▸ A Game of Misunderstandings: Chapter 24

[Reader Discretion: Semi-Immortal explores mature and challenging themes, including trauma, mental health struggles, violence, and discrimination. It contains scenes that may be distressing to some readers. Please proceed with caution and prioritize your well-being.] 

⋯ 

Lucien leaned against the wall near the canteen entrance, his hands comfortably tucked into the pockets of his blazer, a laid-back grin playing on his lips as he conversed with Violet. The energetic hum of chatter and the clatter of trays filled the air, creating a lively backdrop, yet his focus remained solely on the girl with auburn hair standing in line for lunch. Beside him, Violet observed him with a hint of curiosity, her arms crossed as she took in his words.

"So, all of that effort," she mused, tilting her head, "joining the student council, charming your way into the inner circle—was just to get that girl's attention?"

Lucien chuckled, not at all fazed by her bluntness. "Seems excessive, doesn't it?" He watched as students moved along the lunch line, trays clutched in their hands. "But I assure you, it was all part of the plan. Can't exactly make an impression from the side-lines, can I?"

Violet hummed, giving Lucien a thoughtful look. "Well, you definitely made an impression. But, uh..." She trailed off, her eyes shifting over to Arleigh, who had just stepped away from the food line, her tray held effortlessly in her hands. The second Arleigh spotted Lucien, her face twisted into a grimace, and she completely ignored him, marching to an empty table without a word. "...I don't think she was quite as impressed," Violet observed dryly.

Lucien chuckled, waving a half-hearted hello before letting his hand drop. "Ouch...that's cold," he mumbled under his breath.

"Seriously though, are you sure she even likes you?" Violet raised a doubtful eyebrow. "No offense, but... it looks like she can't stand the sight of you."

Lucien just grinned, shrugging it off. "We have a... unique relationship."

Violet remained unconvinced. "Uh-huh. So, you're saying you enjoy it when she treats you like you're public enemy number one?"

Lucien let out a dramatic sigh. "Hey, it keeps things interesting, alright? What's life without a little spice?"

Violet hummed in contemplation, mulling over the notion. A relationship like that could be... intriguing, she mused. But then again it's not like she knew anyone who acted so distant and prickly around others. Unless—she did know someone like that. Ivy. A light blush warmed her cheeks as she pictured Ivy acting coldly towards her. It was a strange thought; usually, Ivy's tough exterior came with a hint of warmth. The mere thought practically made her heart skip a beat. Just picturing Ivy glaring down at her with her piercing emerald green eyes and sculpted angular features... it felt strange, almost surreal, but also, weirdly… exciting? Violet quickly cut off that train of thought before she got completely lost in it.

Lucien, always keen on picking up on details, caught the shift in her expression. "So," he remarked, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, "do you happen to have any friends with that same... 'cat-like' personality?"

Violet hesitated, a little flustered, before finally nodding. "Y-yeah, I do."

Lucien smirked. "Then you get it."

Violet mumbled something, a subtle pout forming on her lips. "I guess... but it's not like we have that kind of thing going on..."

The conversation dipped into a brief lull before Lucien spoke again. "By the way… what were you actually doing outside the Vice Principal's office earlier? I mean, besides just waiting out there."

Violet stiffened, the question catching her off guard. "Ah… um…" She fumbled while trying to come up with a vague explanation. "I was called there because… well, a friend of mine got into a fight. And they just wanted to ask me a few questions, that's all."

Lucien's face didn't give anything away, but she could see his eyes narrow just a tiny bit. "Hmm, you're talking about Ivy, aren't you?"

Violet blinked, her mouth hanging open a touch. "How did you—?"

"Wasn't exactly rocket science," he said, shrugging it off like it was no big deal. "She's pretty much the only person who caught heat for fighting today. The whole school's been buzzing about it all morning. " He paused, giving her a thoughtful once-over. "Actually, I was just in a meeting with the guys' parents and the principal about it."

Violet frowned, confused. "Wait, why would you be in that meeting?"

"Student council responsibilities," Lucien answered smoothly. "I'm the go-between for students and faculty when disciplinary actions are involved. Helps maintain transparency or whatever nonsense they like to tell us." He smirked slightly. "Not that I mind, though. It's definitely interesting to see how the sausage gets made, if you know what I mean."

Before Violet could respond, a body slammed into her, nearly knocking her off balance. "Viiiiiolet!" Chelsea whined, as she practically clung to Violet. "I missed you so much! Come on, let's grab food together before all the good stuff's gone!"

Violet groaned, trying to gently dislodge Chelsea. "Hey, could you maybe not jump on me like that? It's a little much."

"Hm? Why? I'm not hurting you~" Chelsea pouted playfully, tightening her grip.

"I don't mind hugs, but maybe ask next time? You scare me half to death when you tackle me out of nowhere." Violet mumbled, trying to keep her cool.

Lucien just chuckled, stepping back. "Go on," he said, amused. "You should spend your lunch with your friends."

Violet looked torn, but Chelsea seized the opportunity, tugging her toward the cafeteria line. "See? he says it's fine! So let's GO!"

"Ack! H-hey!" Violet stumbled, managing a quick, "Later, Lucien!" over her shoulder as Chelsea pulled her into the hungry crowd.

Lucien simply watched them go, his expression shifting subtly as a smirk curled at the corner of his lips. "Well, that was something," he murmured to himself, thoughts already weaving into something more intricate. Ivy and Violet are friends, huh? Good to know. That could definitely be useful.

His gaze flicked across the canteen until he found Arleigh once more. To his surprise, she was already staring at him, though it was more of a glare than anything else. Lucien chuckled and made his way over to her table, easily slipping into his usual charming demeanour. "Mind if I join you?" he asked smoothly.

One of Arleigh's admirers hesitated before quickly making room for him. Arleigh, however, refused to acknowledge him, her attention firmly planted on her food.

Lucien, undeterred, leaned in slightly. "I met the new girl today," he said casually. "She seems nice."

Arleigh remained silent, chewing methodically.

He nudged her a little further, keeping his tone light. "There's something special about her, don't you think?"

Finally, Arleigh looked up, though her response was hardly enthusiastic. "Will you just shut up? I'm trying to eat here..."

Lucien playfully pouted before casually snatching a couple fries from Arleigh's tray without asking. He achieved the reaction he was after—a fleeting glimpse of annoyance masked by her carefully crafted politeness.

Mouth full, he continued, "I ran into her outside the Vice Principal's office," he mused. "Apparently, she was there because a friend of hers got into a fight. I wonder who that friend could possibly be~?"

Arleigh's jaw visibly tightened.

Lucien's smirk widened, his eyes fixed on her face. "It's interesting, isn't it? Ivy finally made a friend. After all these years."

Arleigh gripped her fork with a painful fervour.

Lucien leaned back, letting the silence hang heavy in the air. "Of course," he added, a playful glint in his eye, "wasn't it partly your doing that she was all alone to begin with? Funny, we never did get to finish that story, did we? You should fill me in sometime."

The sharp, jarring sound of the stool legs scraping against the linoleum pierced the silence as Arleigh shot up from her seat, her lunch tray sliding across the table toward him like a discarded weapon. There were no explanations, no parting words—only a swift, silent departure that left a lingering sense of stunned disbelief in her wake.

Lucien let out a slow breath, the smirk plastered on his face momentarily faltering, as if even he hadn't anticipated such a swift and decisive exit. He watched her retreating back, his expression a tangled mess of smug victory and something that, if he wasn't careful, might have resembled remorse. "Well, that went swimmingly," he murmured, the words laced with a sardonic amusement as he reached for a stray fry from her abandoned meal. The opening gambit had been played, and the true game, he knew, was just beginning.

⋯

Ivy hardly noticed the gravel crunching beneath her shoes as Clive pulled her across the parking lot, his strong fingers cruelly tangled in her purple hair. The painful tug on her scalp propelled her forward, making her stumble and struggle to keep up as he dragged her toward the secluded edge of the school grounds, far away from any prying eyes.

She could have broken free long before now, easily twisting out of his grasp with the strength she had. Yet, she chose not to. She never did. From the moment she saw him, her body froze, instinctively surrendering to a wave of submission, compliance, and fear.

But now, for some reason, she found her voice. "Clive—wait, please! I didn't start it!" Her words came out rushed, desperate, but she kept her footing as she dug her heels into the pavement. With a sharp twist, she wrenched herself free, his grip slipping from her hair.

Clive came to a sudden halt, his sturdy build tense with barely contained fury. His piercing green eyes, bloodshot and frenzied, darted toward her with a predatory impatience. "Oh, so now you've got somethin' to say?" he sneered, shaking out the hand that had lost its hold on her.

Ivy took a shaky breath. She had seconds, if that, before his temper snapped again. "It wasn't just them. It was a whole group of them," she forced out, trying to make him see reason. "I didn't go looking for a fight! They grabbed me, I—"

A sharp crack echoed through the empty parking lot.

A sudden jolt of pain shot through her cheek as Clive's slap caused her head to whip to the side. The world tilted slightly, her breath catching as searing heat spread across her skin. Before she could react, Clive's voice, laced with disgust, cut through the dazed haze.

"Why the fuck would those rich brats even bother with someone so pathetic?" His words dripped venom, his upper lip curling as if the very thought of her was repulsive.

Ivy felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Deep down, she knew he wouldn't listen, wouldn't believe her. Yet, a bitter lump still rose in her throat.

Before she could even process what was happening, Clive's hand seized her arm. His grip was brutal, the material of her blazer twisting uncomfortably as his fingers pressed into her skin. "Get in the damn car," he growled, his voice a low and menacing threat.

Ivy winced, but for some reason, she kept talking. "Clive, please, I—"

His fist struck her in the stomach, cutting off her words. A choked gasp escaped her lips as the air was knocked from her lungs, causing her to double over from the impact.

Dizzy. Disoriented. She barely registered the back door of his car being yanked open before she was shoved inside. Her body hit the seat hard, her head lolling to the side. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne clung to the fabric of the car's interior, thick and suffocating. The old, battered vehicle groaned as Clive slammed the door shut.

He jumped into the car without delay, the door slamming shut behind him, mirroring the tempest raging within him. Then, a string of curses ripped from his throat, thick and bitter. "You're a goddamn embarrassment," he bit out, each word a venomous lash. His hands clenched the steering wheel, knuckles bone-white under the strain. "Always causing trouble. Just like your mother was." He spat the words like poison. "Think I wanted this? Getting dragged away from work to deal with your bullshit? You think I don't have enough on my plate already?" The air in the car crackled with his anger, a suffocating pressure that left no room to breathe.

Ivy barely registered Clive's rant, his words a dull drone against the backdrop of her own exhaustion. She sprawled across the back seat, eyes fixed on the stained ceiling, letting his familiar tirade wash over her. It was always like this. Clive didn't need provocation, just the convenient release of pent-up frustration, the unleashing of whatever darkness simmered beneath his carefully constructed façade.

By the time the car finally pulled into the driveway, her eyes were shut, a fragile shield against the remnants of his anger.

The engine died, plunging the car into a sudden, heavy silence.

Suddenly, the car door swung open, and Clive's imposing silhouette cast a shadow over her, his eyes burning with intensity as he commanded, "Get out."

Ivy slowly sat up, her body sluggish, but she knew better than to hesitate. She stepped out of the car, her movements stiff, every muscle in her body bracing for what was to come.

Clive followed closely behind, his presence a looming threat at her back. The moment the front door swung open, she was shoved inside. Her feet barely caught the floor before she stumbled forward, colliding against the hallway wall.

She barely had a moment to brace herself before the first blow struck. Then came the second.

Ivy gritted her teeth, raising her arms in a feeble effort to protect herself. Clive's punches slammed into her, each hit sending waves of excruciating pain coursing through her body. For a fleeting instant, her vision blurred, but she refused to cry.

Clive's voice dripped with fury, his breath heavy with the stench of old booze. "You're nothing but a burden," he spat. "A worthless little punk—constantly humiliating me and complicating my life. And now you're clinging to some pathetic little charity case, huh? You think she actually gives a damn about you? Get a fucking grip!"

Ivy's anger simmered, her brow furrowing as she shot Clive a bewildered glare. Why drag Violet into this?

"You have no idea what you're talking about, so just leave her out of this," she urged, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clive's scornful laugh broke the oppressive silence. "Seriously? You honestly think that ditzy blonde wants to be your friend? Give me a break," he sneered. "She's just keeping you around because she feels sorry for you. Face it, why else would she comfort a disgusting leech like you?"

The words, sharp and deliberate, landed like a physical blow, and something inside her snapped. A searing heat coiled within her stomach, coursing through her veins. Her emerald eyes sparkled briefly before radiating an eerie light.

Before she even realized what was happening, a hand clamped over her face.

The sudden warmth of a palm pressing against her eyes startled her. Confused, Ivy's hands jerked up, fingers barely grasping at the wrist holding her still. "What—?"

The chaos in the room snapped into a tense silence with Diane's clipped command: "Just stay still."

Ivy, already reeling, froze, her breath catching in her throat. Even Clive seemed stunned into silence, his face etched with a bewilderment Ivy had never witnessed before.

Diane, her grip firm on the back of Ivy's neck as if corralling a wild animal, swivelled her gaze to Clive. "What the hell is going on here?" she demanded, her voice a low, dangerous thrum.

Clive's fury flared at the question. "What do you think I'm doing? That little shit caused trouble at school again. So I'm putting her in her place—"

"Yeah, I don't care about that right now," Diane cut him off, her voice cold and precise. "Did you finish work early today?"

Clive sputtered, thrown off balance. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Did you tell your boss you were leaving?" Diane pressed, her tone hardening. "Or are you just screwing yourself over for... this?"

Clive's jaw tightened, his silence a telling admission.

Diane's lip curled in a dismissive sneer. "Yeah, that's what I thought. If you don't leave now, you're going to be in deep shit once they realize you skipped out. Unless you want them crawling up your ass, I suggest you get going before your lunchbreak ends."

Clive's nostrils flared, his face a mask of suppressed rage. He clearly wanted to argue, to lash out, but the words died in his throat. He had no defence, no legitimate excuse.

Clive's face twisted in a frustrated grimace. "Fine," he spat, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "But this isn't over. Just wait until I get home." He punctuated his threat with a final, venomous glare that bored into Ivy, then spun sharply and stormed out. The door slammed behind him, the resounding boom echoing the finality of his departure and the simmering tension he left hanging in the air.

Ivy wasted no time. She grabbed Diane's wrist with a firm grip, her fingers tightening as she pulled Diane's hand away from her face.

Diane didn't resist, yet a flicker of something fierce ignited in her eyes—an emotion that teetered on the edge of anger without fully crossing over. For a brief moment, her typical aloofness faltered as she locked eyes with Ivy, whose gaze sparkled with a rich emerald green glow. The colour drained from Diane's face, her body stiffening like she had seen something she wasn't meant to.

Ivy didn't miss that reaction, but she was too frustrated to dwell on it. Her prior fear had dissolved, leaving behind only exhaustion and irritation. "Why are you getting involved?" she snapped, her voice rough as she massaged her sore arms.

Diane's expression hardened. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" she retorted instantly, disregarding Ivy's inquiry entirely. "If you did anything to Clive—if the police got involved—you know damn well whose side they'd take."

Ivy's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as she avoided Diane's gaze.

"They'd take Clive's side," Diane continued. "You'd be seen as the aggressor."

A heavy silence hung in the air between them. Ivy fiddled with her uniform, smoothing out her sleeves as her lips formed a tight line.

Then, she grumbled, "Would you at least tell them what actually happened? Or would you take his side, too?"

Diane exhaled sharply, shaking her head with a dismissive scoff. "Stop asking ridiculous questions," she said flatly. "Maybe that's why you get beat up all the time."

Ivy's hands stilled on her uniform, a scoff escaping her lips. The realization hit her like a cold splash of water, and she gave a slow, deliberate nod. Of course. Diane would never see things from her perspective, even when Clive was clearly in the wrong, as he so often was.

Ivy struggled against her growing frustration, taking a deep breath through her nose as she directed her gaze back to Diane. The core question still hung between them. Her voice, though softer now, retained a sharp edge. "Why this time?" she pressed. "You've never stepped in for me before...so what changed?"

Diane's response was immediate and unwavering. Her finger shot out, a direct line pointing toward Ivy's gaze. "Because," she explained, her voice tight with urgency, "if you'd unleashed your ability on him just then, it would have only escalated the problem."

The reply struck Ivy harder than she expected, making her tense up slightly.

Since when did Diane know about her ability?

Her first memory of using them was at school, against Jake. Then later, in that alley, against that creep. She had never—

Ivy frowned, her frustration shifting into something more cautious. "How do you know about my ability?" Her voice had lost some of its bite, edged instead with confusion.

Diane didn't answer. She just stared at Ivy, her expression unreadable.

Ivy's eyes narrowed. "How do you know?" she repeated, her tone sharper this time.

Again, Diane didn't respond. Instead, she stepped back, her posture rigid as she turned toward the kitchen.

Ivy's patience snapped. "Diane."

No response.

Ivy clenched her fists, her voice raising. "Diane!"

That finally did it. Diane turned on her heel, her eyes flashing with something close to irritation. "Because you used it on me before!" she snapped.

Ivy blinked. "…What?"

Diane remained silent for a moment, her response hanging in the air. Turning to the refrigerator, she yanked the door open, and pulled out a beer. The sharp crack of a beer can being opened punctuated the quiet room as she took a long, deliberate sip. Finally, she lowered the can, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.

And then, she finally spoke.

⋯

[The scene shifts back in time to the day Ivy reawakened as a Semi-Immortal]

The air was thick with the sterile scent of antiseptics, the sharp tang of something artificial lingering from the nearby medical cabinet. Ivy's breath came in ragged gasps, her hands trembling as she dug through the bottles of pills, her fingers fumbling over their labels in frantic desperation.

It wasn't enough.

The realization crashed over her like a tidal wave as she forced down another handful of pills, choking on the bitterness coating her tongue. Her stomach twisted violently, bile burning its way up her throat. She coughed, gagging as her body rejected the overdose she was trying to force upon it.

It wasn't working. She wasn't dying. Why wasn't she dying?

"Ivy, stop." Diane's voice cut through the haze, firm but laced with something Ivy rarely heard from her—concern.

Her hands shook as she gripped the edge of the counter, her knees threatening to give way until she found her balance against the counter surface. Beside her, Diane stood close, softly brushing Ivy's messy blonde hair from her face with one hand, while the other remained poised over Ivy's back, prepared to catch her if she stumbled.

"I can't—I can't do this," Ivy gasped, her entire body wracked with tremors. Her vision blurred, tears burning at the edges. She pivoted her head to look at Diane, with vomit trickling down her chin. "I don't—I don't wanna be like this—I don't wanna—"

Diane swallowed, her grip tightening around Ivy's arms. "You need to breathe. You need to stop—"

Ivy spun around so fast, the movement a desperate plea in itself. Before Diane could register the shift, Ivy's hand shot out, her fingers clenching onto Diane's shirt with a fierce, almost painful grip. The force of it nearly threw Diane off balance, her legs struggling to support not only her own weight but the sudden burden of Ivy leaning against her.

"Please Diane… please, just kill me."

The words came out raw, a shattered plea as Ivy clung onto Diane with weak, trembling hands. "Just—just kill me," she begged. "You—you don't care anyway, do you? You'd probably find enjoyment in watching me suffer..."

Diane stiffened. "That's not true. Ivy I-...I'm not going to kill you!"

"Why?! Why can't you just do one damn thing to help me?!" Ivy's voice trembled in distress, each word punctuated by the sharpness of her frustration. She gripped Diane's shoulders tightly, her anxiety spilling over, and in the heat of the moment, their combined weight sent them both crashing to the floor. Ivy's breath came in quick, jagged bursts as she struggled to contain the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume her.

And then—

Her eyes glowed.

An unsettling, otherworldly green flooded her irises, casting an eerie glow that was both mesmerizing and overpowering, penetrating Diane's defences with a nearly piercing intensity.

The air seemed to thin as Diane froze. A cold dread, unlike anything she'd ever experienced, gripped her. It wasn't just apprehension; it was a stark, chilling fear, and it was directed solely at the figure looming before her.

Ivy's breath hitched, and she lurched forward, her trembling fingers reaching for Diane. Before Diane could anticipate the move, Ivy's hand clamped over her mouth, the grip surprisingly strong despite her visible distress. Tears welled in Ivy's eyes, voice cracking with a raw desperation she couldn't contain. "Why? Why won't you help me?" she choked out, the words a strained whisper. "Am I just...am I just not worth it? How much more do I have to suffer? How much more do I have to beg before you finally just...do something?"

Then, a wave of unseen force crashed between them, thick and suffocating.

Diane's breath hitched as an invisible vice squeezed her chest, her entire body locking up in protest. It felt like a violation, a brutal extraction. Something precious was being torn from her, emotions ripped raw and siphoned away, leaving a desolate emptiness in their wake. Her vision swam, the edges blurring into a swirling vortex. Her limbs turned to lead, refusing to obey.

She gasped, another desperate attempt to pull air into lungs that suddenly felt useless—and then, oblivion swallowed her whole.

⋯

Diane finished her story, the words hanging in the air like cobwebs. She shrunk against the cold kitchen counter, the cheap beer doing little to warm the sudden chill that had settled in the room. Her eyes darted anywhere but towards Ivy, lingering on the chipped paint of the cabinets, the greasy fingerprints on the window. "And that's it," she mumbled, another swallow of beer audible in the tense silence.

Ivy hadn't moved, her gaze unwavering, a silent pressure that made Diane's skin crawl. The details of the story replayed in her mind. A single question, cold and insistent, clawed its way to the surface, eclipsing everything else.

"…I have another ability?"