xvi. men like them
tw: brief discussion of prison, drug addiction,
domestic abuse, and murder.
XVI. MEN LIKE THEM
THERE was a time in Ivy Salvatore's life that she would have killed for silence. As a young girl, when silence cascaded around her it was like being surrounded by an all-consuming hug. It meant that her father was not thundering across their home— terrorizing them with his harsh words or the strike of his hand.
It meant that she could finally be at peace, if even for a mere moment. She could peel back the armor that protected her so fiercely and allow herself to draw in a breath.
Now, she would kill to go back to that time. A time that felt lifetimes away— just out of her grasp.
A time in which silence was a friend, not a foe, but Ivy was rather used to the world working against her; for now silence was this impending doom inside her head.
Silence had become her biggest fear. It ate away at her mind— thumping her brain as it reminded her of all the pain she had endured. It was cruel and taunting, leaving her to her own devices and mind.
A mind that was decaying and darkening as each minute passed by.
Her fingers clasped her family locket that lay between her collarbones— fingers pressing into the metal. Warm skin against the cold metal brought her back, just a smidge. It allowed her to gasp a breath of air into her lungs, wheezing as she pulled herself out of the hollow depraved depths of her mind.
It was grounding in an odd sense. A slight difference in temperatures between her skin and the metal that showed her that the world her mind was showing her wasn't the one she was physically in. Sometimes that was comforting, but at other times it made it even more frightening.
How come her mind was so cruel?
Had she not suffered enough?
People always claim the universe works in mysterious ways, but in Ivy's world, the universe was stationed against her; relentless in its attack.
Nimble limbs tightened around the stark contrast of the metal. Deep breaths in through the mouth and out through the nose. She was okay.
Her mind could haunt her, but it couldn't trap her.
Blinking rapidly, a noise yanked her from the purgatory state that she remained lifeless in.
The front door.
Damon was home— he had been all day. She knew that, but after what had happened to Stefan, she was worried for her brother. Digging out her dagger that had vervain dipped on the blade, a weapon that was steadily becoming her favorite, she made her way to the staircase, pushing herself against the wall as tightly as possible.
The voice at the front door was a familiar one: Anna, "I'm here on behalf of my mother."
Ivy heard Damon's signature scoff, "On behalf of or in spite of?"
Ivy descended the stairs, dagger in hand just as Anna let herself in, "You need to leave."
Her old friend met her eyes, recognition flooding them as she grimaced, "I'm sorry about what the other vampires did to Stefan. Abducting him, torturing him...It wasn't supposed to go down like that."
"Do tell, what exactly did you imagine would happen in a home filled with vampires who spent a century rotting and starving in a tomb?" Ivy eyed her, fingers clasping at her dagger.
"My mom is devastated; they tried to overthrow her."
Damon moved slightly in front of Ivy, "Why isn't she here telling us this?"
"She doesn't really do apologies."
"Well, it's a coincidence, 'cause I don't do forgiveness. Just run along. And if you're going continue playing house with these little vampires' pets, you might wanna stop robbing the blood bank dry because they're onto it." Damon walked over to the door, opening it with one hand and gesturing to the outside with his other.
"I haven't been to the local blood bank in at least a week."
The was a distant humming in the back of Ivy's mind. It flooded her senses— blinding her. She could feel her heart thumping against her chest, her chest feeling heavy all of a sudden. Her body was telling her something. It was drowning out everything going on— trying to point her towards what the truth was.
Damon might lie at times, but Ivy knew he wasn't. Besides, why would he?
LENNOX Tate was a complex man Ivy had learned.
His exterior was harsh— an array of colorful tattoos covering his large frame and a seemingly permanent frown etched onto his face, but his heart was soft. Ivy knew it was.
When she first showed up at his butcher shop, he took one look at her sundress and wide warm eyes and told her to get out, but Ivy never was one to listen all that well. She simply smiled in that way that was signature to her, warm in nature and kind in spirit, and floated towards him with what was most likely the weirdest request: could she have the runoff animal blood?
She could feel the curiosity seeping from him. He was quiet in a way that would be unnerving to anyone else, but Ivy didn't relent. She continued visiting Lennox, bringing him coffee from the local coffee shop in exchange for the blood. Every daily visit, she would linger longer, peeling back layers of Lennox.
The first instance was when she brought him coffee for the first time. Ivy wasn't sure about his order. One of her new topics of research in the modern world was coffee and tea. The tea was a personal interest hobby, but the coffee was interesting. Physically, he gave black coffee vibes, perhaps an Americano, but that felt wrong.
She wasn't even sure why, but she asked the barista for a bag of sugar and a large cup of cream on the side and watched as Lennox wordlessly dumped an alarming amount of sugar into the coffee and a hefty splash of cream with a small smile.
The next time, she brought him a vanilla latte, watching as he still dropped a packet or two of sugar into the drink before steadily finishing it, not speaking as she walked out, animal blood in hand and her tea in hand.
It was a few days later that she perfected his drink: a hot mocha latte with a few pumps of vanilla, and mocha drizzle. It was sickeningly sweet, even for her, but Lennox finished it in record time.
And finally, he talked.
"So," his deep voice cut through the silence like a dark rumble of thunder, a twinge of a southern accent on the end of it, "the animal blood?"
Ivy hummed into her cup of tea, perching herself on a table in his store, "My brother has a rather peculiar diet."
"That's all you got?" Lennox huffed, setting down his mocha with a chuckle, "Come on, darlin'. You got to give me more than that."
Ivy danced around in her mind, trying to find the best words that wouldn't give her away, but she knew Lennox would call her out if she lied. She could feel it in the way his eyes evaluated her, so she told him the truth. Sorta.
"My twin, Stefan, has a really bad history of addiction. I was out of his life for a while due to," Ivy trailed off, a frown turning her lips downwards, "a situation with my father. He wasn't all that kind, you see. Stefan is trying to remain sober and his diet is one of those things that helps him. It's rather extreme but it's better than watching him lose himself, you know?"
Lennox mirrored her frown, glancing down to a tattoo of a clock with no hands on his forearm exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, It was discreet enough that the average person wouldn't have caught it, but Ivy had learned to pay attention to everything around her. Finally, he spoke, "Small towns, darlin'. They chew you right up and spit you out. Like a momma bird, but there isn't anything nurturing about it. How old is he?"
Ivy counted on her fingers, time was a bit difficult given her circumstances, "17." She gasped to herself before speaking once more, "No, 18! We had a birthday."
"You forgot about your own birthday?"
"There was a situation,"
Lennox filled in when she trailed off, "With your old man?"
Ivy nodded flashes of Guiseppe in her mind, "Yes. To make a novel a mere sentence, let us just say, he had me confined."
"Confined?"
Ivy turned to a familiar tactic: humor and deflection. "Is this what the internet was yabbering about when it told me about '21 Questions'? I don't understand the appeal."
Lennox allowed her to move the conversation along, but Ivy knew he could detect her deflection. "Fine, ask yours."
Ivy pretended to stroke an imaginary beard before she looked down at his forearm, "The tattoo, what does it mean?"
"I got a whole lot of tattoos."
"You didn't look at any of the other ones when I told you about my brother."
"Is the warmth you give off a ruse?" Lennox laughed to himself, "damn."
"Can't deflect with me, Lennox Tate. That's my thing."
"Shoot, doll. You're a ball buster," Lennox whistled to himself, "I guess I owe you one."
"Two."
"Two," Lennox nodded. "I got it when I was locked up. Spent a lot of time behind bars. Over time you lose track of it all and it consumes you, you know?"
More than you would ever imagine.
"What were you in prison for?"
"Listen, I was a bad egg, alright. Wrong side of the tracks kind of kid in a small town type of childhood. My mom, she was like your brother, shootin' up all the time. My old man was like yours, beatin' on her and me– it was just us, til' mom had my baby sister, Hadley. I got into a whole lot of trouble before Mom had her, didn't have nothing better to do. Once she came 'round, I took care of her because my old man was out drinkin' and my mom was out on somethin'. Good ol' dad made me pick who got it– me or Hadley. I always picked myself, you know? One day he was so messed up, he went straight for her. Started going in on her. She was always a small kid and didn't stand a chance. When I found him, I couldn't stop."
When Lennox trailed off, Ivy filled the silent air, "And he's gone now?"
"Yeah."
Ivy traced the rim of her cup, tea long forgotten, "Good."
Lennox glanced up to her, "You ain't gonna go running? I spent time for doing that to him."
"If my father weren't already gone, I would make sure he was. Men like that don't deserve their lives."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was peaceful; two people who externally were opposites, but their souls shared similar wounds.
Ivy finally spoke, "I don't think we did '21 Questions' right. I'm rather certain it's meant to be surface-level. So, Lennox, what is your favorite color?"
IVY sat on the couch, body covered in an intricate wrapping of blankets around her body, concealing all of her aside from her head poking out from the top. The TV screen was playing a movie called, Twilight. It was a rather interesting film, but the most enjoyable part was Damon's disdain for it.
When she pulled it from the bag of things Elena had lent her, Damon had all but ripped it from her hands. He was trying to throw it into the fireplace before Ivy retaliated.
She found Damon was compliant when his liquor cabinet was under threat of being hit with a baseball bat.
So, they came to a truce. Damon handed her film back with a comment about how absurd the film was.
Yet, he sat across from her nursing a glass of bourbon, eyes glued to the screen.
Every so often he would scoff with a side comment like, "What kind of vampire sparkles?"
The distinct click of the door unlocking carried through the foyer, removing Ivy from the movie. Stefan came strolling in, dropping his backpack to the ground.
Ivy smiled at him, a tiny head in a swarm of blankets, "How was school, Steffie?"
"Fine."
Damon paused the movie before chiming in, "Yeah? Same old, same old? Nothing new? No stories to bring home?"
Stefan hesitated pulling off his shoes, "You're making small talk, why?"
"You seem awfully chipper lately, less doom and gloom, a little more pep in your step."
"And you think it's because I drank human blood again."
Damon grinned at the assessment, "I don't want to brag but I would definitely take responsibility for this new and improved you."
Ivy's fingers sought out her locket.
"Well, I hate to burst your bubble but I'm clean."
Ivy resolved to try and mediate, "Anna stopped by earlier. Apparently, the hospital's blood has been stolen. She claims it wasn't her and Damon wouldn't lie about that. Other things, yes, but he takes joy in being depraved."
Damon waved his fingers, "Yeah, not possible you're clean little brother."
"Not only isn't possible but it is quite true."
"Stefan, just be serious for a second. You spent the last century and a half being a poster child for Prozac and now you expect me to believe that this new you has nothing to do with human blood. Nothing."
Prozac? Ivy filed the term away for later research.
"I'm clean."
"You're lying!" Damon stood up from the couch, voice filling the home.
Stefan shook his head, "Believe what you want." He cast a look at Ivy, "Nice intervention. Thanks for having my back."
Once he was far enough away, Damon met her eyes, "He's off the deep end, Bambi. We both know he doesn't come for you like that."
Not even her locket could pull her out from the thoughts her mind tormented her with then.
IVY didn't like John Gilbert.
There wasn't anything inherently wrong with him– albeit there was something entitled in the way he strolled about. She wasn't entirely sure what it was, but there was something inside of her screaming not to trust him.
The moment that he had come into their home and threatened her family, she knew she was right to trust her intuition.
"The only thing that matters is that I want it back and you're going to help me if you want your secret safe," John smiled.
Ivy overheard him as she walked towards the living area, her heart beating at the idea of her brothers being exposed.
She heard her eldest brother's voice next, "Why bring me into it, John? I mean, I don't know what you are talking about much less who has it."
"Oh come on Damon! You were around back then, you know who these people are, what they look like. He was friendly with a woman who turned out to be a vampire. Her name was Pearl. Does that ring a bell?"
Ivy found herself in the entryway to the room as silence filled the air between the two men; tension suffocating her. Damon met her eye, "I'm not playing anymore, John. Get out. Get out."
John seemed to notice her presence then, turning to her with an appreciative glance, "And the ever so elusive Salvatore sister, Ivy, is it?"
Damon attempted to pull his attention away from her, " You know, I only entertain this whole blackmail scheme thing of yours because I thought that you and Isobel could lead me to Katherine but see, now I know you've no idea where Katherine is because if you did you would know that Katherine and Pearl were best friends. See, you don't know everything, do you John?"
"I'll tell the entire council what you are."
"Go for it! I'll kill every last one of them. Then I'll sever your hand, pull your ring off, and I'll kill you too. Do you understand that?"
"Is that before or after they get to your sister? No offense but she doesn't look too tough for a vampire."
Ivy huffed, "I am right here, you know?"
"Sincerest apologies," John flashed her a grin that told her he wasn't genuine in his apology.
"Besides I'm not even a vampire," Ivy smiled back, "send the council my way and you'll only make yourself a fool. It is rather difficult to rise in the ranks if you're deemed a jolterhead, you see."
John titled his head in assessment, "If you're not a vampire, then you wouldn't mind if I," he paused and came towards her, pulling a clutch of vervain from his pocket and smushing it against her cheek, "did this?"
"Ouch, my flesh is melting away. You have bested me, oh wise one," Ivy drawled, pushing him away from her, grimacing at his touch, "For a Gilbert, you're not the smartest, you know? Had I been a vampire, you just put yourself right in arms reach. Your ancestor was just as arrogant, but at least he had some semblance of self-preservation."
John at least looked a little embarrassed at his mistake before he schooled his expression and looked at Damon, "Be smart about this, Damon."
Ivy waited till the front door was closed before she grinned mischievously, "May want to lock the door, dear brother. I don't think your little friend will be too pleased when he realizes I was absent at the beginning of your enlightening conversation because I was off slashing his tires."
ELENA sharing Katherine's face had a few benefits; that were massively outweighed by its cons, but alas, Ivy tried to find positive outlooks in her life. From the moment Elena entered her bedroom, Ivy knew something was wrong. It wasn't the exact face Katherine would once make, but it was similar enough that Ivy knew enough.
Making her way out from under her covers, Ivy met Elena in the middle of the room. Elena had her arms crossed over her body as though she were trying to hug herself for comfort.
"Elena? What's the matter?"
"Stefan," Elena shook her head, "Ivy I am so sorry. I gave him blood after he was tortured. He needed it."
Ivy tried to stay grounded. Elena needed her. "He's drinking blood again?"
Elena nodded, her body curling in Ivy's. The smaller girl encased Elena in her arms. "I am so sorry. I didn't know what to do."
"It's not your fault, Elena. His addiction isn't something you carved into his soul– it is something he craves. You didn't know how deep it went."
"We have to do something, Ivy."
"You have a plan, don't you?"
Elena pulled away from the hug, unclasping one of her fists to expose a small dart, "It's a vervain dart." Her voice was small: haunted. "Damon told me I can use one of the cellars. Get him back on his animal diet. I need you to be okay with this."
"Me?"
"You're his twin, Ivy. You know him better than anyone ever will. I don't want to hurt him. I want to help."
Ivy weighed her options. How could she lock her brother up? Her twin. Someone who she shared the womb with. How could she subject him to even a sliver of what she endured? Locked in a cage; subjected to the torment of his mind.
"It won't be easy, Elena."
"I know."
"Do it," Ivy let out a huff of air. "Stefan hates what his addiction does to him. He will be angry at first, but he will understand once we get through the haze he is stuck in."
SEEING Stefan behind the bars of the cell chipped a piece of her humanity away like a weeks-old layer of nail polish.
Her stomach felt hollow and her throat tight as she realized she put him there. It was her fault.
Stefan had woken up a few hours ago— sluggish at first as the vervain wore off, but as time went on, he grew more desperate. He had spoken to Elena— and tried to talk her into letting him out before Damon intervened. He was scrambling. His addiction was crawling beneath his skin, simmering in place, and desperately trying to reach the surface. He was going to say whatever he needed to.
But when he saw Ivy behind the pair of them, he had a new target.
His voice was kind at first, "Ivy. Being locked up in the tomb didn't help you, did it? If you really want to help. You'll let me out."
Ivy looked away from the set of eyes so similar to her own, "I can't, Stefan. This is what's best for you."
At her dismissal, he turned cold. "You're really dad's daughter, aren't you?"
The words slapped her across the face— the force emitting a gasp from her.
Stefan sneered, "Locking me up when I don't bend at the knee. That's what Dad did to you. What else did you learn from him? How else do you take after him?"
Damon was in front of her.
His hands were on her shoulders.
Her body contorted— pushing away from him. The only hands she could feel were those of her father. Cruel and malicious as they bruised the body he helped create— leaving his mark all over her flesh and engraved into her bones.
She could feel him everywhere— his hands yanking at her hair, his palm smacking against her face, his boots smashing the bones of her fingers, his cigars on the meat of her thigh.
The feel of bile climbing up her throat had her choking on air. It was vile and acidic— on its ascent through her body. Her stomach was desperate to empty itself on the floor at the memory of her father.
Her vision faded in and out: teetering. She could hardly decipher what was real or not. The cool ground beneath her feet did little to draw her back.
Instead, it just reminded her of the time her father had locked her in the cellar of their old home in the dead of winged for days while her brothers were traveling— how she had curled in on herself to stay warm, not even noticing the distinct rumbling of a hungry child's stomach.
She tried to pull herself out of it— she really did.
Ivy looked like her father, there was no denying that simple fact, but she prided herself in the fact that she had her humanity. Her soul was kind and good. Yet, here she was, locking up her own blood in the same manner her father once had done to her.
Was she truly no better than Guiseppe?
Here she was— dueling out punishments as though she were worthy of it.
His blood existed in her veins, but was his barbarity in her spirit?
Softly spoken words began to break through the terror she was reliving, "Stai bene, Bambi. Il padre non c'è più."
The Italian words drew her back. It allowed her something to focus on. She took a breath followed by a deeper one.
She was okay.
Giuseppe was gone.
She was his blood— yes, but he was not her family.
Her family was right here and she was doing her best to protect them.
She would always protect them.
________
well, hi.
i've been trying for months to write,
but the words haven't come. last night
i was sitting and bed and it just came
to me. i hope you all enjoy. thank you
for your patience. i love you all.
ALSO we finally get to officially meet Lennox!
he is the scary tattooed butcher ivy mentioned
before and he is a precious baby. i will
protect him so watch your words. ⚔️
qotd: if any supernatural species were to
be introduced into the show, what
would you want it to be?
→ i struggled to answer this myself, but i feel like a phoenix or a dragon
would be super cool. sort of like
a shapeshifter?
copyright © -loonylupins
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro