Limerence

Chapter 1

Ivy
I'm a true believer in the art of not believing. I was that kid. The one who didn't believe in Santa Clause for a second, and not only that, but I didn't believe in happy endings. My father use to always read me stories about heroic characters who saved the day. He always told me that I would save the day when I grew up. When my father left when I was 9 I never believed anything that an adult said to me again, and I still don't, which probably explains the reason why I am in a cell right now.
The scraping of metal on metal wakes me from my daze as a small, but heavy looking, man waddles into my cell with a grunt.
"Come on." He says, swinging the metal door open and gesturing for me to step out of the cement box. For some strange reason, I hesitated, not wanting to meet the empty glare of my mothers eyes. They use to have anger in them, but eventually she stopped being angry. She just accepted the fact that her daughter had been to jail 6 times before she even turned 18. That's not what a mother is suppose to do.
The car ride home was silent. My mothers graying hair was matted against her cheek and she watched the road intently. She avoids my eyes at all costs like I am Medusa with snakes growing out of my head. She doesn't even ask for my side of the story. That's not what a mother is suppose to do.
Sometimes I wonder where things went wrong. Everyone always assumes that it is when my dad left when I turned into a troubled kid who wore too much eye make-up and went to therapy, but that isn't when I changed. Years after my father left me, and I was almost 12, a girl sat next to me in class. She had fiery red hair and goofy purple glasses, and I remember that I actually laughed out loud when she sat next to me. The contrast between us was comical. But the thing is, she didn't even notice. She looked at me like I didn't have large grey eye bags and ratty looking clothes. She just sat there and smiled a big toothy smile, and I smiled back. I hadn't smiled since my dad had left and we had moved to Syracuse, so my lips were tight, but I smiled back. From then on we became best friends. Her name was Phoebe. She had a way of making me happy in the time when I needed it the most. I could never pay her back for what she did for me. For the first time, I actually believed that I had a real friend. One day I walked into class and was immediately escorted back out by the hand of my teacher. Her eyebrows were drawn together with concern and pity. I hate being pitied. At the time I didn't know what was the matter so I hugged my journal to my chest and let myself by guide me to the principal office. I was then surrounded by more sad looking adults who patted me on the back or hugged me as I passed them. I remember flinching away from there touches, not use to all the attention. Finally I got to the principles office and sat down in the brown swerve chair. The old man with graying hair, Principle Conners, sat down opposite me. My teacher stood next to me placing her clammy hand on my shoulder. Principle Conners leaned forward placing his hands on the wooden desk in between us.
"Hello Ivy. How are you today?" He said looking very uncomfortable.
"Fine." I mumble back, pushing my cuticles back on my fingers. My anxiety increased as my teacher began to stroke my shoulder.
"There is no easy way to tell you this Ivy, but I'm afraid that your friend...Phoebe, was in an accident today." He seemed to squeeze the words out of his throat. My head filled with questions but the only thing that I could do was sit there picking at my fingers.
"Ivy? Did you hear me?" No response.
Then my teacher tries. "It is normal to want to stay quiet when shocking things like this happen Ivy, we understand if you would like to go home." She reaches for her phone, then adds "Don't worry a bit. I will call your mom and she will come and pick you up, ok sweetheart?" She dialed my mom and began explaining that Phoebe was in a car accident and that I should stay home for as long as I need to, in order to adjust to the shock. "She was taken to St. Timms this afternoon and is currently in the emergency department. She's still alive but things..." She pauses and looks at me. "Things don't seem to be going too well." She says in a more hushed tone. I look down at my lap and gulp. My fingers have started to bleed. I didn't cry once. Not once. I tried to cry so I could prove that I actually have a heart, but I just couldn't. It was so easy to pretend that Phoebe never existed because I only had known her for 5 months. The day after Phoebe was pronounced dead I met Mrs. Crawyer; The most horrific person to walk this Earth.
"How are you holding up Ivy, dearie?"
"Fine."
"Have you been writing in your feel-better journal?"
"No."
"Why not? Don't you want to express who you are by dumping your soul onto paper?"
"No."
She pears down her large nose at me. "Well it seems like we've hit a wall, doesn't it?"
"Guess so."
"Now Ivy, I am not liking this attitude of yours." She shifts her plump body towards me, forcing me to look at her beady little eyes. "You know I am trying to help you sugar lumps, so why must you put up such a barrier between us? Don't you want to be friends?"
How am I suppose to convince this lady that I am not interested in being 'friends' with her? Or how to tell her that graffiti is not my way of expressing my depressed, lonely soul, but that I just like the feeling of making art that everyone can see? Therapy is yet another time where I am locked up inside a room with adults trying to tell me to stop being me. I've grown pretty accustom to it, so instead of wasting the hours, I make it a little game to amuse myself.
"Mrs. Crawyer, the people inside my head told me that I shouldn't trust you." I say, fiddling with the stapler on her desk.
"The people inside your head?" She says a crease forming in between her eyebrows.
"They tell me lots of things. I like them." I say grinning. I then chuck the stapler onto the carpet and let out a small giggle.
"I_Ivy dearie, why did you do that?" She backs away from me looking at the stapler in shock.
"They said I should. They are silly little people, aren't they?" The scared look on her face made me almost fall off my chair laughing.

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Hey! This is the first chapter of my new story Limerence. I'm really exited for where this book is going and I hope you are too! Thank you sooooooo much for reading this, it means so much to me. Also I would appreciate it if you commented pointers, plot suggestions, or really anything! Thank you💕 And stay tuned for chapter 2.