It’s felt from the moment you’re in the womb. I may not have gotten to meet my mother seeing she died while giving birth to me—I’m a murderer from the start—the twisted curse of my father’s acts coursing through me and taking my mother’s life before I even emerged from her, kicking and screaming.
Even before I was born, I felt it. During my incubation, I absorbed her sentiment towards me. How she wanted to nurture me but felt a sense of loathing, regret—fear. Even hatred at times.
Imagine not even being born yet—and knowing your mother is scared of you? Imagine knowing that her mind plays with wishes that you didn’t exist.
Wondering what if her body cleansed itself of you—naturally or otherwise—before it was time for her to bring you into this world?
You arrive tainted, and everyone senses it—that something is deeply wrong with you, that you carry the mark of the devil or something just like it.
And the desire to ruin others—to destroy them the way your mother was destroyed—courses through your veins. It’s not a choice. It’s predetermined.
Destiny.
Imagine, once born, your mother gazing upon your angelic baby face with a mixture of fear and disgust. Seeing her attacker in your eyes, your build, your movements as you grow.
Luckily,Ididn’t get to see that.
But clearly, Ivy had to endure her birth mother’s approach once she grew old enough.
Kind at first, but then her mask slipping, her true sentiments about Ivy’s existence coming through in a cold email that revealed everything. The ugliness. The dark truth.
I wanted to throttle her birth mother when I heard—and I still do—for what she did to Ivy. So cold and callous, placing the blame on her for something she wasn’t even alive for. Before she was even a bundle of cells.
As if the sperm that created her was sentient, and Ivy willed her father to take her mother by force—all before she was paired with the egg that would eventually make her human.
But hurting her would only bring Ivy more pain. And she’s had enough of that already.
Her birth father, though? He’s dropped all communication with her, and she doesn’t anticipate ever hearing from him again. Her feelings for him are cold as ice—I can tell—not the same guilt or defensiveness she feels for her birth mother.
Because how could you defend a rape like that?
Plans are already in motion. He won’t be a problem much longer. And I’ll make sure that he feels the pain, the fear, the self-loathing that his actions have spawned in my precious Ivy.
Still, as dark and wrong and evil it was that this happened, I’m glad it did. That she exists.
My Ivy.
My little poison.
And it makes it abundantly clear why she’s so desperate for unconditional love. So easy to manipulate just by accepting her the way she is. Not judging her. Not focusing on that dark part of her as if it’s bad or wrong.
Now there’s just another very strong reason why she matters.
Why she’s my world.
We’re the same—two souls, bound by a curse that I would wish on no one.
One that’s shaped every action, every thought, every sentiment I’ve ever had toward myself.
And it’s why I won’t stop until she’s finally completely mine.
Every broken, tarnished part of her.
That’s why what happened was necessary.
It was for her own good.
But she can’t ever know that I was the one who got her canceled.