The bad girl falling for a bad boy?

(9) The bad girl falling for a bad boy?

Chapter 9

Ivy's POV

"Because I think I love you," I admitted. Michael tensed behind me and I felt his heartbeat pick up under my ear. Shit, that was probably a mistake.

"I-uh," he stuttered.

"You don't have to say it back," I assured him. "I just wanna know now if this is going nowhere. Before I get in too deep."

He sighed and held me tighter. "I definitely feel something for you. I don't know if it's love yet, but no doubt it's heading there."

As pathetic as I was, that was good enough for me. For now, at least. "Come on, it's still early and I'm in the mood for a snack."

"Don't be mad, Ivy," he pleaded. Huh?

"I'm not." I looked at him, confused.

Blowing out a breath, he smiled. He always did that; expected me to get mad over stupid things. Was Monica like that?

Shrugging to myself, I walked to his closet and took out a beige button down shirt. It was buttoned, so I put my arms through the holes and pulled it over my head. "You know, you never told me exactly what it is that you do," I said. He'd told me he worked in business, but he hadn't given me specifics.

He shrugged, running his eyes over my body as I rolled his sleeves up to my elbows. "I graduated college with a business major and I technically work for my dad, but it's basically like an allowance."

"What does he do?"

"He's an entrepreneur. He worked hard to get where he is, but now he just hires people to work for him while he and my mom travel. I do work when my dad gives me something to do, but mostly he just sends me a huge check every week."

He got up, put a clean pair of boxers and jeans on, and followed me downstairs. "I take it you don't see them often?" To me, that was kind of sad.

"Not much anymore. I was a bit of a surprise to them. They love me, of course, but I was sorta in the way a lot. When I went to college, they went traveling the world." His voice was offhand, like he was talking about the weather for tomorrow.

By now, we were in the kitchen. As I took out a plate and a knife, I asked him, "That doesn't bother you? Them not being around?"

"I can't be mad at them for wanting a life. They're still pretty young and they had me when they were still teenagers. My mom is... 38 now, and my dad's 40. I couldn't ask them to quit doing what they want just because I miss them."

"They're still in love after all these years?" I was having a weird craving for apples and strawberries, so I took some out of the fridge, grateful we went shopping.

"Yeah," he said with a smile and a faraway look like he was remembering something. "What about your parents?"

I cut an apple into 8 pieces while I hesitated. There was always a sharp pain in my heart when I spoke or even thought about them. "They loved each other up until the day they died. We were a very traditional family. My mom stayed home, cooked, and cleaned while Daddy worked."

The familiar sting of tears whenever I thought of them was in my eyes, but I was smiling, recalling happy memories. "Remember when you asked where I learned to massage like that? Well, my dad had back problems, so my mom would give him a back rub when he came home."

Michael pulled me into his arms and rubbed my back while tears slid down my face.

A horrible realization came to me all of the sudden. They were the best parents anyone could possibly ask for, and I thanked them by drinking, clubbing, and sleeping around after they died. I was such a terrible daugher. A lump formed in my throat. The pain in my chest grew worse, like someone was twisting a knife in my heart, and the urge to throw up rose.

Throwing myself away from Michael, I ran to the bathroom with a hand over my mouth. "Ivy!" he screamed as he followed me. Sloppily, I shoved my hair back while I knelt in front of the toilet and threw up. Michael saw me and asked, "Shit, are you okay?"

I shook my head miserably, before throwing up once more. He held my hair for me this time. After I was done with that, the only thoughts running through my mind were my conscious telling me what a disgusting whore I was, and what my parents would do if they knew what I've been doing the past few years since they died.

In that moment, I knew exactly what self loathing was.

I got up, flushed the toilet, and gargled with some of Michael's mouthwash, sobbing the whole time. "I'm just gonna go lay down."

"What's going on, Ivy? You were fine a second ago; what happened?"

"I just wanna be alone for a while. Please?" I managed through my sobs.

He looked at me for a few seconds with an anguished look in his eyes before nodding. "Tell me if you need anything, okay?" He kissed me lightly on the lips before heading back into the kitchen.

Feeling like a complete bitch, I walked back upstairs and crawled into Michael's bed. No matter how much I wished and wished to go back in time, it would never happen. If my mother was here, she'd yell at me and probably start crying, wondering where she went wrong. If my father was here, he'd shake his head in disappointment. Because I was a disappointment.

Seemingly endlessly, tears streamed out of my eyes and down my cheeks.

Michael's POV

My body was itching to go upstairs and shake Ivy until she told me what the fuck happened.

It was like she had the opposite of an epiphany. One minute she was smiling and talking about her parents, and the next, she tensed and started sobbing before running away from me.

I'd just tell myself that she wasn't feeling well, but that look on her face left me shaken. Plus, the whole time I've known her, she's never cried like that.

Her pupils were dilated and in her eyes was a mixture of sadness, which was obvious, hopelessness, and hatred. I didn't understand the last one. It wasn't directed at me, that I knew, but then who was she thinking of? Steven? Something in my gut told me that wasn't it. Her parents? Did she remember something awful about them?

Frustrated, I shoved a hand through my hair. This girl was making me lose my mind. And I didn't care one bit.

I sat on the couch, turned on the TV, and started flipping through the channels, not really seeing. I hated that she wouldn't talk to me. Would she confide if I told her I love her? Would it be a lie?

As much as I hated comparing everything to Monica, I couldn't help it. I'd never felt about Monica like I did about Ivy. This was completely different. I tried to remember what it felt like to love Monica, but I couldn't, so I had no way of knowing if what I felt with Ivy was love.

Fuck.

I stood up from the couch and went upstairs, hoping she'd have calmed down. She was lying on the left side of the bed, curled into a ball, and her face was still wet with tears. There was a box of tissues on my dresser, so I took one and wiped her face carefully.

After taking my jeans off, leaving me in only boxers, I got in bed and pulled Ivy to my chest. She stirred a bit and mumbled something, but didn't wake up.

Seeing her peaceful expression, hearing her snore softly, feeling her light breaths on my chest, something strange, yet increasingly familiar happened in my chest. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was slightly suffocating, if that made sense. My heart felt fuller. It started a while after I met Ivy, and it's been steadily increasing. By now, it felt like it was about to burst.

Holy shit. I think I'm in love with her.

But I had been in love with Monica, and this never happened. I was so confused.

One thing I knew for sure. If anything happened to Ivy, I wouldn't be heartbroken. I'd be destroyed. Ruined.

Clutching her more tightly, I told myself that nothing would happen to her. Nothing was going to take her from me.