ᴀᴅ ᴍᴇʟɪᴏʀᴀ ~ ᴅᴘꜱ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

31 - reprise

Quite a bombshell, right?

I sit stoically, processing everything that's been unloaded. Bee's crying, and I know that don't want her to. I don't want her to feel bad at all, but I can't think of what to do or say. I'm just... sitting here.

Amy's words from so long ago echo back through my brain:

"—but after hearing more bits and pieces of your story with that Beatrice girl... I'm seeing some parallels."

Bee stands up from the bed and tries to compose herself.

"She's your Cher, Ivy."

I stare up at her, desperately trying to unscramble the enigma of an expression she's wearing. I haven't said anything in over 10 minutes. Something in her gaze begs me to speak, to tell her, 'It's okay, you're not broken,' or anything equivalent, and I want to say that. I do, I really do, but my reaction time is too slow. Her face shifts into anger, quiet, yet present, and she uncrosses her arms.

"Or at least, that's the direction it was heading."

"I need— you should leave, Ivy. You shouldn't have come here." Bee motions for me to stand and I oblige, unintentionally. She places a hesitant hand on my back, hovering less than an inch away, and guides me to the door. We're halfway through the journey before I snap out of my head and gather my witts enough to speak.

"Bee, no," I sputter, grasping at any words I can form, "you don't have to do this! This doesn't change anything—"

"Yes," she cuts in, walking faster, "it does. It did from day one. It did every day since. You being privy to it now doesn't change anything."

"Bee, I don't care! Please," I plea, pulling away from her arm and spinning to face her. We're in the doorway now; she's in the room, I'm just past the threshold. "...don't hate yourself because of me. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

She snickers dryly. "I think the majority of the population would disagree."

"Fuck them!" I yell, maybe a bit too loud. "Who gives a shit what some faceless 'population' thinks?"

"I do, Ivy!" she bursts, as though she's explained this a million times. "There are things that exist outside of this little bubble!" Her tears return, but she buries her face in her sleeves before they can fall. "Jesus, why did you have to come back? I was finally moving on! I was almost normal. But you— you just couldn't let me be!"

Even muffled through fabric, the words hit me like a ton of bricks.

I raise my finger in protest, words forming on the fly, but she slams the door before I can say anything. My finger jams against the wood, sending a sharp pain down my hand.

"Ow! Jesus, fuck!" I yell, definitely too loudly. Only part of my aggression is aimed at my finger. I turn my back on the door, sliding down the wood until I hit the ground. I bury my head into my knees, wrapping my arms around them into a bundle. The sobs never come; instead, I sit there, silent inside and out, unsure of what to do next.

I don't hear her footsteps step away from the door until a few minutes later.

-

And so we meet again, oh bed of mine. Some undeniable force of nature continues to bind us together.

I lay motionless, allowing the full weight of my body to sink into the shitty mattress pad. Amy comes and goes every few hours, not exchanging more than a word or two on the way. I've stopped keeping track of her cigarettes; in fact, I barely register the bright red package in her hand at this point. She has her problems, I have mine. They overlap in one important spot, of course, but besides that, we've essentially become strangers. Poltergeists of eachother's dorm, showing up to rustle a few things and continue on our way. I don't like it, of course, but like everything else, I can't muster much energy to fight it. So I don't.

It's Thursday, I think. Meeks leaves for break in a few days, and I have a lot to get straight before then. I need to see him again. I need to see them all again. I need to talk with Amy and tell her everything. I need to see Bee again.

I continue my mental list, scrolling through all the unfinished buisness I've racked up recently, when someone knocks on the door.

"It's open, Amy," I grumble, unwilling to get up. She knocks again, so I repeat, louder "It's open!"

A voice sounds from the other side, distinctly not Amy-like: "Miss Albrecht?"

Shit. What does Duvall want?

I roll over in bed and stare up at the ceiling. Part of me considers ignoring the call entirely... until she knocks again, still feigning artificial courtesy.

The sound is enough to make me swing out of bed, quickly stashing a carton of Marlboros Amy'd left on her nightstand as I walk to the door.

The rusty hinges groan to reveal Ms. Duvall, standing rigidly with her hands behind her back. The yellowing fluorescent lights in the hallway sting my eyes, a drastic change from the low-lit solitude of 3E.

Does this bitch ever take a break? It's past—

I quickly glance back at my alarm clock.

9:00am? When did I go to sleep?

Before I can think about it too hard, Ms. Duvall clears her throat. "Good morning, Miss Albrecht," she says, eyes briefly landing on me before focusing on the room behind. "I'm glad you're using your break to... rest up, for the following semester."

I grunt in acknowledment.

"You're needed in Headmaster Coleman's office." When I don't move, she adds, "Immediately."

I rub my eyes. "What did I do?"

"You're not in trouble. There's just been some concerns about your current... situation."

That doesn't clear up anything, but I'm not in the mood to decode her cypher right now, so I just nod. "I'll get dressed and be there soon."

She returns the gesture. Satisfied, she turns on her heels, marching back down the hall without another word. I flip her off silently as the door shuts.

-

Despite my numerous shenanigans over the years, I've never quite been able to shake the outside-the-dean's-office jitters. Maybe it's paranoia, or a general lack of trust in Ms. Duvall, but something tells me I'm not going to like the outcome of this meeting.

After one final deep breath, I place my hand on the doorknob. With a hesitant turn, the door opens silently (I guess that's where all the hinge grease has gone) to three people:

Headmaster Coleman, my mom, and my dad.

Oh, shit.

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final stretch lads, only 3 or 4 official chapters left (i think) (we'll see) (don't worry there's an epilogue and extra content chapter too)