The Angelic Misdemeanor (A Bloodrose Sequel ~ Book

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π™²πš‘πšŠπš™πšπšŽπš› 1 ~ πš‚πšπšŠπš•πšŽ π™±πš˜πš˜πš£πšŽ

Ivy's POV

I twisted the knob of the door and entered. The scent of freshly opened alcohol and cheap cigarettes brushed against my nose. I squeezed my eyes shut as I already knew the leading events. It starts with the booze...It always does. The foreign yet familiar scent. The dread scent brought pain and torture as it entered. Bottles everywhere I turned were lazily opened, scattered around on the tables, couch, and even on the floor. As if a party had taken place.

A low feeling pulsed through my body sending cold waves tumbling down my spine. My heart sunk low in my chest because the weight of it was unbearable. I placed my hand against my chest and felt how cold my heart was. I bit my lip and thought, I must relax for the time being.

My throat grew parched as I slowly made my way to the couch. He wasn't anywhere to be seen; the demon to which I lived with. His long daggering nails that seemed unkempt and long overdue for some care, his putrid breath stale of alcohol and cheap cigars, his glassy green eyes, and his tall lean figure were what made him so identifiable amongst the flock.

It's what made him who he was and there was only one out of two things that I could do. Those were to either deal with it or refuse to believe everything went so downhill. The smarter choice was to choose the first, but I chose the second but not by choice...if that makes any sense.

We were all in a car together and I took the wheel, steering us downhill until we were living amongst the lowest of the lows. I did this to him. I made him this way. I took away the only thing he loved. The only thing that mattered to him. The only thing that he cared for and because I robbed him of such luxury I must bear the consequences. So I must stay. I must fix him. To lead him uphill. To steer him toward the right path because this certainly isn't the way to go.

He isn't home. I thought. He went out again. I reached the couch and threw myself into the comfort of it. Dropping my purse on the side of me as I lay. Slumping down, making myself as comfortable as I could because I knew it wouldn't last.

Soon he would come. Soon he would arrive and punish me for whatever he thinks I did. And I must endure my punishment. I mustn't run, I mustn't hide, I must stay and endure. Soak it all in like a sponge. Allow him to release his pain, sorrow, and remorse on me because I caused it all.

I laid my head back and stared up at the ceiling. It was made of concrete. How stiff and hard. I wish I was. Stiff and hard? It would make this endurance thing much easier. The way it was textured to fit my mother's liking. It was the color of cream and texture to resemble sand on a beach or at least feel like it.

On one hand, I clung to my keys and caressed the bow of it. Observing every dent and scratch that it endured. My keys were just like me. Chipped and bruised we both were, but on the contrary, my keys were somewhat useful. Unlike me.

I peered up at the ceiling and wondered why my mother would like such a texture... It looked uncomfortable. It was rough and pokey. I like that word... Pokey.

At that very moment, I heard his keys jingle against the lock. My head jerked up in surprise as I stared at the knob in fear. Why was I even scared? It'll end the usual way, no matter what. I knew it was him. Judging by the whispered curse words and the way he struggled to unlock the door, I just knew. His brain was soaked in booze, I could smell its presence lurking in his voice, through the keyhole.

I dragged my head to the right and used my gnawed nails in a failed attempt to scrape off a piece of tape that fastened itself tightly against my key. Instantly, the door flung open. I didn't even flinch at the abrupt bang that sounded in the room. I didn't even secretly blink. I was long gone.

My mind was in a lost place. A place where there's no time, no laws, no rules. Just animals and nature and people. Not the people in this world. My people are different people. People who are what humans were supposed to be. I think when we were being made there was some fault in the system...Some errors that were ignored -- overlooked. Maybe they shouldn't have turned a blind eye to it. They should have evaluated it and think it through because humans are the disease that infected the world as we know it. We are the reason why the world functions with the rich at the top and the poor below.

I guess I have the world to blame for why my life is so messed up. The people who made the earth this bad are to be blamed.

"Stupid fucking door!" Pestered my father. He then reeled his head around and shot a dirty sneer at me. "Everything in this house is falling apart! Everything! You always expect me to do everything around here. Why don't you help me out for once?"

Why isn't this stupid tape coming off? I thought.

"Hey! Listen to me. I'm talking! Hey! Listen to me, you fucking...whore!" He fumed his eyes blood red with rage. "All you do is sit around here all day doing nothing! Expecting me to do everything for you! Do you know what it's like doing everything around the house and being treated unfairly by an ungrateful slob? Do you?!"

"More than you think," I mumbled to myself knowing that he was just describing himself and that I was the one doing everything.

"You see? And there's an attitude with it all! I am... So tired of this. I have to do everything around here while you mope around all fucking day!" He said, his voice trailing along slowly in the tone of a drunk. "You don't even go to school anymore!"

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was right. I didn't go to school anymore. I just couldn't take the whispers and glares. I act as if it doesn't bother me but it does -- it always does. To walk down the halls alone is too much for me. To feel all eyes on you, wiping out everything around you and blinding all the light in your life so that you can only see darkness. Like in those horror stories that people tell around a campfire. About being surrounded by darkness and eyes. That's how I feel when I'm in school -- wherever I go.

And even when you think it can't get worse... When I go home I have to deal with the junkie of a father.

"You know. I hate to say it but I wish you got into the accident instead of your mother. She was a great person -- she didn't deserve it. She-she was a beautiful person, with a b-beautiful spirit."

"How are you so sure she died in a car accident? Mom didn't even have a license. What was she doing in a car, behind the wheel? Money is a really powerful thing, you know. It can keep corrupt people quiet." I mentioned as I continued to scrape the masking tape off my key.


Death. The place didn't smell of it but its presence lingered through the vents. The weight of it was suffocating as it contradicted my lungs. The past cries and screams echoed through the halls sending a sliver of fear down my throat and as it slithered down, I heard the noise's intensity begin to engage. My heart rate imitated that exact pattern with my mind playing dirty and manic tricks on me, forcing me to believe that lost spirits lingered in the halls.

Just to think about the number of bodies that were brought to this exact location. The number of people sitting where I sat...their eyes as lifeless as a corpse and their fingers that shook like a loose leaf. I'm almost one hundred percent sure that no one has ever been placed in such a situation as I was in but they were never in here for a good reason.

This room meant death. How do you define death? Google defines it as the irreversible cessation of all vital functions especially as indicated by the permanent stoppage of the heart, respiration, and brain activity: the end of life β€” see brain death. But I don't think that's death. I think death is when you psychologically abandon the thought of life. It's all about the way you think about things, correct? The mind controls it all. So when your mind gives up, so do you. Right then and there, I was dead as I sat in that seat. Though my heart pumped blood through my veins I was dead. I gave up. I died that day and there was nothing that anyone could do to bring me back to life.

"No, I cannot take any amount of money for this. This is murder!" Whispered the diener aggressively through his teeth as he leaned into the face of the boss.

His arms folded over his puffed chest, trying to seem fearless but it was a poor act since I could see the way his eyes shot around, just in case anyone came around the corner suddenly and I saw how his chest hitched as he inhaled.

On the contrary, the boss of some Mafia stood strong and tall as if nothing could possibly bring him to his knees. His pumped chest and muscular figure were intimidating enough. He clenched his jaws in annoyance and slightly squinted his silver eyes at the diener before taking a deep breath and speaking in the most monotonous voice I've ever heard before. It was so low that I felt the vibrations from his words pulse through my body.

"If you take this money, you wouldn't have to work a day in your life again. This can cover anything. I insist, take the money."

The words rolled off his tongue in the most romantic yet dominating way. He had a French accent that blended his sentences together in the most captivating way imaginable. I wasn't going to ignore the fact that he was breathtaking because he was but I hope he rots in hell for what he did to me.

I sat in deafening silence as the two spoke. Fear possessing my body into staying quiet and tangling my vocal cords within each other. I used my hands to clasp onto my throat, feeling my pulse throb against the agonizing desire to charismatically pause. I found it suddenly hard to breathe. I gasped for breath -- squeezing my throat, for it to untie itself but it was no use. My lips began to quiver in rhythm with my body, amplifying my heart rate within every beat as if it were an air pump.

"All this...for one patient?" Questioned the diener as he stared at the now opened briefcase, his eyes round and his mouth slightly gaped open in shock.

They were standing further in front of me so I saw the amount in the case. It was filled to the brim yet I couldn't estimate the amount within.

"All this can be yours if you say her death was an accident. Do your doctoring -- come up with some medical reason. A lie, per se. Clear the names of my men and you wouldn't have to be here another day, working in this exhausting job. Eight long hours a day. You're a wise man. Take a rest. This can help you." Muttered the boss, he knew exactly what he was doing, who in their right mind would refuse such an offer. But she was a human being, innocent. Who deserved every ounce of justice that there was.

I could see the flash of amusement glisten in the corner of the boss' eye as he recited his words that sounded way too similar to those of a poem.

Not a trace of emotion threaded, not even secretly through the faces, of his men. This was just a routine. They knew what they were doing, they knew it was bad but they still did it and felt no remorse after. Believing that they were always right in all their decisions.

"Y-you...can't," I mumbled, fighting the urge to pass out. "You can lose your...l-license. Remember...why you t-took this job. Urgh. Please." My eyes itched with the desire to let loose of the tears that bottled up but my pride dried it all.

The diener peered his beady eyes at me for a few seconds of which felt like hours then turned back to the money, fiddling with the hairs of his crusty beard as if it was going to give him the answer.

The boss then said, "That woman is a nobody." jerking his head slightly to the direction of the room to which my deceased mother lay unconscious, "Her husband is just an immature deadbeat, who never left school, refuses to get a proper job and dresses like a Canadian and her daughter is a little slut! I mean, you're getting more than you deserve for this good-for-nothing family. No one would even dig this up. No one cares about them. So please...just take the money. My men will be dealt with for their actions but they are my men and I must protect them at all costs. So have we a deal of not?"

The diener observed the money in deep thought then shot an eye at me. He released a puff of breath and asked, " what about her?"

"She's traumatized. She saw it all go down. I almost feel sorry for the girl." Answered the boss, his eyes on me. He then began to arrogantly chuckle, this was all entertainment to him. He then continued, saying, "Little fucker got what she deserved. I think she learned a lesson to stay quiet and what'll happen if she doesn't."

Suddenly I felt my blood begin to boil. None of that was my fault. How dare he blame that on me! My eyes grew blood-shot red with rage. An exasperated breath of hot air was spat out as my fingers tingled with the urge to attack and wipe that smug look off his face but it was all drawn away, the second the doctor said, "I'll do it. In one condition. I want double the amount, in that case, enough for me to skip-town."

"You got yourself a deal." Smiled the boss as he shook the doctor's hand, mockery was barely hidden in the smile. It was very much evident, just the way I'm sure he liked it.

I felt my throat untangle and I pranced to my feet screaming, "you corrupted asshole! How dare you take money over my mother. She was human-being!" I heard my own voice tremble and crack but I didn't care, my hand placed over my heart in protest.

"It makes no difference, kid. Whether she gets her justice or not. She's dead, it won't matter. What will matter is when I get to leave this shitty town. Start a new life. Let me teach you something, nothing matters when it comes to business. We live for no one but ourselves. I'm doing what anyone would do. I came into this world alone and I'm leaving alone. It's called sacrificing others for survival." Responded the diener, a twitching smirk stretching across his wrinkled cheeks, until he was beaming from ear to ear. Spitting mockery into my face like a child.

"It's called selfishness! You pruny, piece of shit!" I yelled as I charged toward him but was evidently grabbed by my arms and yanked back to my seat.

Two muscular men who sat on the sides of me that were only there to prevent me from escaping or attacking. Like if I were going to escape. Why would I? They had my mother there and they were going to cover up the murder, this is unfair! She never deserved this. She never deserved any of this. Sometimes I still wonder if I did.

"Shut her up, Stacks!" Commanded the boss to the man who sat beside me. "But keep her alive. I want her to suffer."

"Please excuse me questioning your way of operation but are you sure you want her alive after all she's seen?"

"Don't ever question me, Stacks! I want her alive or else everything we're doing -- all the money I spent would have no meaning! It'll be a waste of my time!" He roared. It felt as if the floors shook to the rise in his tone and the echoes expanded its volume throughout the building. His french accent grazing his tongue as he spoke.

"What if she kills herself? It'll still be a waste of time, don't you think." Asked the diener.

"She won't. She won't. I just know it."

Present Time:

Well, he was right. I didn't kill myself. I just couldn't leave my father to grieve on his own. I already knew he never loved me and I never really understood why. It didn't matter. I loved him -- he was my father -- all I had left of this world. I couldn't stand the thought of him suffering. But honestly... I regret it every day of my goddamn life.


π™·πšŽπš’ πš‹πšŠπš‹πšŽπšœ!

𝙸 πš‘πš˜πš™πšŽ πš’πš˜πšžπš› πš‘πšŠπšŸπš’πš—πš 𝚊 πš‹πšŽπšŠπšžπšπš’πšπšžπš• 𝚍𝚊𝚒.
π™Άπš˜πš πš’πš πš–πšŠπš”πšŽπšœ πš–πšŽ πšœπš’πšŒπš” 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πš’πš—πš” πšŠπš‹πš˜πšžπš πšπš‘πšŽ πš”πš’πš—πš 𝚘𝚏 πšπš›πšŠπšžπš–πšŠ πšπš‘πšŠπš πš™πšŽπš˜πš™πš•πšŽ πš‘πšŠπšŸπšŽ 𝚝𝚘 πšŽπš—πšπšžπš›πšŽ πš˜πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πšπšŠπš’πš•πš’.

𝙸 πš‘πš˜πš™πšŽ πšπš‘πšŠπš πšπš‘πš’πšœ πšœπšπš˜πš›πš’ πšœπš™πš›πšŽπšŠπšπšœ πšŠπš πšŠπš›πšŽπš—πšŽπšœπšœ πšŒπš˜πš—πšŒπšŽπš›πš—πš’πš—πš πšŠπš‹πšžπšœπšŽ πšŠπš—πš πšŽπšŸπšŽπš— πšπš‘πš˜πšžπšπš‘ πšπš‘πšŽ πšŠπš‹πšžπšœπšŽπš› πš’πšœπš—'𝚝 πš”πš—πš˜πš πš•πšŽπšπšπšŽπšŠπš‹πš•πšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πšŠπš‹πšžπšœπšŽ πšπš‘πšŠπš πš‘πšŽ/πšœπš‘πšŽ πš’πšœ πšŒπš˜πš—πšπš•πš’πšŒπšπš’πš—πš πš’πš πšπš˜πšŽπšœπš—'𝚝 πš–πšŠπš”πšŽ πš’πš πš‹πšŽπšπšπšŽπš›.

π™³πš˜πš—'𝚝 πš‹πšŽ πš•πš’πš”πšŽ π™ΈπšŸπš’. π™Έπš 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πš—πšŽπšŽπš πš‘πšŽπš•πš™, πš™πš•πšŽπšŠπšœπšŽ πšπš˜πš—'𝚝 πš‹πšŽ πšœπš‘πš’ 𝚝𝚘 πšŠπšœπš”. π™Όπš’ 𝙳𝙼'𝚜 πšŠπš›πšŽ πšŠπš•πš πšŠπš’πšœ πš˜πš™πšŽπš— πšπš˜πš› 𝚊 πšŒπš˜πš—πšŸπšŽπš›πšœπšŠπšπš’πš˜πš— πš˜πš› πšŠπšπšŸπš’πšŒπšŽ πšπš›πš˜πš– 𝚊 πšœπšπš›πšŠπš—πšπšŽπš›.

𝙸 πš•πš˜πšŸπšŽ 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšŠπš•πš• 𝚜𝚘 πš–πšžπšŒπš‘!! π™ΊπšŽπšŽπš™ 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎!

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