me, and the terrible parts deep within proudly wear a sinister smile. I watch my mother as shock and horror replace the smug look she wears upon her Botox-filled face.

  Genevieve is the first to leave wordlessly, likely to go find Sully and examine the damage done to his face. I don’t dare justify myself to her, but he got off easy as far as I’m concerned. If I could kill him myself, I would. Phoenix should have killed him with each punch, though Phoenix has another thing coming if I ever see his sorry ass again. My stomach turns at the thought of him.

  It takes effort to not laugh under my breath as I imagine how the supposed love of Genevieve’s life will look in their wedding photos, assuming she is stupid enough to still marry him. I can’t help but wonder if the thought of her husband-to-be being a rapist has registered in her mind. I want to tell her all of the awful things I’ve learned about him through Phoenix, before we realized how we were connected, but that won’t change anything. Nothing I say will help the situation, so I don’t even bother. Plus, she won’t want to hear what I have to say. Genevieve and I will never recover from this, I’m certain.

  My mother eyes me with such abhorrence that I don’t even have to wonder what she’s thinking. Her glare says it all. Hate pierces right through me. I’ve never noticed how her mouth puckers with displeasure like she just sucked a lemon dry whenever she looks at me with disgust. But if looks could kill, I’d be dead. Actually, I would’ve been dead about eight years ago. I guesstimate that’s around the time she emotionally disowned me.

  “It’s one thing to be a complete bitch, Ivy, but it’s another to be a disgrace of a daughter.” Her words, while true, still sting, but I don’t flinch. I don’t dare give her the satisfaction of seeing how she affects me.

  I watch as she collects her purse and turns toward the door. I allow her the last word in this conversation because I refuse to give her the last word in my life. If I have my way, this will be the last time I see her for a very long time.

  My eyes return to the vacant wall across from my bed. Ever so slowly, I breathe in through my nose, fill my lungs beyond the point of capacity, and exhale through my mouth. Deep, cleansing breaths, trying to release the tension I’ve been carrying for years.

  A few quiet minutes later, the day nurse returns. “Is everything all right in here now?”

  “I’m fine,” I respond numbly as I stare through the white sterile wall. I know that I’m really not fine, but I also know that wasn’t what she was asking. She doesn’t care about my personal bullshit. It’s not her job. She only cares about getting me cleared so the next patient can be wheeled into this room.

  “From here on out, no visitors. Let security know the only one allowed in this room is Rachel Meyers.” I don’t intend to come off brash, but that’s the thing about emotions—it spoils all sense of rationality.

  “Rachel Meyers?” I give her an affirming nod. “Sure thing. I’ll let the desk know. Anything else?”

  “More pain killers.”

  And make them strong, I silently ask. I don’t want to feel anything again for a long time.

  INHALE NUMBNESS.

  Exhale apathy.

  Repeat involuntarily.

  When you think about it, involuntary behavior is fucked up, really. Our bodies just take over without thinking. Without permission. Without control. Without cognizance. And even when we try to resist, to hold our breath or keep our eyes open, our conscious eventually relinquishes control and our body involuntarily takes back over. It’s really quite obnoxious, being forced to do something you don’t want to do. I could really do without breathing right now, and yet my lungs continue to expand and contract without my permission.

  At some indiscernible point in time, the stark white, sterile walls of the hospital room involuntarily turn into the beige, standard rooms of Rachel’s apartment.

  I don’t remember coming here, but I’m thankful to be sitting among her moving boxes, mindlessly watching her unload her belongings, listening to her fill the air with her thoughtless thoughts.

  Inhale numbness.

  Exhale apathy.

  Repeat involuntarily.

  The scent of fresh paint assaults my nostrils and churns my stomach. I’ll never understand why anyone would paint an empty apartment beige with all of the colors available in the spectrum.

  Beige is where color goes to die. Is there a shade out there that could be more horrible than beige? Some might say black, but black hides secrets and haunts and conveys anger and emptiness. On the other hand, white is stark. It brings cleanliness. Godliness. Purity. And pearly white gates.

  But beige? Beige is emotionless. It is the shade of lifeless contempt.

  My mother is beige. Genevieve, too.

  And now, after Phoenix coming clean with the truth, I am beige.

  Involuntarily, I laugh under my breath and take notice of how fitting my surroundings are. Condemned to a life of beige.

  And so again, I inhale numbness.

  Exhale apathy.

  Repeat involuntarily.

  “I STOPPED BY YOUR HOUSE on my way home. Gen was none too pleased and nearly didn’t let me in but your dad saw me at the door. He asked me to have you call him … he’s worried about you,” Rachel says, placing an old duffel bag at my feet. “Anyway, I thought you might like a few of your things.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper with a tight smile and make a mental note to call my dad sometime soon. Even though we’ve come a long way the past few days. I’m just not ready to talk to him. I have no idea what day it is. Surely Genevieve is getting married today or tomorrow, but I don’t even feel bad for not being there. As far as I’m concerned, they can all go to hell.

  Friends like Rachel are rare. She is indefinitely the first person to go to bat for me. But she never fails at being the first to give me a high five in the face with the back of a chair when I act like a raging bitch. Since leaving the hospital, Rachel has opened her home to me. It’s a humble apartment in the Wicker Park neighborhood, which is full of quasi-hipsters much like my dear friend.

  Rachel stands there, looking at my intently. She clearly wants to tell me something but hesitates.

  “Out with it already,” I say.

  She sighs and pushes her hair back out of her face. “Genevieve was really wrecked,” she begins. “I think it has finally hit her that her fiancé did the unthinkable.”

  I look at Rachel, vacant and unfazed.

  “She didn’t look good, Ivy,” Rachel informs me. “Maybe you should ca—”

  “No,” I snap at her sternly. Hell will freeze over before I call my sister. I know Rachel means well, but I do not have room for toxic people in my life anymore.

  She unloads a heavy sigh in the space between us. “Well, you are welcome to stay as long as you need to, Ivy. I just ask that maybe you consider taking a shower?”

  A soft laugh escapes my throat, thankful she is not going to push Genevieve on me anymore. “Yes, Mom,” I reply sullenly as she disappears into the kitchen.

  Snatching up my bag, I retreat to her spare bedroom where I put on a fresh change of clothes. I’m thankful that she grabbed my favorite pair of yoga pants—I have every intention of moving into them until the hygiene Gods
evict me.

  “What the hell happened in here?” Rachel shouts.

  She must have found the small heap of technology I left crumbled on the floor of her kitchen.

  I pop my head out of the bedroom and shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Phoenix wouldn’t stop texting me.”

  “So you broke your phone?”

  “I didn’t mean to break it,” I lie. From the instant I threw it, I knew I was going to have to result to more extreme measures when I found it unscathed. Apparently shatterproof phone cases aren’t exempt from cases of extreme heartache. I have every intention of fixing the dent in her kitchen wall once I have my first paycheck. I may even buy myself a new phone, though I don’t see the point. I can’t imagine having happy conversations with anyone anymore.

  But once I got the screen to crack I went a little overboard. A meat pounder and a box of tissues may or may not have been involved. On second thought, that sounds like a subplot of a really bad porno.

  “You know, you could have just turned your phone off if you didn’t want to hear from him,” Rachel informs me, trying to hide the condescension in her voice.

  I roll my eyes. Really? She’s going to scold me? I am at the lowest point of my life and the last thing I need is to be reprimanded.

  “Okay, okay. I felt like breaking shit. I figured breaking my phone was better than chucking your television out of the window. Sue me.” I turn back into the bedroom, hoping she gets the hint to just leave me the hell alone.

  She doesn’t, of course. She stands in my doorway, holding the piece of metal formerly known as my cell phone.

  “My life is a train wreck, Rachel.” I release a heavy sigh.

  “No, my life is the train wreck. You, my dear, are the conductor on the Hot Mess Express,” she responds, trying to make me smile. She tosses what’s left of my phone on the side table by the door and releases a heavy sigh that lingers in the air between. “I’ll leave you be for a little bit.”

  I watch as she shuts the door behind her, and then hide under the covers for the umpteenth time today, hugging a pillow to my chest tightly. How I wish this were the comforting arms of a warm body.