Page 23 of Ivy’s Poison

When the table I was on was tilted back slightly and a biker was wetting a large cloth, I knew what was coming. Waterboarding. A torture technique that can break the strongest of men.

I had shown I could withstand intense pain, and I barely flinched at being strangled, but slowly drowning? My body’s own reaction is something I couldn’t control. It would demand water not be forced into my lungs.

As the wet cloth was headed in my direction, I kept telling myself, Suck it up, buttercup. You must fucking do this.

The cloth covering my entire face isn’t what bothered me. It was the gallon of water being poured over the cloth. Some people think you can merely hold your breath ‘til it’s over. They don’t understand that the water drained into your nose, then filled the cavities in your head until it overflowed and started filling your throat.

Convulsing on the table, my body panicked and inhaled without my permission, hence water now in my lungs. The pain in my whole head felt like hot lava was being poured into my nose, not harmless water. Behind my closed eyes were explosions of lights, my body and mind freaking the fuck out.

Water stopped pouring, and beyond my gagging and hysterical coughing, I heard the president ask, “Who do you work for?”

Had I not been extensively trained, my brain would not have been able to understand the words. This torture has been around for centuries because of its effectiveness. Most people, by now, would be saying anything their captors wanted to hear just so the misery would come to an end.

Being who I am, I said nothing and did my best to prepare for the next round, which came. Before my coughing tirade ended, water was poured. My lungs burned with such intensity, I thought I was going to pass out. Black spots danced behind eyes that were slammed shut in my anguish. My wrists and ankles were becoming even bloodier and raw from the struggles of wanting to be free. Animal instincts rose, begging to kill anyone near me.

The water suddenly stopped. Blinded by pain and the loss of oxygen, I couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I couldn’t hear the compound’s alarms ringing through the air. My ears were ringing far too loudly on their own.

With all that had taken place, when someone unlocked my cuffs, I rolled off the table and took them down to the floor, determined to kill them. As the body struggled underneath mine, my mind started to register the size. Trying to see past confusion, pain, and hate, I blinked while vomiting water. Reddish pink hair was sprawled out messily on the concrete floor underneath us.

On hands and knees, my mind screamed at me, Ivy!

Then I finally started hearing Beth frantically yelling, “Stop! Stop!”

Finally regaining the ability to see somewhat clearly again, I saw my huge dark hands around the prettiest, most delicate throat. Ivy’s face was beet red, veins showing in her neck and forehead. I was killing her.

Jolting from the horrific sight, I released her instantly. Apologetically, I reached for her as she scrambled out from underneath me but missed due to gagging and vomiting more water. In between heaving, I tried to voice how sorry I was, but my throat was so swollen from the attacks that nothing came out but a pitiful croak. Still on my hands and knees, I blindly reached out again. When a hand slid into mine, I squeezed, silently sending regrets.

“It’s okay.”

With eyes that ached like a son-of-a-bitch, I peered up. It was Beth who was holding my hand, and she looked highly alarmed. I should’ve been worried about bikers returning, but I only had one person on my mind. Ivy was sitting on the floor, far from me, her hand holding her red throat, tiredly leaning against a wall. Her eyes were pitifully wide—emotionally strained to see what was coming—even though they were watering and wanted reprieve, and her head was tilted back as if trying to get her esophagus to operate properly. Shame riveted me to the point it cost me more internal pain.

I attempted to push Beth to go and help her, but the woman wouldn’t release my hand. She kept trying to yank me to my feet, but I outweighed her by a hundred pounds. “Goddamn, you’re huge,” she grunted, getting nowhere with me.

“Her,” I croaked out, gesturing to Ivy. I wanted Beth to put her first.

“Damnit! Listen to me,” Beth spoke angrily. “We have no time to fuck around. She’ll be fine, but you have to get out of here!”

“Not,” I coughed, “without her.”

At that very moment, my whole world stopped because I was to experience something I had never experienced. Not like this…

Ivy’s eyes opened and shot to mine. They were full of terror. Absolute terror.

My mouth gaped as this crazy bitch rushed to her hands and knees, crawling to me in lightning speed. She grabbed my face with trembling panicked hands. Her voice hoarse, she demanded, “I will fucking kill you myself if you don’t get out of here right now. You’re clearly not going to give them the info they want. That means you’re useless. My father is going to murder you. Please leave.”

I begged my swollen vocal cords to work. “Babe… with you.”

She squeezed my face. “You are in no shape to be the hero, and you never will be if you don’t save yourself.”

It took only one day to hate Ivy more than my worst enemy.

It only took two for me to start planning her death.

And only three, on this day as she self-sacrificed—for me, to fall in love with her.

Tears filled her saddening eyes as she whispered, “You know I’m right.”

I did. And it hurt like hell to have to leave her, my daughter, and the brave woman still trying to get me to my feet. Ivy reached into her jeans pocket and offered my rosary.