Page 1 of I See Red

Leather & Vanilla

Cheers - Ivy

Present Day

Ihoped I would find the day of living without surviving, but unfortunately for me, hoping has never gotten me anywhere but further down the road of disappointment and a hell of a payload of scars. You can’t see my scars. They aren’t wrinkles in my skin, nor bumpy misplaced patches with changes in color like the one on my knee from rollerblading down Grant Street when I was five, right before I hit that uneven sidewalk, sending me up in the air before crashing down legs first. Nor the one on my elbow from climbing the tree when I was nine trying to hide from my fate before letting go, time still as my body flew for the first time, no weight binding me to anything except physics—fucking Newton. They are lesions embedded deep within my heart, my soul, and fuck me, my mind. I always thought if I could master the ones in my mind, it would all work out, but the funny thing about the mind, or at least mine, is you pull one file out, and another thirty surprises you from behind it. Imprints youpushed so far back they were void until they weren’t. A Rolodex of torture and chaos I can’t eradicate nor move on from because those scars are what froze me forever in the time zone they slashed, connecting me to the world I fell asleep to every night back then and I wake up to now just in a twenty-nine-year-olds body. Hell. Entrapment. My own undoing. Sure, I have bigger tits, my hips wider, and I certainly grew into myself and out of the white gown constantly forced upon me. What is there to complain about? Absolutely nothing, except when you factor in my face never changing, my reflection is still her, and her before—her. My mother. The spitting image of my creator,well, at least fifty percent, my judge, juror, and executioner staring back at me, haunting me in all I am. Reminding me in every mirror I glance into, windows I pass on the streets, and pictures snapped in my timeline of all I will never find. Me, just Ivy. A person trapped in a face, the biggest scar I hold, normal to others who onlook, acetone to my soul covering my skin, causing me to crawl with every glance. There came a time in my life when it became unbearable during my sophomore year. I found myself sitting on the cold bathroom floor, her voice mixed with the gold and greens penetrating me a mile a minute when my eyes connected with the lye I was using to clean out the drains. For about five minutes, I sat there holding that bottle thinking to myself, if I just ruin it, fucking pour it, I can reinvent myself. My dad would find some surgeon I’m sure could do a decent job, and if not, then I guess at least I’ll know the people in my future life love me for me and not what I have to offer—my body. Red would not have it, though; she saw the look in my eyes, breaking through the door, she stopped me right as the first drop landed on my cheek. I gasped at the sting yet enjoyed it all the same. Thank God for best friends. They always seem to be there at the right time, even in those you wish they weren’t.

For a long time, I thought my mother’s reflection was my biggest problem. If only I could find a way to love her, to forgive her, then I could find a way to unbind myself from this self-image. Her image and the scar would disappear, revealing to me the reflection I so desperately craved—me without the remnants of her. I failed repeatedly until eventually I found the power in the beauty she gave me and the girl’s reflection I was once avoiding altogether, in my homes, on the streets, and certainly in the photos, now graces billboards all throughout the city. What I failed to realize until later in life was that the scars more hazardous to me than the thousands chained to me like dead weight are those within my heart, specifically one, and when those scars reopen, the damage can be irreversible.

The man behind my desired scent of vanilla & leather. Fuck that scent and all it covers. Mix it with his natural pheromones, and it is like a toxic tonic you cannot help but drink over and over again, knowing damn well it could kill you. I pull off at this candle shop I found somewhere off I-395; pathetic considering everything I am driving away from, the questions left unanswered, and the complete arsenal of wreckage I cause further with each mile I take, my lips permanently sealed to those who have questions. I could say I have been a coward multiple times in my life, but this takes the cake. There is simply no justification. Simply, I am a coward. I am not naive to the reality we all hold responsibility. I am the common denominator here that links us all. Without me, none of us would be involved, and all I could do was run. I wish I could have said something. I wish I could have had the words, but for once, there were none to speak. I couldn’t even face them. The idea of it alone playing in my head terrified me. I know I can’t run forever. If I know them, they won’t let me, and I do know them. Fuck, they are probably already on the hunt. For now, I just need that familiar smell. I need to remember something happy. Wiping the tears from mybruised eyes, I adjust my fallen makeup in the rearview to ensure I do not walk into this place looking like the complete wreck that I am. Pulling myself together, I head in through the glass door, the small cowbell at the top alerting the employees of my arrival. A quick smile graces my face at the sound, reminding me of small-town shops I’ve frequented on my travels down south, unbeknownst to him.

“Welcome to Crowestead Candle Co. Is there anything specific we can help you find?” a young brunette says, heading in my direction. Her olive skin is young and beautiful, as if life hadn’t even begun to touch her. She’s probably seventeen and working here while finishing high school with her whole life ahead of her. I pause for a moment, looking around the shop, pushing down the jealousy of her innocence in my throat before I engage.

“No, just browsing. This shop is wicked beautiful, smells delightful.”

“Yeah, it does. Sometimes I forget being here all the time,” she jokes.

“Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be just over here,” She points to a beautiful barnwood desk as she makes her way to it.

“Thanks.”

A million scents penetrate my nostrils a mile a minute, but I am only here for two. The tall white shelves are lined from ceiling to floor, covering every wall within its space. Beginning my search, I realize they are alphabetized; praise God, this can be quick. My body is screaming for an Epsom salt bath.J, K, L, La, Le, gotcha—Leather.Quickly I grab the candle, making my way further down the line in my search for the second scent I need.T, U, V—Vanilla. Holdingthem, I feel eager with a desire to smell them immediately. Opening the lids, setting them on a nearby table, I bring them to my face side by side, inhalingmy life. Praying to find some solace. The memories start flying out of the files locked within my brain.His face, the feel of his arms around me, his naked body pressed against mine after fucking the absolute soul out of me. His soft lips with a natural cherry tint against his god-given tanned skin on my shoulder, kissing every inch of my body, taking all of me every time while exchanging all of himself with me. His bone-chilling hands wrapped around my neck as I gasped for air, his dark chocolate eyes penetrating through the windows of my soul as he pushed deep within me, the taste of his sweat on my tongue. The sound of the engines at the F1 races in Austin, his hands ravishing my hair, his crisp white smile. I can hear his sultry voice calling for me—Mi Amorrolling off his tongue, and it sounds fucking beautiful. My eyes are trapped in the dark, and for a moment, I am no longer in a candle shop. I am happy. The vision of his hand across my lap in the car, the yellow smiley face staring back up at me, our history, the feel of the water like silk against my leg.

“Excuse me, Miss. Is everything okay?” a sweet voice from behind speaks, causing me to startle.

Jolting my eyes open, I realize there are tears streaming down my face. I’m snapped from heaven back to reality in a fly-over town candle shop. To this poor girl, I look like a complete trainwreck. Here I am, terrifying yet another human. I must still be me then. Frantically wiping my rain-kissed skin with the sleeve of my hoodie, drying it, I look up to her.

“I’m sorry. I’m aware I probably look like a psychotic and frantic human right now, but I’m fine. I’m so sorry. This is weird; I’ll take all of these.” My embarrassment consumes me as I grab the lids, placing them back on the containers.

“Okay, I’ll get them rang up for you,” she nicely responds, swiping them up, heading towards the counter; curiosity takes over her as she pauses, glancing back at me.

“I don’t mean to sound pushy or salesy, but I kind of got the feeling you love vanilla & leather. Just so you know, we have soaps in those scents combined. If you’re interested, they are all over there.” Her hand reaches out, pointing to their location. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but make my way there, grabbing a bar, and fuck, they got the name wrong on this one. There is only one name fitting; it plays through my head, and a laugh escapes me as my eyes catch something off to the side. Looking up and to my right, I see a little sign hanging from a wicker basket:Sandalwood & Tobacco.Instantly, my mind transports to him—well, the other him. Picking it up, I refrain from smelling it, not here. The last thing I need is to make another scene. Curiosity getting the best of me, I ask, “Do you by chance have this scent in a candle as well?” The young girl looks up at me, her face answering my question before her words do. “Yeah, we do. It’s on that back wall in our mixed scents. We also have a vanilla and leather combo back there too if you’re interested.” Rushing over to the wall, quickly finding them, I take as many as I can off the shelf, cradling them in my arms, before making my way to the register.

“Can I put those back? I’d like every candle in the shop of these two scents, and I’ll take five of each of the soaps as well.” Her face of shock stares back at me, and I know I sound crazy as hell, but fuck it, it’s not like I’ll ever see her again.

“All of them?” She searches for confirmation.

“Yes, all of them!” After we gather the stock, she begins ringing me up. Both of us standing in silence, and I feel so uncomfortably seen and bare to a complete stranger.

“Can I ask you something?” she says to me.

“Yeah, of course.”

“A few minutes ago, when—well, when you had that moment…” She looks over to where my tears fell remembering him. “WelI,I hope I’m not overstepping, and you totally don’t have to answer, but it seemed like you were having a memory?”

I stare into the windows of her soul momentarily before responding.

“What’s your name, love?”

“Junie, um, Juniper, but my friends call me Junie.”

“Well, Junie, Iwasreliving a memory. Many of my past, which have affected my present, and I am not certain I will have in my future,” I hesitantly murmur.

“It must have been love like I read in my books, so it can’t all be bad, right? You’re buying a lot of two scents, so in my book, that would be a win.” She searches my face for answers.

Looking down, trying to gather my response, I see a novel sitting there:Until You.A smile forms on my face.To be young again, ha—fuck that tragic replay.

“I used to think that too. The thing about love written in a novel is it has no consequence to those within them like in the real world. They aren’t real, just stories on a page. Characters playing out fantasies and scenarios we think we desire, not those in which reality allows us so easily,” I respond. My words stir something in her pretty little head as she continues to wrap and box up my order, her questions falling silent. I pay my bill of six hundred seventy-eight dollars and thirty-two cents to be exact, then thank her. As I exit the door, I hear Juniper’s voice speak up from behind me as she carries more of my order.

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