Vicious

Ivy Calder was a household name in Rosebridge.

She was the mayor's daughter. The ballet prodigy. The girl who never had a chipped nail, never screamed, never made a mistake. A porcelain doll with pearls draped around her neck and silence in her heart.

They told her she was lucky.

Ivy was not fortunate.

She was a mannequin that somebody else had dressed up. Seen but not noticed. Heard but not listened to. Trapped in a perfect, pastel world where love was strategic and desire was something to be ashamed of.

Until he came.

It began with sirens.

She was inside the flower shop when they tore past, red and blue slicing through the stillness of Main Street. She trailed the commotion outside out of curiosity, not design.

The convenience store on Fifth Street had been robbed.

No one was hurt, but the cashier was shaken and pale. Described the man as calm, calculating, "almost charming." He stole the money, a pack of matches, and a single chocolate bar.

Then it disappeared.

Ivy couldn't sleep that night.

She imagined him—this man—walking down alleys, danger following him like a leather jacket. Free. Untouchable.

She wasn't even sure why she did care.

She did so.

She ran into him two days later, almost accidentally. Or by fate. Or something more sinister.

She'd stop by the bookstore to escape the hot sun. He'd stand in front of the philosophy shelves, reading a dog-eared edition of Crime and Punishment.

He seemed like trouble. Not the loud, drunk kind. The silent kind. The dangerous kind of trouble. The kind who had nothing to lose.

He caught her staring.

Do you read Dostoevsky?" he asked.

She blinked. "Do you?"

Pretend to," he said with a wry smile. "Helps with the brooding image.".

She smiled. A tiny smile.

His name was Lucien Black.

No address. No job. A record longer than a country mile. Everyone had a story on him. He was the kid who got kicked out of school at sixteen. The man who fell off the back of a prison transport bus and left no forwarding address. The kind of guy mothers warned their children about.

Ivy should've run.

But she just kept coming back.

To the bookstore. To the old train yard where he'd sketch odd, beautiful things. To the roof of an old arcade where he'd read poetry to her and play the guitar terribly but with passion.

He kissed like he meant it.

Touched her as if she was fragile and invincible at the same time.

And while she was with him?

She was not the daughter of the mayor. She was herself.

They noticed.

The whispers started. So did the warnings.

Her mother pointed out headlines to her.

"Notorious Ex-Con Seen With Ivy Calder."

"Mayor's Daughter Dating Danger?"

Lucien became a target. Ivy became a scandal.

You can't be serious about him," her father said in astonishment.

"I am."

He's a criminal.

She looked him in the eye. Steady. Unwavering.

"And I'm in love with him."

They came for him that night.

Police. Flashing lights. Guns. Noise.

They extracted Lucien from a cheap motel room with Ivy screaming in the parking lot.

He didn't struggle. Didn't wince.

Just caught eye contact with her as they were handcuffing him.

"Don't let them put me in your rearview," he lip-read.

And then he was gone.

She tried everything. Lawyers. Appeals. The influence of her parents. None succeeded.

They were pinning everything on him: the robbery, the escape, even things he hadn't done.

They're making an example of him," Lucien said from behind the glass of a visitation booth.

"I won't let them."

Ivy…

"I'm not going anywhere."

He smiled, sad and soft.

"You already did. The moment you stepped back into their world."

She shook her head.

And that's when she decided.

Ivy Calder had passed away by the following morning.

Walked away from the mansion. Left behind only one note:

"I'm picking my own story now."

That evening, courthouse power went out during the middle of transfer. One van never arrived at the detention center. Security cameras were dark for seven minutes.

Lucien Black was missing.

Others say they headed south, changed their names, purchased a boat.

They are reported to be seen in Argentina, where they both work on a vineyard under the names Felix and Rose.

Others claimed Ivy returned, alone, years later. Wore sunglasses in cafes and had this strange, haunted smile. Was never around for long. Never mentioned the past.

But all who saw her said she appeared to be free.

Even now, in Rosebridge, Ivy Calder's name is never spoken louder than a whisper.

She was the good girl who dated the bad boy.

The porcelain doll that broke her glass case.

The mayor's daughter who became involved with an inmate.

Some think that she was not destroyed.

She was reborn.