"Soaked in love."
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Kent's POV
King didn't like the sight of two teenagers stumbling back into the cabin like drunkards, drenched in blood and dirtied with mud, soaked wet to the bone. His brows had furrowed and he'd folded his arms intimidatingly from the kitchen. But when he'd noticed the in and out state i was in, he'd quickly detached the both of us, thrusting whatever was left of our bodies into different separate rooms, breaking whatever was pulling us together.
I'd been drained, weak and exhausted when i slumped on the bed. My vision had kept blurring over, hazy. I couldn't quite understand anything that happened around me and i fairly remembered blacking out, the world melting away from my sides as my chest constricted in strangled heaves.
The next thing i knew, i was up ten hours later, awoken to the sound of a very distressed King that immediately demanded an explanation to what had happened when i was out with Ivy.
Not so rudely might i add. He waited for me take in the fact that I'd been stabbed, and yes nearly died, by the person who'd promised to never touch me in such a way. So you can imagine the terror that'd shook through me and the ashen expression on my face for the whole day. King knew it definitely looked bad. He'd promised i was safe here, from those trying to kill me. But how was i safe if my...help came in the form of these two.
Being stabbed by those supposed to protect you is frightening. But at the back of my mind, I'd known this was maybe partially my fault. I mean, i did trigger that reaction from Ivy.
Something churned within me, coiling tightly. I didn't like this position I was in. Indecision, overwhelming me. I hadn't been informed of how Ivy was doing after that night, and she hadn't really bothered to come check up on me. Not surprising, I had the feeling that she needed all the time she could get to get back to her usual self before she faced me again.
The walls of her guard had slipped, and just like that, I'd found out more than one would ever in a thousand years. A scene from how she'd struggled in my arms flashed against my eye, how her tears leaked gracefully down her cheeks, glimmering with inner pain and anguish. I'd found her pain. Her weakness. Her strength. Her drive. And dreadfully, I thought ;
Her downfall.
Ivy Bathory had PTSD. The thought made my mouth part in shock. I hadn't expected that. The idea hadn't even crossed my mind one bit. Realizing it, witnessing it first had made me shake from the inside. Not fear, disgust or hate. But in strong genuine respect and admiration.
Whatever she'd gone through to come out like this, was definitely something terrible, possibly horrifying. The fact that she could still stand and make a character of her name despite the horrors that plagued and her and drowned whatever was left of her was astonishing. Working with Dr. Ophelia had made me witness many people who were under the bondages of this aftermath. Most of them were incapable of even an ounce of control. Others lived with a life filtered, only seeing the world through blurred eyes.
They were practically walking husks of what they went through, insane and wild. Struggling in their own inner storm.
But Ivy...
I couldn't really explain it. The way she twisted everything and turned it into this frightening powerful person. Daring and lethal considering the trauma that still clung to her. She hadn't succumbed to her nightmares. At least, not yet.
It took a person a lot of effort to go through hell and come back up on both their feet with scars to remind them of their experience.
Did anyone know that? Did anyone acknowledge how much Ivy had been through to come like this? All people saw was this ruthless cold girl dressed up like dark outfits and a cemented pokerface on her. No one really looked back, no one really asked the question ; What did happen to Ivy Bathory during those four months when her father had abducted her? What happened to the small nine year old girl who witnessed her father's inhumane insanity first hand?
YOU ARE READING
Ivy Bathory
Romance▪▪▪ I trace my index finger along his jaw, feeling the smooth softness of the sharp line. He shivers at the touch, trying to dissolve himself into the bookshelf at his back "The first time we met, you didn't seem to like me." I said painfully slow...
