Your Ivy Grows

Chapter 3

"Where did you disappear off to tonight?" My hand stills at the sound of John's voice. I hadn't noticed him coming to stand in the bathroom doorway. I ignore him and continue brushing my teeth. Pretending to have not heard him seems a better option than talking to him. By the end of the party I was struggling to keep my eyes open; I'm too exhausted to do this right now.

"Alexis, I'm talking to you." He's moved to stand behind me, staring at me in the mirror and trying to get my full attention. "Where did you disappear to?"

I stall for time, brushing a few more times before spitting into the sink, rinsing off my toothbrush and placing it back in the holder. Finally, turning to face him and leaning back against the sink.

"I went outside. I wanted some fresh air and five minutes where I didn't need to fake a smile."

I go to walk past him, essentially ending the conversation there. But his hand reaches out to stop me, gripping me on my upper arm in almost exactly the same spot Barnes had. How is this the second time tonight a man has deemed it appropriate to grab me like this? And unfortunately for me, unlike Barnes, John isn't just trying to hold me in place. No, his grip is as tight as he can make it, ensuring that he hurts me. And even though I know it will bruise, I don't pull away. I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me fight against him.

"You embarrassed me tonight in front of a lot of very important people. I looked like a fool."

"Don't be so dramatic, John. I couldn't have been gone more than five minutes. Most people probably didn't even notice." I say dismissively.

There was once a time I'd have tried to placate him, where I'd try to calm him. Maybe I'd have kissed him, let him take me to bed and do whatever he wanted to me if it meant he calmed down, didn't blow up. Not anymore. I enjoy watching him lose it. His childish temper tantrums don't hold the same power over me anymore and I know he fucking hates it.

I'm finding the pain in my arm harder to bear, so I finally try to move away from his hold. But he tightens his grip.

"Can you not even pretend to be happy for me? This is an incredible opportunity for me. For us."

"Happy for you?" I laugh at the suggestion. "What am I supposed to be happy about? That you get to parade around in a Captain America costume, pretending to be a superhero? Or do you want me to be happy about how the press won't leave us alone? Or maybe you think I should jump for joy at the assigned PR team that have me looking and acting like a 40s housewife?"

I should stop, but I can't. Now that I've started, it feels good to get all of this off my chest.

"No, I know, you want me to be grateful that I had to give up the job I love. Or maybe you want me to love the fact they send a team here every two weeks just to dye my roots because blonde 'tested better' with people. I mean, god forbid anyone have to see even a hint of my roots! Is that everything, John, or is there something I've missed that you'd like me to act more joyful about?"

"I like you blonde." John says as he attempts to reach up and touch my hair with the hand not currently gripping my arm. I jerk my head back from him. Is that really all he took away from what I just said?

"Well, I don't. I'm not some fucking trophy for you to take out and show off."

"You are my wife though." He spits out, yanking on my arm. "Even if you seem to forget that."

"Forget it? I wish I could. I don't want to be here! Why do you keep refusing to see that?" I'm so fucking tired of these fights. Talking to him accomplishes nothing; everything I say goes in one ear and straight out the other. What I want had never mattered to John. I just wish it hadn't taken me so many years to realise that.

"I refuse to see it because I know you still love me." He says it so matter-of-factly, I'm sure he truly has convinced himself that I do. Despite how often I tell him differently, and how many times I've tried to leave.

"No, I don't." I say coldly, unable to help my tone. Doesn't he ever get bored with us having the same conversation repeatedly? I do.

"You did." He reminds me. "You used to look at me like I was everything. We could get back to that if you'd just fucking try."

"Some things can't be worked through. You're going to have to let me go eventually, John. We can't go on like this forever." I'm pleading now, even though I know it won't make a difference.

"What happened to the girl who told me she'd love me forever?" He looks down at me, genuine sadness in his eyes.

"She grew up." And with that, I finally try to wrench my arm from his vice like grip.

My attempt to get away seems to tip him over the edge. He grabs my glass of water off the counter and launches it at the mirror. I flinch as I hear both smashing into pieces that go flying across the bathroom.

If he's hoping for a big reaction, he will not get one. As if I've not had years of dealing with him, destroying the house whenever the mood strikes him. He finally releases my arm, and the pain intensifies as blood rushes back to it. I step around him, walking out of the bathroom without even reacting when I step on a piece of glass and feel it embed itself in my foot. John follows me out, clearly not satisfied by my reaction to his latest outburst.

"How can you treat me like this after everything I've done for you?" John asks me.

Oh, here we go again. I'm so fucking done with the same old tired guilt trip.

"And after everything Tommy did so we could be together too."

"Don't!" I burst out, then curse myself for allowing him to get to me. But he always knows what button to press. "Don't bring Tommy into this. God, I hate you, John. Truly, I do."

I stalk across the hall and into what was once the spare room but is now where I spend all my nights. I can't bear to lie beside him, haven't been able to for a very long time. Locking the door behind me, I also push the armoire across it for good measure. Fuck him, I think as I fish the piece of glass out of my foot. I inspect the cut, knowing I should probably go clean it, but I just don't have the energy. Curling up under the covers, I finally break. I sob into my pillow, muffling the sounds of my crying. Not that it matters. I am sure John knows exactly what his words have done to me. He has always known where to cut me, to hurt me the most.

The quiet emptiness of this house once felt like a safe refuge to me. Now it feels suffocating. Loneliness became my constant companion, but now it feels like a hand at my throat slowly squeezing the life from me. That had once seemed a small sacrifice to pay in order to be free of my father. It took a long time for me to realise I'd traded one cage for another.

John is the only person I have now that Tommy is gone. There had been acquaintances when I worked at the school, but they never became more than that. It was only once I decided I truly wanted out of my marriage that I realised how isolated I was, how isolated I'd allowed John to make me.

We'd married when I was so young, nineteen to be exact, and John had seemed so much older and wiser to me. He and Tommy were both five years my senior, and I'd spent my entire childhood looking up to them. When he'd wanted sole control of the finances, I'd happily handed the reins over to him. I'd felt like a kid playing pretend at the start of our marriage, probably because I practically was.

What my young and naïve self didn't realise was that it would put all the power in John's hands, too. That leaving would feel impossible when I had no access to our finances that John didn't want me to have. Not that I'd ever envisioned a time where I would want to leave him. The very idea would have seemed ridiculous to the wide-eyed girl who had been madly in love with the boy next door since she was eight. How I wish I could go back in time and talk some sense into myself.

I turn over onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. I freeze when I hear the door handle being pushed down. But the lock does its job and John only tries to get in that once before I hear him go to bed. My mind wanders back to the garden and my brooding companion. I wonder if Barnes sees through John as easily as he saw through me. Is that why he detests him so much? Or is it solely because they've given someone new the title of Captain America? I'm not sure I'll ever find out now; I can't see them convincing him to attend any more events in John's honor.