Sweet Revenge

Chapter 2

I've recently engaged in a new hobby. Every day after homeschool is over I wander to the park near us and skip rocks in the lake. I enjoy the feel of the breeze lightly brushing against my cheek and the sound the rocks create when they touch the water. It calms me down after dealing with mom the entire day. As much as I hate to admit it, it also drowns out my constant thoughts about Poppy. A typical day in my life is now spent doing either this or keeping vigil at her grave. She deserves hours of dedication after how much I've wronged her.

As I stroll back into the house I notice my mom lying on the living room couch face down. She looks extremely worn out so I quickly shuffle past her, hoping she is too tired to hear my footsteps.

"Oh hey Ivy, you're home, where were you?" She asked, a smile plastered on her face like everything was normal. She does this although nothing is normal. I'm not normal. Things between us aren't normal. My life sure isn't normal.

"None of your business," I replied with a stern look on my face.

"Oh, don't be like that Ivy. I already apologized for what I said yesterday," Did she really expect me to believe that? It's clear she still believes what she said and she hadn't even considered the fact that it hurt me.

"I have a right to be angry," I practically shout. Maybe now she'll realize that it's not okay to just go throwing Poppy's name around like it's nothing. She doesn't seem to understand that I'm trying to shake off the grief of her death. I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Right now I just need to be alone," I know what she's on the verge of saying, 'I spend too much time alone,' so I leave before she gets the chance to. Alone time is how I process my thoughts, and my method of coping with the pain.

I enter the comfort of my own room and collapse onto my bed. I'm exhausted even though I haven't done much today. I eye the computer sitting in the middle of my desk but don't grab it since my eyes are far too sore to stare at a bright screen.

Instead, I open the drawer to my desk and grab the blue hardcover journal resting on top of everything else. Right now I feel the need to get my thoughts out on paper. I throw the book open to an empty page and vigorously scribble down everything.

I write about my infuriation with mom.

I write about my never-ending grief.

I write about the fact that it feels like I'm missing out on life.

I write until it feels as if my hands are about to fall off. When I can't write anymore I cap my pen and take a series of deep breaths in and out. After journaling I start to feel lighter, like a huge weight has been lifted off my back. Although, I slightly feel deep down inside more anger rising up inside of my chest. So I pick up my pen, turn back to the page and quickly jot down the words that have been stuck in the back of my mind for as long as ever, words I feel the need to get out on paper.

Ryan, he was the one that deserved to die.

I look at the name, written in tiny letters in my book, until I can't bear to look at it any longer. I fling the journal across the room, taking out all the rage I had locked up inside. I feel my heartbeat start to speed up and I think maybe it wasn't a good idea writing this out. Breathe Ivy, just breathe. I urge myself. I breathe repeatedly although my heart is still beating painfully a mile a minute. I lay back and shut my eyes, attempting to erase every thought from my head.

I imagine myself at the lake, tossing rocks into the water and hearing the familiar plop, plop sound. I imagine the warm spring breeze brushing against my skin, as if it was speaking to me. These pleasant thoughts suffice me until I dig up a memory far back in my brain. A memory meant to stay far back in my brain.