Page 78 of Torn Ivy
The others are still arguing with Ivy in the living room. I should go in there and try to help. But what could I possibly offer? Who I am now is different. I know that. I may not remember loving her, but I remember being more proactive and on the front foot. As much as I try to force myself to move, to think, to act. I still just stand there staring.
I huff out a breath and take a step back. Standing around here isn’t going to accomplish anything. I need to leave and give myself some space from this situation. Give Ivy space while she tries to figure stuff out.
Moving towards the back door, I slip out without a word and head around the side of the house. Crossing over the road, I walk. We are a few miles from the Thornfield campus, which is good. I can use this time, this walk, to clear my head. I look up at the dull grey sky and blink as snow hits my face. It’s early. It normally never snows this early. Is it a result of what we did? Have we fucked with everything by doing what we did? Does it matter even if we did?
Even that is something I can’t bring myself to care about.
As I get closer to Thornfield, the snow falls heavier, blanketing the world in white. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the crunch of my boots on fresh powder. I don’t even feel the cold right now.
My mind drifts to Ivy and the others back at Cathy’s house. I know I should be worried about that snake, about Ivy’s lost memories, about what we’ve all sacrificed. But it’s like trying to grasp smoke. The concern slips away before I can fully form it.
I reach the edge of campus, the familiar buildings looming ahead. Classes will be starting soon for the day. Normal life goes on, oblivious to the chaos we’ve unleashed. For a moment, I consider just going to class, pretending nothing has happened. It would be easy to slip back into a routine, to let the mundane details of student life distract me from the hollowness inside.
But even as I think it, I know I can’t. Whatever I’ve lost, whatever’s been taken from me, I still have some sense of duty. Of obligation, if not care. I need to go back, to face whatever consequences are coming.
But I need a minute.
Crossing over the quad, I frown. The place is deserted. There is no sign of life at all. No students, no staff members. It’s a ghost town. I know Ishouldcare what the fuck has happened here, but I don’t.
Making my way to where there is a large wall with painted targets for the students to practice hitting with their magick, I take a step back on the concrete slab that stretches out in front of it and stare at the wall. There are circles of all sizes on the wall painted in red paint. The smaller the circle, the more difficult the target. I coil my magick in my palm and glance down at it. It looks more sinister than it did before, but it might just be me, projecting things that aren’t there.
I stare at the crackling energy in my palm, trying to summon some emotion. Fear, excitement, anything. But there’s just nothing. The magick feels foreign, almost malevolent. Not the warm, familiar power I vaguely remember wielding before.
With a flick of my wrist, I hurl a bolt of energy at the smallest target. It misses wildly, scorching the wall several feet away. I frown. My aim used to be dead on.
I try again and again. Each attempt goes wide, my magick is erratic and unpredictable. Frustration should be building, but I just feel numb detachment as I watch my failures accumulate on the wall.
After the tenth miss, I lower my hand. What’s the point of this? I can’t even remember why I cared about honing these skills in the first place.
A cold wind whips across the empty quad, stirring the fresh snow. The eerie silence of the abandoned campus presses inaround me. I should be unnerved by the total absence of life here. But like everything else, it barely registers.
I turn away from the scorched wall, unsure of what to do next. Go back to Cathy’s? Try to help with Ivy and that snake? The thought holds no appeal. Stay here on campus and wait for... something? Equally unappealing.
I start to walk away, but then I turn and fire an orb of power at the wall. It misses every target, bouncing harmlessly off the breeze block.
“Fuck!” I roar, feeling a familiar anger rise up. “Fuck you!” I throw another and another. “Fuck!” I roar, hurling bolt after bolt of useless energy at the wall. My aim is wild, the magick recoils off the targets, leaving no sign of damage.
The rage feels good, though. It’s the first real emotion I’ve felt since waking up after the ritual. I lean into it, screaming obscenities as I unleash my power.
Snow swirls around me, kicked up by the force of my attacks. The air snaps with ozone and residual magick.
I keep going until my arms ache, and I’m panting for breath. The wall is pristine and unblemished. Not a single target was hit.
Exhausted, I slump to my knees in the snow. The anger drains away, leaving me hollow again. But for a moment there, I felt something. It wasn’t love or happiness, but it was an emotion. Proof that I’m not completely dead inside.
I stare at my hands, still crackling faintly with power. My magick feels wrong, tainted somehow. But it’s all I have left.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I ask the empty air.
“You fight.”
The voice comes out of nowhere, and I look up. Seeing Death standing there, his skeletal face and hands the only parts visible underneath that flowing black robe, I rise quickly. “Fight what?” I sneer.
Death’s hollow eye sockets seem to bore into me. “Fight for what you’ve lost, Tate Blackwell. Fight to reclaim your soul.”
I snort derisively. “My soul? I didn’t lose my soul. Just my feelings for some girl.”
“Is that what you think?” Death’s voice is cold, echoing strangely in the empty quad. “You gave up far more than you realise. Your love for Ivy was the core of who you were. Without it, you’re barely more than a shell.”
