𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (Completed)

5. U N A T T A I N A B L E

IVY'S P.O.V

The drive to Cherry is silent and awkward. The last time I was in a car with a boy, was when I found out my ex had been shamelessly two-timing me behind my back.

We don't utter a word unless we want to know how far have we reached, what the time is or if the temperature of the air conditioning can be reduced. I can't process the idea of Chace making Dylan Carson move into the middle of freaking nowhere.

Does Chace have the license to do such a thing? I shudder at the theory of him belonging to a family of ruthless kingpins owning dozens of cartels.

"I have the leverage to do what I wish," he speaks, breaking the awkward silence.
"I know what you are thinking. I understand what it feels to not have access to certain qualities, which people like you don't have."

He chortles throatily, eyes gleaming deridingly.
Allow me to remind myself of how much I want to reach for his throat and rip out his larynx.

We stop at the entrance of the campus, I fumble with the buckle of the seatbelt as I try getting out of it. A wave of electricity surges through me, his fingers brushing against my skin, lightly touching my jeans.

The hair on my arms spring up in action, I relentlessly stare at his hand as I swallow hard, not daring to look up.

Hurriedly swinging my legs out of the car, I sprint towards the entrance after closing the door shut. I can still sense his nefarious blue gaze streaming my back. Revving up the engine, he recklessly drives off.

  

                                   ***

My first class is Writing for Print in room two one two, building number three. To my relief the class has not started yet, most students chatting with one another. Some of them are thrilled,  while the rest fix me with somnambulistic eyes.

The door opens, revealing a man decked in casual attire. He greets us with a pleasant smile, motioning us to occupy the front seats as some of them are empty.

"Good morning class and welcome to writing for print. My name is Hisham Hamid. In today's session, we will be covering up topics relating to the various types of journalism, news values, how to write a newsletter and a Lede," Mr. Hamid rubs his palms with excitement. It is pretty rare to see a professor look this excited about teaching a subject.

"Before we start, I would like all of you to introduce and tell a little bit about yourselves, starting with you." Tilting his head to the side, I give a half-wave. "I'm Ivy but you can call me Vee for short if you have trouble remembering my name. I hope to get along with all of you."

My body goes stiff with nervousness as everyone claps at my introduction which wasn't interesting. I don't know if it's me, but is there anyone in here who can connect with my embarrassment? Who cares? They must be doing it out of respect and that my presence here is valued. Clapping is also out of courtesy.

Class ends a little too early right before the bell rings for recess. I am impressed by the way Mr. Hamid conducted his class. He not only made it informative, but he also kept us engaged throughout and it was amazing to see him not refer to the presentation slides. He knew what he was doing.

Back in High School, we would simply be staring at our books, faces blank. We weren't able to retain whatever the teachers had taught. It got so bad, I didn't know what to say when mom would ask me to share what I had learned in school.

Which reminds me. I haven't called mom for two damned days. Aren't I such a wonderful child. Mom picks up on the first ring sounding very flustered and panicked. "Ivy, What the hell? Why haven't you answered any of my calls?"

I flinch at the worry in her tone. "I'm sorry. There was um," I'm running out of excuses. There's no way I can tell her that I got drunk on my first day of college and I spent the night, passing out in a certain boy's car who 1. Happens to be ridiculously good looking I am desperate to murder him.  2. He goes by the name Chace Lambert and he makes me want to hate him even more. 3. I can't lie for shit.

"I got really sick. Ate something I shouldn't have. But I'm much better now."

There's a long pause at the other end of the line, sweat starts rolling from the side of my face. Mom knows. A mother automatically knows when their children are lying to them.

I won't blame her if she does end up going on a tirade, complaining about how my choices in life suck. Mom sighs, yawning in between. She sounds tired.

"You have to be more careful, Ivy. I'm not going to be there all your life. You are a grown adult."

My grip around my phone becomes tighter with regret. I'm not enjoying this. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Is everything ok? Have you eaten?"

"Yes, I have."  Ever since dad had left and our life started to get more challenging day by day, mom stopped eating entirely, drowning herself with piles of paperwork to keep herself distracted. She pretended to look normal. So normal, it landed her to the doctors with a severe case of gastritis. Mom could've died.

"You can't always put work before your health. Do you even know how lucky I am to see you standing?"

" I can't help it, Ivy. To keep an empire running, you have to give in your hundred percent. Did you make any new friends?" She asks, changing the subject. I consider to point that out but it is of no use to have an argument with her.

"Yeah, I did." Did I?

What do I say about Jaden who has been MIA since the party the day before? How do I describe Reed's reticence? Chace? What about him? I wouldn't place him in any category pertaining to friendship. Maybe Hubristic Reprobate is the perfect title for him. I'm not sure if I would call them acquaintances either.

"They are chill." I try to sound convincing.

"Good to know you have settled. I'll talk to you later. I have an important meeting to attend." She cuts the call, promising to catch up regularly. I decide to go to my room and work on the assignment which Mr. Hamid gave us, due next Sunday.

I walk in to find an unexpected guest, sprawled on my bed.