Ivy Bathory

[29] : The sunset.

"To me, love isn't a drug...
I find pain rather more cooperative..."

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Third person's POV

"You shouldn't have come here." Ivy said as she brushed Kent's lips with her thumb.

He was too distracted with her own to listen and understand, so he nodded dumbly and kept staring. She sighed, gently climbing onto his laps and folding her arms around his neck, the bathrobe slightly parted and exposed a little of her skin, he stiffened. She took a breathe of his naked skin, the lavender fragrance calming down her twisting nerves and also somehow stringing a chord of deep sadness within her.

She buried her face into his shoulder, parting the clothes so that her cheek pressed against his skin. She felt heavy with pain. Heavy with hatred. Heavy with failure. Heavy with any emotion that'd pull one's soul down. The entire week she'd been cocooning herself into a ball of fury. Too angry with herself to even step outside the house.

Her mother had slipped right through her fingers. Laura had fallen into her traps but then continued to fall out of it like the slime she was. And Ivy was angry that she'd let her, she was so angry that the woman had manage to escape. When she'd woken on Saturday morning last week, she trashed the whole place. Broke the TV, tore through the chair cushions, smashed the damn vase, damaged the coffee table a great deal and even broke all the kitchen utensils. The only she'd found appropriate to let out her anger. Claude didn't interfere, he sat on the stairs with a bag of Doritos in his hands, crunching into the snack as she destroyed the house.

She'd managed to do that in just an hour but had still felt too energized to even to sit down and calm herself. So she'd proceeded to grabbing her only spectator and dragging him violently up to her room where she'd succeeded in keeping him busy for about five hours. Minimax.

The whole week was just a gloomy haze to her. Filled with restless nights and sleepy days. She never left her room, afraid if she did she'd just go out on a killing spree of the sort. Claude managed to hire some of his guys to fix the house back to it's original fine glory, something she had yet thanked him for as he'd done all he could to try and trace Laura as well. He had just one thing to help him, the van's number plate. That was all. Yet he'd already tracked down over ten stops in which the vehicle had been spotted, and he'd manage to pull out some records. Apparently, the van belonged to some man by the names of Gideon Jacks. Married to a woman named Sylvia with three children, all graduated and currently working.

Claude even managed to pull into some private information, his medical papers, his bank documents, his national records. Ivy hardly managed to stop him from hacking into the stranger's bank account and transferring some money to his own account.

Still, with all that, nothing shady had come from the guy. He was a real estate agent, retired three years ago and currently having a vacation in England. He was clean. But of course, after living in such a cruel world for over seven years and more, Claude and Ivy didn't come to terms that he had no involvement with Mary's kidnap because their weren't any reports he'd made on his van being stolen.

They however, placed his case aside and continued to perhaps check up the people he'd absorbed himself with in the past three weeks.

She hadn't helped much. Because really, she didn't know how to go on from there. She wasn't an expert when it came to all this geeky stuff of his. So she spent most of her time laying around and wallowing in her own cave of rage.

Not once during the week had she felt calm. Not once had she managed to feel this relaxation. She'd spent most of her time hating Laura for what she'd done that she'd totally forgot about how she'd let Mary down. She'd let the one parent in her life that she valued down.