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“Say it,” he demands. When I look at him through a blur of tears, I can tell he thinks he’s won. He knows I cannot look him in the eye and say I felt nothing for him. And if I can’t do that, he’ll know the poison is a lie.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me as I stand. I walk toward him, stopping right before I reach the bars. “It was all true,” I say through my tears. “Every second. The times I resented you. The times I was angry at you. The times I was afraid of you. ” I take a long, unsteady breath, my eyes on his. “The times I loved you. It was all true. ”
I see the relief run through him, the sheen of pain and confusion in his eyes fading into hope. He opens his mouth to speak, but I reach out and wrap my hands around his on the bars. The touch of his skin is like electricity, pinning me in place.
“But the poison is true, too, Bishop. And nothing that I just said changes that. ” I squeeze his hands. “I was going to kill you. ”
I will my words to be truth, even though I know they are the vilest deception. I set my jaw, keep my gaze steady. I don’t want him to find a lie no matter how hard he looks. His eyes search my face with an intensity now so familiar to me, I feel it in my bones.
“Remember when you told me I fascinated you? How the first time you saw me I was scared but still defiant? How I was easy to read on the outside but complicated underneath?” He doesn’t respond, his eyes boring into mine, still digging for the lie. And if I don’t convince him soon, he’s going to find it. Desperation makes me cruel. “I’m still that same girl,” I tell him. “The one who could love you. And kill you anyway. ”
There’s a moment of charged silence, acceptance slowly flowing into his eyes like brackish water, turning them dark and cloudy. I loosen my grip on his hands. He yanks them out from under mine, holds them up like I’m pointing a gun at him as he steps back from the bars. My skin still tingles where it touched his.
“Do you believe me now?” I ask, cold as ice. Finally, after all this time and when I need it most, I’ve found Callie’s voice inside of me.
He does.
Life is one sick joke after another, I’m discovering. Because it hardly seems fair that it should hurt so much to finally get exactly what I’ve been wishing for.
I spend the next three days alone, other than Victoria, who stops by periodically to give me updates on what’s happening in a careful, professional tone and leaves so fast she practically trips over her own feet. And David, of course, who brings my meals and actually smiles at me. Sad, sorry smiles that are somehow worse than if he glared at me or spit in my food. They remind me of the looks you’d give a lamb right before slaughter. Which is fitting, I suppose.
My father does not come. Callie does not come. They’ve cut their losses and moved on. And although I’m not surprised they’ve chosen to save themselves—it’s what I wanted, after all—the ease with which they’ve abandoned me leaves me brokenhearted. From the beginning, I was only a pawn in their quest for power. The thought of sacrificing themselves for me has probably not even occurred to either one of them.
I am not so selfless, or so brave, that I haven’t considered telling the truth about my family during all the endless hours in my cell. I know how easy it would be to point the finger of blame in their direction and a part of me yearns to do it. But I want to be better than the lessons they taught me. I want my love to be greater than my hate, my mercy to be stronger than my vengeance.
Bishop does not visit me again. I don’t want him to; I could hardly bear it the first time. The look on his face as he jerked his hands out from under mine, backed away from me like I was contaminated. I wouldn’t be able to stand that again. I would break under that look and confess everything. So I tell myself it’s better that he has finally lost his faith in me.
I never deserved it anyway.
On the morning of the fourth day, Victoria arrives and informs me I’m going in front of the judge this afternoon. She pauses outside the cell. “It’ll be fast, Ivy,” she says.
“Okay. ” It usually is when someone enters a guilty plea.
She looks up at the ceiling, anywhere but at me. “No, I mean…after your plea is accepted, you’re going to be sentenced. Today. ”
“Oh. ” The timing doesn’t really matter. What’s done is done, but I thought I’d have more time. “And when will they put me out?” I ask.
Again, her eyes land on everything but me. “I don’t think they’ll wait for the next scheduled day. Mrs. Lattimer is pushing to have you put out immediately. She says you’re too big a threat to keep here. And they want to use you as an example. Keep this type of thing from happening again. ”
I nod, although my neck is stiff with fear. “Thank you for telling me. ”
Victoria’s gaze finally finds mine. “If there’s anything you want to say, now would be the time to say it. It’s not too late to have a trial. ”
“No, no trial,” I say, for what feels like the thousandth time. “You turned the intercom on that day, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I was hoping it might shake the truth loose. That it might remind you who is worth protecting. And who isn’t. ”
I don’t respond, and she sighs, the sound more frustrated than disappointed. Like she knew already she wouldn’t get anywhere with me.
“Will I get a chance—” I pause and clear my throat. “Will I get a chance to say good-bye to my family?” Even after everything, I still love them. They are still my blood, and although we’ve disappointed each other, I would like to see them one last time, hold them in my arms and kiss their cheeks good-bye.
Victoria’s eyes flare before she looks away from me. “They haven’t asked to meet with you, Ivy. Not even after sentencing. ”
“Oh…okay. ” My voice is very small.
“But Bishop has asked if he—”
“No!” I exclaim. “Not Bishop. ” I have no idea why he would want to be in the same room with me ever again. He once said giving up on me wasn’t an option, but I hope to God he’s changed his mind about that. I thought I had forced him to. Maybe he still loves you, a traitorous little voice in my head whispers. Maybe he’s not ready to give up. A flicker of hope sparks inside me, but I stomp on it, smother it. Hope like that will destroy us both, and I have to kill it where it lives. “I don’t want to see him,” I tell Victoria. “But can you give him a message for me?”
