Chapter Twenty-Two

Ivy

"I wrote something," I muttered, looking about the room.

I hadn't quite been myself since that fucking detective showed up and started asking shit I didn't want to talk about. Now, I had Luc, Gunny, and Slash all on my ass about sitting down and talking shit out.

I didn't want to talk anymore.

I was tired of talking.

I wanted to grab my backpack and just get the fuck out of there. Apparently, Slash knew that would be my first response, so he took my backpack and flat-out refused to give it back. According to him, he was tired of my running. He wanted me to stay and figure this shit out. That and he promised Gladys that he would watch over me.

She called me the other day.

She was happy that I was finally sitting down and talking with someone about all my issues. I didn't have the heart to tell her I glazed over most of it. She sounded so happy on the phone. I didn't want to put a damper on her happiness.

So, I lied.

Well, I didn't really lie. I just didn't tell her the whole truth.

I also no longer had my apartment.

While I'd been lost in my head, Luc and the others had cleared out my apartment and moved me into the clubhouse. I guess on some level, I eventually knew that would happen. I just thought I would have a say in the matter. Luc told me it was for my protection. I thought that was a bullshit excuse, but I didn't have the energy to fight with him about it. The fact was, I had been protecting myself since I was fourteen years old. I was damn good at it, though everyone here seemed to forget that fact.

They seemed to have everything figured out.

Problem was, I already had the shit figured out.

Devlin Scott, my biological father, knew where I was, and he was coming for me. I fucking knew it, yet no one believed me.

For some reason, they weren't worried. Of course they wouldn't be. They weren't the ones who truly knew him.

I did.

I knew exactly what he was capable of.

"I'd like to hear what you wrote. If you want to share?" Logic said.

Looking at him, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a small sheet of paper.

I don't know why I wrote it. Just that I had.

I couldn't remember the last time I wrote anything. Hell, I didn't learn to write until Gladys sat down and taught me. How strange was that? Teaching a sixteen-year-old girl to read and write for the first time? Poor woman must have thought I was the stupidest kid on the planet. Hell, maybe I was, but I learned, and once I got the hang of it, I couldn't stop. Learning became a compulsion for me. I absorbed everything I could get my hands on, and before I knew it, I was reading and writing at college level.

Gladys had me tested at one of the community colleges when I was almost twenty-one, thinking I had learned enough to take a class or two, but I showed them. Every test, every exam, everything they put before me, I passed. One of the school psychologists theorized that the trauma I'd suffered somehow allowed my mind to absorb information at a high rate, thereby opening doors that were thought to be closed.

I thought the idiot was grasping at straws.

Gladys, well, she believed him and pushed me to learn as much as I could.

Unfolding the paper, I handed it to him.

Shaking his head, he simply said, "I want you to read it."

Sighing, I sat back on the couch and read aloud, "Nothing silences the chaos in my head. There is no way out. Lost in a crowd, I have nowhere to turn. No matter how loud I cry, no one hears a sound. So much pain, I wish I could tune it all out. Exhausted from fighting the same old me. No matter what I do, the darkness finds me. Now I can't sleep. God forgive me, I am so weak. Into the darkness I creep."

Finished, I folded the paper back up and shoved it back into my back pocket. I could see worry written all over Logic's face. I wanted so much to tell him everything would be okay, but I refused to lie to him.

Just when I thought I was getting a handle on everything, shit happened. Life grabbed me by the back of the neck and threw me back into the deep end. I couldn't take much more. I needed to find a way to move past this. I refused to live the rest of my life afraid of my own shadow.

"Writing is very therapeutic, Ivy. It not only helps to get things out, but it also helps to express feelings that are hard to articulate. Do you write often?"

I shrugged. "Not as much as I used to."

"Have you ever thought about keeping a journal?"

"No."

"I think you should. Journaling is a wonderful form of expression. Sometimes, when a person suffers a trauma such as yourself, it's hard to talk about what happened, so they write about it instead. The pen becomes their voice. Their form of communication if you will. Some people paint, others draw as their way of illustrating their pain, while some are drawn to music. Articulation comes in many forms, Ivy. It's the manifestation of your soul, crying out to be heard."

"The pen is mightier than the sword."

Logic smiled. "In a way, yes."

"So, you want me to write in a journal now?"

"Only if you want to."

"I don't know what I want."

"And that's okay, Ivy. Everything you are feeling is perfectly normal. Tell me, how are things with you and Luc since the detective's visit?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Just okay?" Logic asked. "What about sex?"

"He hasn't touched me."

"It's only been a few days. Maybe he's giving you time."

"I guess," I muttered, then asked, "Logic, do you think it's strange that I'm drawn to the harder side of sex, considering my childhood?"

"No," he replied bluntly. "I think it's normal. Everyone reacts differently to trauma. I've seen people in car accidents refuse to drive again, while others will get in another car like nothing happened. People who've been shot shy away from firearms. While some will learn everything they can, even going as far as owning one, and some even join the military or become a police officer. Trauma affects everyone differently, Ivy. There is no right or wrong here."

"So, I'm normal."

"About as normal as me or anyone else here. You've found yourself in a unique position here with us, Ivy. Everyone here has seen their share of trauma. Some more than others, but still the same. How we all deal with that trauma is what matters. The trauma will never go away. It's what makes us unique. Different from everyone else. How you chose to express your trauma is all about you. You choose to embrace the BDSM lifestyle."

"What if it's not what I want anymore?"

"Then that is your choice. Nobody can make you do anything you don't want to do, Ivy. It's called freewill. Have you ever tried having normal sex without the BDSM element?"

"No. I wouldn't know how to. I can't orgasm without the pain."

"How do you know if you've never tried?"

"I don't think Luc would like that."

"This isn't about Luc. It's about you and your needs."

"He's a sadist, Logic. I don't see him having sex without inflicting pain."

"Nobody is born a sadist, Ivy. It's a learned trait. Just like you were taught to accept pain."

"I don't know. What if he can't do it? What if he needs it?"

"And that worries you?"

I nodded.

"You like him, don't you?"

"What's not to like? He's my personal pain machine. He needs to inflict it and I crave it. We're a match made in agony."

Logic chuckled. "I wouldn't call you that. Relationships evolve, Ivy. Remember that. What was once normal and needed may not always be what you end up with. And on that note, I think we're done for the day."

I was out back, soaking up some rays, when a shadow moved over me. It was a pretty day, not too hot, and I needed some vitamin-D to help quell my mood. Logic's words still rattled around in my head, which only confused me more. I couldn't see Luc having a vanilla relationship. It wasn't in his DNA. While I had never tried it myself, Logic did have a point. How would I know unless I tried it? For all I knew, I might hate it and revert to what I knew best.

And I knew pain.

I welcomed it most days.

Pain for me was like breathing.

"You're nothing but a fucking whore, you know that?"

Groaning, I waved the bitch away. "Go away, Gina. You're blocking my sun."

"I'd listen to her, bitch." I heard Gunny shout from across the yard.

"Shut up, old man. No one here cares what you think."

"Don't say I didn't warn ya."

I chuckled when Gina spoke again. "He won't keep you. You're just the flavor of the month."

"Been longer than a month, or can't you count?"

"He will tire of you. He always does when the newness wares off, and he will come back to me."

"Good to know. Now leave."

The crazy slut laughed. "You think you are so much better than the rest of us? I heard your daddy loaned you out to anyone with a dick. That he fucked every fucking hole, and you loved it."

"Go away, Gina. Won't tell you again."

"Or what?" the soon-to-be-dead bitch scoffed. "I'm not afraid of you. You are nothing more than a used-up whore that likes a little pain. If your daddy had half a fucking brain, he would have killed you."

"He tried and failed. Now leave."

"You're nothing but a worthless, used piece of flesh that can never give him what he truly wants, and you fucking know it. No man wants half a woman, not when he can have the real deal."

And just like that, the bitch flipped my switch.

Getting to my feet, I stared at the cunt and said, "What the fuck did you just say?"

"I said—"

Throwing my head back, I laughed, then sneered, "Bitch, I'm from the south. When I asked what you said, I wasn't asking you to repeat it. I was asking if you're good with Jesus because you're about to meet him."

"You don't scare me, Ivy."

I grinned evilly. "Let's test that theory."