but i'm already someone else's baby
Posted: Sat Dec 15, 2018 8:27 pm
What Ivy needed more than anything was a nap. As she stepped out of the front door of the Carter house, blinking in the bright light of day, her only priority was to hustle home as quickly as possible, pray to God that Bret didn’t happen to be arriving home and spot her on the sidewalk, and crash in bed for a couple of hours. Clear the last remaining dregs of intoxication from her head and wake up more ready to confront everything that was floating around her head. But she took a look down at her phone, thankful that Wyatt had had a clear enough head to take it out of her dress pocket before he washed it, and realized very quickly she wasn’t getting out of all of this so easily.
Nothing was ever easy, was it?
>> Ivy Langley walking home from close ain’t close enough
Despite Myles’s usual melodrama (bless him) she was about 99% sure he wasn’t in any actual danger, so what she needed first was to get the hell away from the Carters’ place. She sent a quick messages without actually reading what he’d sent her first:
> hey
—and then scurried at top walking speed toward her own house. She felt her phone vibrate a couple more times in her hand as she moved, but she didn’t deign to look at her phone again for another five minutes; she was not quite home, but her house was in sight when her curiosity got the better of her and she stopped, leaning against a streetlight as she actually went back to peruse the many messages she had missed.
She frowned at her phone and kept walking, not responding as the telltale “...” of words yet to come stayed up. This particular story was going to need a lot of elaboration, primarily because she needed to know exactly how shitty she should feel for having not gotten back to Myles before now. She had crossed the street and was approaching the door before her phone vibrated again.
Are u? <
What happened <
She sighed and kept him hanging another moment as she fit the key in the front door lock, stepping inside.
Ivy Langley hated her home. That wasn’t something she kept particularly secret, which led to a lot of incredulous reactions from everyone who didn’t know her well enough to understand, not to mention all the broke idiots who thought that she couldn’t possibly be unhappy living in what might well be the largest private residence in Chattanooga, or at least close enough to it. And what the fuck did they know about her life? She lived in a private ghost town, eerily silent and clean and permanently smelling like disinfectant, sterile, empty, lonely. The maids came and went but avoided her like the plague. Adrienne was a zombie who thankfully kept mostly to her bed nowadays, more of a poltergeist than a person, with her presence only made known by disappearing bottles of wine and the occasional broken lamp. It was an unavoidable, unmistakable feeling in the air, an oppressive smog that blanketed every inch of the building but the 350 square feet that made up her own bedroom. The living room that she walked into was pristine and practically abandoned; even when her father was home he spent all his time in his wing of the building, far away from anywhere he might have an unplanned interaction with his daughter.
For once, though, she didn’t make a beeline for the staircase to her room. She took a few steps forward and collapsed onto the chaise lounge chair beside the couch before looking at her phone again. She’d head upstairs in a few minutes.
So it was serious. Jesus, she was a shitty friend. It was pretty easy to dismiss Myles’s original barrage of texts as melodrama—not that she didn’t want to be there for him even if it was a minor slight, she did, of course, but considering the mess she was in herself she figured it could probably wait—but he’d actually gotten hurt, and she hadn’t been there, and she hadn’t answered her messages, and she might have actually had him worried that something had happened to her. She could make excuses, yeah, but for once she wasn’t in the mood.
Her energy was flagging. She wanted to be angry, and she would be, given time, but for now she was just sad. Sad and guilty and absolutely drained. She wouldn’t be having that nap either, it seemed, though maybe Myles could use one too given the circumstances.
Ugh ily and Im omw sorry I yelled <
Whats up w/ u tho? <
What was the craziness today <
Right. She was hardly going to get away from this without revealing her own slice of drama, and while she’d been raring to give Myles the play-by-play not long ago, she felt a hell of a lot less inclined to do so considering the circumstances. But he asked, and she couldn’t lie to him.
Ivy stopped, sighed, laid back on the chair, stared at the ceiling. He was so good to her. He was going to be pretty unhappy about this turn of events; he probably hated Wyatt even more than he hated Bret, and it was going to add an extra layer of stress to her life that he was inevitably going to be the one to deal with. The alternative, though? The look of betrayal on his face when he learned what happened from someone that wasn’t her? Unforgivable. Still, she didn’t say anything else until her phone buzzed again.
There was a long pause. Too long. She held her breath.
She exhaled, dropping her phone next to her. He’d be here in twenty or so. He’d seen her in far worse than her current state—hair wet, makeup long gone, exhausted—and so she had no problems with closing her eyes and waiting for the bell, or her phone, to ring.
She wanted to sleep so badly. But her thoughts were inescapable.
"I think I messed up."
Had she?
>> Ivy Langley continued in Something Wicked This Way Comes
Nothing was ever easy, was it?
>> Ivy Langley walking home from close ain’t close enough
Despite Myles’s usual melodrama (bless him) she was about 99% sure he wasn’t in any actual danger, so what she needed first was to get the hell away from the Carters’ place. She sent a quick messages without actually reading what he’d sent her first:
> hey
—and then scurried at top walking speed toward her own house. She felt her phone vibrate a couple more times in her hand as she moved, but she didn’t deign to look at her phone again for another five minutes; she was not quite home, but her house was in sight when her curiosity got the better of her and she stopped, leaning against a streetlight as she actually went back to peruse the many messages she had missed.
She frowned at her phone and kept walking, not responding as the telltale “...” of words yet to come stayed up. This particular story was going to need a lot of elaboration, primarily because she needed to know exactly how shitty she should feel for having not gotten back to Myles before now. She had crossed the street and was approaching the door before her phone vibrated again.
Are u? <
What happened <
She sighed and kept him hanging another moment as she fit the key in the front door lock, stepping inside.
Ivy Langley hated her home. That wasn’t something she kept particularly secret, which led to a lot of incredulous reactions from everyone who didn’t know her well enough to understand, not to mention all the broke idiots who thought that she couldn’t possibly be unhappy living in what might well be the largest private residence in Chattanooga, or at least close enough to it. And what the fuck did they know about her life? She lived in a private ghost town, eerily silent and clean and permanently smelling like disinfectant, sterile, empty, lonely. The maids came and went but avoided her like the plague. Adrienne was a zombie who thankfully kept mostly to her bed nowadays, more of a poltergeist than a person, with her presence only made known by disappearing bottles of wine and the occasional broken lamp. It was an unavoidable, unmistakable feeling in the air, an oppressive smog that blanketed every inch of the building but the 350 square feet that made up her own bedroom. The living room that she walked into was pristine and practically abandoned; even when her father was home he spent all his time in his wing of the building, far away from anywhere he might have an unplanned interaction with his daughter.
For once, though, she didn’t make a beeline for the staircase to her room. She took a few steps forward and collapsed onto the chaise lounge chair beside the couch before looking at her phone again. She’d head upstairs in a few minutes.
So it was serious. Jesus, she was a shitty friend. It was pretty easy to dismiss Myles’s original barrage of texts as melodrama—not that she didn’t want to be there for him even if it was a minor slight, she did, of course, but considering the mess she was in herself she figured it could probably wait—but he’d actually gotten hurt, and she hadn’t been there, and she hadn’t answered her messages, and she might have actually had him worried that something had happened to her. She could make excuses, yeah, but for once she wasn’t in the mood.
Her energy was flagging. She wanted to be angry, and she would be, given time, but for now she was just sad. Sad and guilty and absolutely drained. She wouldn’t be having that nap either, it seemed, though maybe Myles could use one too given the circumstances.
Ugh ily and Im omw sorry I yelled <
Whats up w/ u tho? <
What was the craziness today <
Right. She was hardly going to get away from this without revealing her own slice of drama, and while she’d been raring to give Myles the play-by-play not long ago, she felt a hell of a lot less inclined to do so considering the circumstances. But he asked, and she couldn’t lie to him.
Ivy stopped, sighed, laid back on the chair, stared at the ceiling. He was so good to her. He was going to be pretty unhappy about this turn of events; he probably hated Wyatt even more than he hated Bret, and it was going to add an extra layer of stress to her life that he was inevitably going to be the one to deal with. The alternative, though? The look of betrayal on his face when he learned what happened from someone that wasn’t her? Unforgivable. Still, she didn’t say anything else until her phone buzzed again.
There was a long pause. Too long. She held her breath.
She exhaled, dropping her phone next to her. He’d be here in twenty or so. He’d seen her in far worse than her current state—hair wet, makeup long gone, exhausted—and so she had no problems with closing her eyes and waiting for the bell, or her phone, to ring.
She wanted to sleep so badly. But her thoughts were inescapable.
"I think I messed up."
Had she?
>> Ivy Langley continued in Something Wicked This Way Comes