Vicious Minds (Children of Vice #4)(78)
One month…I just needed a month, and this was over.
Ethan - AGE 28
Boston, Massachusetts
Wednesday, August 23rd
“Oh my God, what is this?” Ivy moaned, taking a bite of the bagel in front of her, reaching over to get more of the jelly while I sent another text message to Calliope. She still wasn’t responding.
It’s been three fucking days!
No matter many times I called, no matter how many texts I sent, she would not reply.
“Amish gold, apparently,” I answered Ivy, only partially listening to her. She was like a pet dog. As long as she had food and I gave her a pat on the head, she was fine.
If only all women could be so easy, I thought, sending Calliope another message…still no reply. Either something happened to her, which I doubted, or she was keeping true to her word and was on vacation from me.
Ivy wasn’t speaking as cheerfully as before.
“Give me some,” I demanded and she happily fed me a bite of the toast. “Good, but still not worth the price.”
“Shh,” she gasped, putting her hands over the jelly. “It will hear you.”
I glanced up at her and it was as if she were wagging her tail begging for me to pet her and give her attention. This was why I didn’t like puppies. So damn needy. Dropping my phone on the bedside table, I gave her that attention.
Ethan - AGE 28
Boston, Massachusetts
Wednesday, August 30th
“Calliope, it’s been ten days. At the very least let me know you’re alive and that Gigi is all right too.”
I was about to put the phone in my pocket, but I got an instant reply this time, and as if I were being starved, I checked it immediately, only to get two words back.
“We’re alive.”
Just like that, I was pissed off again. I was almost sure I preferred her not answering. At least then I could lie to myself and say she was being stubborn and wasn’t reading my messages. But now I was sure she was getting every last one, so clearly, she was still fucking punishing me.
“This is a bit immature, Calliope.”
No reply.
Fucking bitc—calm down, Ethan. Focus. Putting my phone away, I tuned back into the conversation happening around Carofiglio’s barber shop again. I was able to interject myself easily, it wasn’t like they were taking about anything that needed too much thought anyway. I felt like I was on autopilot, my thoughts still on Calliope.
“Give me a name.”
I looked up from the hair I was cutting. Ivy sat in the chair seriously, waiting. Give me a name? You earn a bloody name! What fuck have you done to earn anything? Other than sleeping, eating, and waiting for me to touch her, she did nothing. But that didn’t seem to matter to her; she waited anyway, along with the whole damn shop.
What fucking disgrace.
“Belladonna,” I said to her.
“Ivy the Belladonna Callahan,” she whispered to herself and then smiled, nodding happily.
The Belladonna Callahan? She thought that was a compliment? The belladonna berry was used historically in Italy to enlarge the pupils of women, giving them a striking appearance. It was something insecure, ugly women took to increase their attractiveness. Belladonna meant fake beauty, manufactured beauty. That’s what she was. On top of that, Belladonna had chemicals that can interfere with the body’s nervous system. She didn’t get any of that. She didn’t get that she was poison to me. She was a manufactured beauty blocking me from true beauty. Blocking me from doing what I really wanted to do…go home.
Reaching for my phone again, I texted once more. Let’s see just how far her silent treatment would go.
“I need you to kill Wyatt’s girlfriend.”
No reply…so only time would tell.
Ethan - AGE 28
Boston, Massachusetts
Thursday, September 7th
“Your brother is in there and he looks like shit,” Ivy said as I tried to head into the living room.
“And?”
She looked at me as if she wanted to kick me.
“And he obviously came because he wanted to talk—”
“I doubt it.” I stepped around her. He was most likely here because Calliope killed his girlfriend.
Ivy stepped in front me, blocking my path. “If you don’t open that door, I swear, no sex, no alcohol, no kettle corn.”
“Is that code for something?” I asked because I sure as hell could not give a damn. I didn’t care about sex with her; not only did I have to force myself, it was boring and dull. The alcohol was the only thing keeping me from losing my mind and the kettle corn reminded me of Calliope.
“Go—” She stopped when Wyatt walked in holding a bottle of scotch, my goddamn scotch, which the little shit was drinking from with one hand and holding my bag of kettle corn in the other. Ignoring us both, he walked into the living room, slipped out of his scrub top, and sat his selfish little ass on the couch comfortably. Reaching for the remote, he switched to, of course, The Godfather. He just watched the movie, eating and drinking quietly.
“I think he’s broken,” Ivy whispered to me and I did my best to not roll my eyes.
“He’s hiding,” I corrected, moving to the living room, pushing Wyatt off the damn couch and on to the floor so I could lay down. I wasn’t going to say a damn word, though I was interested in how the hell Calliope managed it, seeing as she wouldn’t fucking reply to me.