TW: Suicide/Grooming

                                                Copyright 2025: Author R. Crowe

 

Dedication

      -To those who have yet to find the beauty in your wreckage… Keep going- 

 

 

Chapter One

Find me in the sunset

“I’ve struggled with who I am my entire life. Finding out who I am not, was harder than I expected. Losing a part of me I never thought I could be, before even fully exploring it—devastating. They say blood is thicker than water, but what happens when the water turns to blood in turn the stream of blood into water?”

                                                               -Ivy

Present Day

     I always hoped surviving would find its end before I, but who am I to complain twenty-nine is a fucking accomplishment. Hoping to see Thirty was merely a pipe dream, set by a young girl whom had no idea the repercussions that would entrap her for a lifetime. This woman does. You did good kid; I’ve got you now. Stepping on the brake the car comes to a halt. It feels like eternity waiting for the smiley face gate to split, allowing my entry. I can’t help but think of how much I can relate to that stupid metal. Fucking pitiable, really. Heading down the long twist and turns I park adjacent to the front porch. I’m finally home. Thank fucking god. The aroma of all these candles is starting to give me a splitting headache. This is all such a fucking torturous, unfortunate, life altering timeline. Something I will never be able to forgive myself for. Unloading the boxes from the car, I stack them in the kitchen before reaching into the fridge, opening a bottle of my favorite bubbly. Filling the glass, I take in its entirety as I look out from the kitchen onto the bed T and I made love on for the first time. The memory haunts me, gashing a new hole in my heart as I fight the burn against my eyes. This is most certainly where I get drunk. I welcome the merry-go-round; the alcohol takes me on allowing me to run further and further until I can eventually forget.

     It’s always sucked being the girl whose eyes beg for a release, my mind never granting it, holding me frozen in time with swallowed tears. My cries eternally silent, my skin waterproof, my memories pixelated. Being strong fucking sucks ass. God, I’m so fucking tired of hearing how empowering it is from others. It’s not a fucking badge of honor it’s complete torment. Synching my Bluetooth to the surround sound I turn on the only release that’s ever truly worked. The music dancing through the air. Each note a needle stitching the wounds left on and within me that frigid day with every word and melodic change that graces my soul, when the bedroom grabs my attention unexpectedly. Except this time, it is not the bed nor the memory of the way his cold brisk hands froze my skin there almost a year ago. No, it's the stack of dusty boxes before me. Heading to them a card lays peacefully on it.

My name laced in red.

Ivy Sage Rutledge.

     All I want to do is soak in some bubbles and wash away everything at the hospital, fuck everything before then–erase myself completely. Specifically, the news that I learned making me a murderer times-two in this life. I just want to forget all my troubles and the conversations I know are expected to come. The ones I owe too many people. Some in which I have never even met. Ones in which I’m not sure I even want to meet. An introduction I’m not certain I would survive, but I owe it to them–to her. Soaking will have to wait; curiosity is all my brain is wracking right now. Opening the envelope, I can’t help but feel at home holding his words in my hand; just as I did as a little kid reading his little football folded letters. The handwriting that in all these years hasn’t changed much. A lifetime collection of my love’s penmanship; of his heart, his thoughts, his growth, his unconditional love of an unworthy heart.

 Ivy,

I promised I’d return these to you. Please remember you also promised me you wouldn’t watch or go through them. I placed lighter fluid under the kitchen sink. The fire pit out back is waiting for you. You promised, it’s time to let it go, Amor.

I love you Ivy Sage Rutledge

Forever and Through

Tayden Bergess

     I want answers. The ones I searched for endlessly in my childhood home after my father’s passing. I turned over every piece of paper in his in-home office, no corner left untouched looking for any piece of evidence to match my memories. My hauntings. I scoured every nook and cranny, crawlspace, and air vent. Every spot imaginable just to end up empty handed. All I wanted to do was rid the world of our paper trail. Destroy it all, but no matter how many hours I searched there wasn’t a single shred of evidence anywhere to be found. There’re so many. Why did Mr. Bergess have all this? How did he have all of it? The bile of my stomach creeps up like a high river raging war between two banks, reminding me I haven’t eaten anything in God knows how long. Tossing the note down where I grabbed it from, I head back to the kitchen. My chest grows tighter, my breath harder to grasp. I have no space left to break. My ears enthrall themselves in the music, pulling my seams together stitch by stitch. My voice nonexistent just that of my soul whisking through the air. Bad Omens never disappoint.

“I know the pain that you hide behind the smile on your face, and not a day goes by where I don’t think I feel the same. So, will you wait me out? Or will you drown me out?”

 

     Grabbing the bottle of champagne, I opt from pouring it, my ass against the counter I press the bottle to my lips drinking from it as I look at two piles. On one side the stack of my reminders of love—the scents I crave. The other; a journal of my demons, my scars, and possibly answers taken away from me senior year. The only thing they have in common is that they are both deep-rooted history that carved me into, who I am, who I am not, and who I hoped I would have become. Who I’ve been fighting to be all these years. Both awaiting me to say goodbye for good. My eyes switch back and forth between the two, and it hits me. I know exactly what I am supposed to do. Say goodbye forever. My story concludes here, my epilogue to be exquisitely written, by my own strokes. The pain ends here and now. My torturous imprint on this world surrenders its role today. In my home. On my own terms. I’m at peace with never truly knowing who I am. I’m done wishing for who I will never be and grieving who I never had the opportunity to grow into. I can’t face this. I surrender. I have not a single ounce of desire to do this anymore. I am so fucking tired. The thought sends a chill up my spine, and I know just how tonight's sunset will be painted—in red. Promises are always made half broken when they come into fruition. I am a walking example of that truth.

 Sorry T, this one’s for me.

Finishing off the bottle, I reach for another, opening it. Taking in its superficial healing contents, I push off the counter's edge, retrieving a knife from the butcher block it resides in. A loud breath escapes me as I slice through the tape of the first box, holding my memories of love. Pulling them out one by one I set the stage. Placing my favorite scents throughout my home, focusing on surrounding the clawfoot tub and all I can see from it.

            Lighting each and every one of them I purchased on my way here from a young girl with her whole life to embellish in. Her words seep in slashing me deeper in my thoughts. For what it’s worth, I’d rather have a love like whatever that candle reminded you of than to never have it in my future at all. Hey, do me a favor if you ever find yourself back in this neck of the woods will you stop in and let me know if both, neither or one snuffed out? 

To be young again. To have a blank slate. To be Junie for a single day. The euphoria that a day seeing the world through her innocent eyes would feed into my tattered soul would be exhilarating. I wonder what she is thinking right now. Probably about the crazy twenty-nine-year-old woman that just stormed her store clearing her shelves, crying into a fucking candle, bruises consuming her. Sandalwood, Tobacco, Leather and Vanilla begin to take hold as I light the last candle placing it at the base of the Porcelain. I line up the soaps on the little soap rack next to the temperature controls. Placing the knife beside them, I take a seat on the tub's edge. The glass of the bottle crashes into my lips, as I stare off at the dusty boxes Tayden left for me and all around them my visions a blur. My wall of tears pixelating the entire room, forbidden to fall.

Fuck being ‘Gods toughest Soldier.’ The fuck do people even say that for? It’s stupid. Hearing it my whole life is probably the reason I hate the ghosts of my trauma so fucking much. Being this strong is not something anyone should ever consider courageous. It’s disgustingly disastrous. More than anything it’s so damn lonely.

I’m aware I shouldn’t break the promise I made but I can’t help myself. There may be answers in there. A happy ending, closure, a form of peace. A reverse uno. Those totes may change how you feel. Maybe there is a piece of love left to find for him after all these years.

“Fuck you are so Naïve, Ivy, there is no hope in opening those.”

“Shut the fuck up Red!” I snarl.

 “No, you shut the fuck up, this isn’t our ending but it damn sure will be if you dare break your promise. Fucking burn them, grab the lighter fluid and burn them all.”

“You’d like that, wouldn't you? Stupid little flame! Like you burned me with your fucked up plan. How many people are we going to kill in our lifetime?”

“It was an accident Ivy, it wasn't your fault, you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“That's where you are wrong, it’s always my fault. Always has been. I should have chosen; I should have walked away, vanquished the game, placed the pieces down and not gone that day.”

“You didn’t though, it was me. My choices, my plan, not you.”

“Seriously? That’s what we are going with? You are me; you bitch! By the way…that was a rhetorical question. I already know the fucking answer. Just. One. More.”

“One what? Wait… Who?” She's frantic, spiraling just as she has made me feel this last year. No for a lifetime—good.

“Let’s light this fucking candle,” I snap back.

“Ivy, noooo–” she pleads.

“Shut up bitch, I’m tired of your shit. Your delusion that I could ever be a productive member of society was just a dream; I know my fucking boundaries. You pushing me outside of them caused this. Making me believe I could have it all without harm, caused the harm.”

“Ivy Sage Reed, don’t you dare take one more step!”

“It’s fucking Rutledge today you stupid selfish cunt! I should have traveled this road long ago. I’m in control now. You have no voice, but I’m going to make you fucking watch as I take away all you have ever loved. My innocence, what did you say? My naive thoughts? I’m going to make you watch me as I find answers to everything you’ve tried to keep hidden from me. Then I’m going to destroy you from the outside in. It’s the only way to be whole again. I will be damned if I leave this earth with you– without myself. Without the memories I’ve craved to recover for years that you’ve held prisoner, never allowing my closure.”

“Ivy, don’t! I fucking beg of you. It will end all the good left in you, it will destroy you, destroy us!”

“That’s the fucking point Red. Go back to your corner. I am done asking for permission! My fucking turn! “Checkmate Bitch.”

 

     Circling the pile a devilish grin across my face, my fingers brush against the dusty cardboard, reminding me of him as I take one last look at what should have been my happy place; my home, before I ruin it. Splitting the top, the smell of the years passed by is like the devil himself drifting into the air, reaching out grabbing my tattered soul within my chest with pleasure. VHS’s and cassette tapes, all labeled with dates, rest before me. I’m going to be sick. Lifting the box, I set it aside flipping open the next one. Its contents consist of files, all labeled and organized. My dad’s unique handwriting is the first thing to suck me in. Randomly I pull one out, folding back the vanilla cover. A square picture attached by a paper clip stares back at me. I couldn’t have been more than six. The black of my eyes burn my soul, the brokenness of my expression staring back at me takes me back to a place I never belonged. Flipping through it, the tears build, making the information so hard to read. There is so much here. So many words, thoughts and lies. Next thing I know, I’m pulling the tv closer and loading a VHS into its slot, pressing play.

“Hello Ivy, how are you feeling? I know yesterday was a lot for you. I am hoping we can chat today. Do you know why you are here?”

A raspy yet distinct voice plays through the speakers. I watch a younger version of myself look at him, avoiding his question all together, just examining him.

“Ivy, I know this is hard and you are probably scared, but your father loves you. We are here to help you, but you have to talk to me. We are here to help, if you’ll let us.”

Her eyes dart to him devilishly at the mention of her dad. God you were so broken. So young and nobody saw you. I watch on, my memory so foggy, my body frozen, a tear breaks from my eye slowly traveling down my skin. I can’t remember what happened next, but his voice is so familiar, I just can’t quite place it. Where was this? Fuck. His voice, is bone chilling yet so God damn familiar.

Seven minutes of silence passes on the tape when my little lips part, my head cocked holding Ellie the elephant. My favorite baby, my only friend, the keeper of all my secrets, dreams and swallowed tears.

“I know why I am here, you don’t. He doesn’t love me; you can’t help me. Can I go back to my room please?”

“Once we are done you can. I promise. I’d love to hear more about why you think you are here Ivy. This is a safe space; your father does love you. I’ve spent many hours speaking with him, and he loves you so much Ivy. He wants you to get better, he wants to understand why you make very horrible decisions, he wants you to be happy. You’re so angry all the time. Why do you hate him so much, Ivy. Help me to understand your thoughts.”

I’m silent, she knew there wasn’t anything that could change her circumstances. So young, yet so damn smart and knowledgeable of her surroundings. For some intuition is a birthright, for others it’s their survival; weaved into every fiber of their existence like a roadmap inked in deadly sin, that only later can reveal glimmers of sunshine. Sadly, the sun never appears until the destruction had already been done. She doesn’t know what her father told them to place her there, but she knew she had a role to play. Accept responsibility, show remorse, and get better. The less talking she did, the more he would and then she would know the why of the lie that put her there, and the how of getting the fuck out.

“I don’t know why I do what I do. I love my dad too and I want to get better, do better, and be better. Help me get there, help me understand.”

Good girl Ivy, never tell, hold it all in no matter how much you want to scream it to someone—anyone. Nobody can ever know.

Seeing my reflection in her, the one I avoid in pictures and every mirror and window I pass makes me fucking ill. The dissociation begins and I am frantically switching tapes, sorting through files a mile a minute. Laying them all out I begin my attempt at piecing my story together. The floor looks like a police case wall. I’m searching for answers to anything and everything. Foraging for all I’ve been missing all these years that Red never let me see. Intake photos look up at me from the floor, varying stages and ages. Each one is more broken than the one before until it flips, the masking became a true talent. Fuck I looked so normal by the end.Like it was school picture day, and she painted the epitome of a kodak moment for everyone around her. Pacing back and forth my eyes locked in on my investigation, I'm four bottles deep. My eyes puffy from the tears I have wept these last few hours. My hands shaky, my hair ablaze, my nerves completely shot. I’ve paused and resumed playing between cassettes and videos so many times my fingers ache. I’m alarmed; an eerie stillness consumes the room. I feel as though the only oxygen left within these walls is that impaled within my lungs. Reaching over I turn the volume up, allowing the true horrors of my childhood to fill the room, my soul, and the only home I never had.

I’m shattered.

I’m too far gone.

I wasn’t crazy.

“Ivy, my sweet, sweet Ivy. The best and worst thing your mother ever did was gift me you.”

“Why daddy?”

“I will tell you but first sweet girl, do you want to play a game with daddy?”

“What kind of game daddy?”

“A special one for just you and me.”

“I’d love that.”

“Me too sweet girl, me too.”

I love you daddy.”

“I love you too Ivy; more than you could ever understand.”

“Now before we start you have to-”

I stop the tape.

I can’t.

I’m ill.

I’m dead.

I’m four again.

I’m crystallized.

I’m completely destroyed.

I’m vacant.

I remember.

This was a horrible idea. Red was right. I’m always right Ivy, at least you can finally admit it. Shut. Up. Red. I shouldn’t have opened these. I didn’t need to know. I already did, I just didn’t want to believe it even after all this time. I should have kept the promise I made. I should have torched it all. I know too much now after all I've read and heard today, to ever come back. It’s overwhelming, my soul feels flatlined with no beat left to dance for. There’s remembering, then there is validation. Seeking it was my mission for so long, but no one tells you what happens to one once it’s finally received. The validation in my story I’ve craved no longer feels safe or needed. It feels dirty and even more tainted. I feel disgusting. No, I feel vile.

Picking myself up off my knees, I do the opposite of my father’s next words. Making my way to the tub. I sink in fully clothed; my vision clearer than it has ever been. I’m calm and composed, encapsulated by complete numbness. The torment of the memories I hung myself from every night will not be able to hurt me again tonight. I’m exhausted. Tired of the game. I refuse to spend another day as a woman just surviving each day, with no hope of living a single one of them in my future. It’s time I make my final move; sacrifice the queen to protect my kings. Finding the song that has made me feel understood, feel seen more times than not, I press play, securing it to repeat over and over through the home's loudspeakers at max volume.

“I tear my heart open; I sew myself shut. And my weakness is that I care too much, and our scars remind us that the past is real. I tear my heart open just to feel. I’m drunk and I’m feeling down and I just wannna be alone. You shouldn’t of come around. Why don’t you just go home?”

            Tonight’s sunset is going to be exquisite. Exhaling a breath, my eyes are vacant, the lyrics begin undoing every stitch they once sewed together. My soul bare, my heart vulnerable, my chains forever gone, my innocence returned. I watch as the vines begin dancing across the water. In a split second—I saw red.