The Rush (17 page)

             
“I thought I made it clear at dinner last night my intentions for you,” his voice was velvet and silk, assertive and authoritative, enthralling and tempting. It took an expert to notice the thinly veiled threat and strain of pure evil pulsing with each syllable.

             
“You did,” I smiled up at him, letting the hint of confusion show through my carefully constructed mask.

             
“I want you by my side, Ivy. That means tonight. That means every night,” Nix growled out, letting all pretense drop away.

             
Forget acting 101, my heartbeat took off in a rapid flutter of nerves, my palms began to sweat and my careful mask of control shattered in front of him. I took a step back, my ballet flats sliding against the polished wood floors with a swoosh sound that cut through the silence of the room like a knife. I hated that my fear showed through, that Nix’s face lit up with satisfaction and predatory delight, but I couldn’t stop the reaction. Even me, a girl who had been raised in this world since birth couldn’t stop the innate fear from rising up like a revolt against my actions when Nix was around. “I-“

             
“Don’t,” he cut me off not even allowing an excuse. I should have known better than to believe I could deceive Nix. He leaned against the door jam, tucking his hands into the pockets of his perfectly cut black trousers.  “I’m not in the mood for your games. I’d be a fool not to see how you feel about this…. lifestyle. But I’d be an even bigger fool to let you go. You’re mine, Ivy. I’m not expecting you to embrace the idea, but I’m not going to do anything about it either. I will break you over time, I’m not concerned. And until then I plan on enjoying every bit of your free spirit.”

             
I opened and then closed my mouth, only to open and close it again. I had never really been under the impression that I was fooling Nix, but to hear everything laid out so honestly, so openly was more than a I could deal with.

             
He continued so I wouldn’t have to flounder. “I don’t expect you to feel good about anything I just said. When you’re as determined as you are, words like mine can only damage your pride. That feeling will fade, I promise. You just need to trust me. And if I were you I would leave your friends out of whatever rebellion you’re planning. They will be the ones getting hurt, not you. You will only be the one left to carry more guilt around. After Sam, do you really think you can handle two more lives to add to your list?”

             
“Are you threatening me?” I whispered in a raspy voice. The heels of my feet hit the wall with an empty thud and I realized Nix had me right where he wanted me. I was the trapped baby gazelle, while the experienced lion stalked his naïve, helpless prey. This was his plan all along, fear as motivation, friends as incentive, threats and promises to perpetuate the cycle.

             
“Hardly,” he sighed, taking a step forward so he towered over me. I felt small and weak next to his intoxicating masculinity. “I don’t have to threaten you because you’re not going to let this get out of hand. You’re going to bend to my will. You’re going to obey me.”

             
A loaded silence dragged heavily between us. I wasn’t going to agree to Nix’s outrageous demands and he wasn’t ever going to back off. Not ever.

             
Eventually he changed the subject. “I don’t like the idea of you going to a party tomorrow night. I think it’s too soon.”

             
More silence on my part. This was my job: parties, boys, drunken revelry.

             
“Ivy, I’m not trying to offend your pride,” Nix wisely pacified me. “I’m concerned for you well-being and nothing more. A party…. after the accident last spring, could trigger all kinds of-“

             
“Nix, I’m fine,” I interrupted, a sharp, determined edge to my voice. “I know what you’re going to say, but I’m better. The depression, the breakdown…. that’s not going to happen again. The crash was just…. unexpected. I’m better, Nix. I promise.” I pushed as much commitment and feeling into my words and body as possible. I couldn’t go back to treatment; I couldn’t, even for one second reveal how just not fine I really was. Nix could see through anything, every single one of my lies, but I was hoping this was a lie he wanted to believe. Or at the very least believed he could make true.

             
Nix’s eyes narrowed in thought, his laugh lines making a pronounced appearance as he looked me over and waited for me to recant from my knees in pleading supplication. “Ivy, the accident…. The car crash…. I know you had a soft spot for Sam, but what happened wasn’t necessarily a terrible thing. You could look at this like a sign of great things to come, you could look at this like a-“

             
“Nix, don’t,” I whispered desperately. I overstepped my good graces when I dared to interrupt him twice, but I could not bear to hear him put a positive spin on the accident. I destroyed someone’s life,
destroyed
it. There was no sign, or omen, or great thing to come. There was only me, the destroyer of men’s lives and ruiner of promising futures.

             
“One day you’ll understand, Ivy. One day you’ll see,” Nix promised, his eyes softening with sweet adoration. “Now, come along, you’re by my side from now on.” He held out his elbow for me and I took it obediently. The exposed skin of my forearm slid easily along the silky fabric of his expensive suit. The hard lines of his body were pressed against my side as he led me out to the rest of my party.

             
He was dominant strength to my fragile obedience. He was entertaining and lively to my submissive silence. I participated only when directly engaged but played the part of his pretty bobble in every way I was taught to. For now I was allowed to be sixteen, or as sixteen as any other woman in our circle was ever allowed to be. But if I didn’t do something, if I didn’t escape, I had a lifetime of this to look forward to and worse.

             
Sam’s drunk driving accident would only be the beginning of a never ending list of lives demolished by the notorious Ivy Pierce.

Chapter Fourteen

              My hand shot out from under me with surprisingly fast reflexes since the rest of my body was complete dead weight. The alarm buried in the clutter of my nightstand refused to stop blaring and so with expertly placed force I batted at the snooze button until the incessant bleeping stopped. I squished my eyes closed as tightly as I could and retracted my arm to the snuggled position underneath my tired torso but it was no use…. I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.

             
Thoughts of the party last night tumbled around in my exhaustion addled brain. And when I was finally able to push those depressing thoughts aside they were replaced with hope for tonight, for a little bit of escape from my reality. Even spending time with Chase ignited an excitement inside of me I didn’t want to admit to.

             
I rolled over in bed, taking the thick, down comforter with me. My hair followed, tangled and wild across my face. I lay there for a few minutes more, letting the early morning light from my wall of bedroom windows seep into my skin and wake me slowly into consciousness. The warmth of the blanket cocooned me in safety and for those few, uninterrupted minutes I felt protected from the rest of my life. I felt safe.

             
But it was a fleeting feeling that drifted away like the forgotten memories of dreams.

I needed coffee, desperately.

It was that mundane thought that brought reality crashing in around me. My mother was the farthest thing from domesticated as one woman could be, so there was never food in our house, let alone caffeinated necessities. Plus she was a pushy, indoctrinated anorexic. Like those avid PETA supporters that threw cans of red paint on anything fur, my mother looked down at food on my plate with a condescending eye that was almost palpable.

She only ate enough to support her exercise-addiction and fill out her size two cocktail dresses. She expected me to have the same infatuation with non-eating and
treadmills. I expected myself to not faint in the middle of the morning because of hunger and add something to my tiny little b-cups.

So this Saturday morning I was going to rebel with a latte and a pastry.

Maybe even two pastries.

I lived a dangerous life.

Damn the man.

Or in this case my mother.

I crawled out of bed and rubbed at my still sleepy eyes. I had taken my makeup off late last night and even though it was a pain to go through the beauty regiment my mother had strictly laid out for me, I was thankful now to have a scrubbed face. I tossed my boy shorts and cami on the floor and wiggled into some gray skinny jeans. I grabbed the first bra I could find and then slipped an off the shoulder soft pink cashmere sweater on before pulling my hair into a ponytail without bothering to brush through it. Later today I would take the time for a shower, and blow dry and all that, right now my mind was firmly set on a twenty-four-ounce caramel macchiato and a cream puff. I had tunnel vision and that prompted the single swipe of mascara and lip gloss that constituted my make-up and the ballet flats I left near my bedroom door on my way in last night.

Not my best effort at looking good, but the coffee shop was only across the street and it was still too early for my mother to have skulked from her own bed and joined the land of the living. She
stayed out later than I did, and where my drinks consisted of water on the rocks, her drinks were filled with Grey Goose and Bombay Sapphire. She wouldn’t need coffee. She needed an injection from the fountain of youth to recover from that kind of licentiousness. To be fair though, whenever the women of our circle were gathered together in small quarters like they were last night, they all needed copious amounts of alcohol to forge through the fake friendships and plastic pleasantries. These women did
not
play well together.

I grabbed my apartment keys and wallet and slipped out of the house unnoticed. The entire condo complex
was quiet and still as I walked to the bank of elevators and waited for one to take me down to the lobby. Our complex was one of many brand new pieces of trendy architecture in this part of Omaha. Sleek, modern and artfully chic, this living arrangement fit my mother’s personality perfectly. I walked out the front doors of our building and through the drive up circle that included a hotel, a posh gym and a fancy restaurant. Across the street stood a three story dine-in movie theater, one of a kind in this city, and a coffee shop recently transplanted from downtown.

I cross
ed the street without waiting for the walk sign; there was virtually no traffic this early and not even the shadows of the building fell on the empty street. The autumn sun was bright this morning, warming the chill in the air and igniting the crisp smell of leaves falling from the trees that lined Farnam Street in decorative pots.

Delice
was a European bakery with simply the best orange and raisin scones ever, in the history of scones, and even better fruit tartlets. The small gourmet coffee shop used to live in the epicenter of downtown but when midtown started to rebuild so did Delice. The shop migrated a little west, upgraded their rent and opened for business directly across the street from me. It was love at first sight between the two of us, we were young and lonely and couldn’t get enough of each other. Well, until I was banished until my brain got better…. my long six-month absence stretched out between us like a tragic Shakespearean play.

But I was back now,
and walking through these doors felt more like coming home then well…. coming home did.

The small shop was all but empty, save for an elderly couple cuddled together over the morning World Herald in the corner. I walked straight to the counter so that I could eye the case of pastries up close. The racks were filled with elegant, precisely decorated goodies that triggered my taste
buds into an immediately hungry frenzy. Yesterday I had 87 ounces of water, a snack sized bag of pretzels, a banana and one arugula and ricotta cheese canapé.

Oh and a half glass of champagne that went straight to my head.

I deserved to eat this entire case of unnecessary calories as far as I was concerned. I wiped my thumb against the corner of my mouth, discreetly checking for drool and then lifted my head to address the cashier. I hadn’t been here in a long enough time that I didn’t recognize the college-aged hippy across the counter. But then most of the girls that worked here were imported from the local universities and so job turnover flowed with the school schedules and breaks.

“Can I help you?” the dread-locked
twenty-something girl asked, but her eyes moved from mine to the door that opened behind me. A smile lit up her face and she gave a tiny wave to whoever just walked in.

“Yes,” I announced, drawing her attention back to me. “I’ll have a caramel macchiato
and an orange scone.” The girl started to ring in my confident order and suddenly I felt panicked to add onto it, desperate to break the rules and fill my empty stomach, “And a chocolate croissant.” I cringed at how frantic I sounded, treating this breakfast like my last meal before the electric chair, but that didn’t stop me from throwing in another pastry, “And a cream puff!”