Dare You to Hate Me

Knocking on the front door of the infamous house, I wait in the rain with a scowl on my face as I try shielding the food until the front door opens. The petite brunette standing in front of me looks vaguely familiar as she gapes at me. I’ve probably seen her around, but the way her eyes go down my body with a glint in her eye tells me she’s more than likely a jersey chaser.

Her tongue trails along her lips. “Um…”

“I’m here to see Ivy.”

Her lips part in obvious surprise. “Ivy?”

I refrain from sighing, not patient enough to deal with this. “Yes. Ivy Underwood. I was told she’s here. You mind letting me in? I’m getting soaked.”

She moves aside and watches me step over the threshold. “If you could point me in the right direction…”

The brunette stares at me after closing the door. “Are you sure you’re here for Ivy? Sydney is upstairs helping some of the girls with a project, but I can get her.”

Teeth grinding, I look around the room hoping a sign will appear telling me where to go since she’s no help. “Don’t you think I’d ask for Sydney if I wanted to see her? Where is Ivy?”

Slowly, she shakes her head and then gestures toward the room to the right. “Basement. It’s the first door in the kitchen.”

I don’t give her another response before heading in that direction. When I knock on the door and try turning the handle, it’s locked. Groaning to myself, I set down the food on the counter closest to me and say, “Ivy? It’s Aiden. Can you open up?”

For all I know she’s sleeping. I’d feel better knowing she is if she’s as sick as Bea implied. It isn’t often Ivy will succumb to someone telling her to go home unless she needs to.

After a few seconds of silence, I knock again with no luck. I pull out my phone and text the only person who’s been downstairs before.

Me: Any way to get to the basement of the house on Madison?

Almost instantly, bubbles appear at the bottom of the screen.

Caleb: There’s a key hidden under the third plant on the counter. Fake bottom

I’m not sure I like that he knows that. I find the key and unlock the door before grabbing the food and heading down. My nose is hit with thick, musty air and what I can only think is mold. It reminds me of the abandoned house Ivy and I snuck into once on a dare. She wouldn’t back down when I told her it was haunted, and I couldn’t watch her go in by herself, so I followed a few feet behind. That was in better shape than the bullshit room I’m entering.

A form on the bed quickly flips over and sits up, nearly toppling off the mattress. “Get out!” she rasps in a hoarse voice.

“Relax, it’s just me,” I tell her, searching the dark room for a light switch. When I find it and flick it on, a groan comes from her direction.

Eyes snapping to her as she drops backward onto the bed, I walk over and examine the baggy clothes on her body and blanket tangled around her legs. Her glassy eyes meet mine, face pale, and I fight a frown when she rasps, “Is that Bea’s food I smell?”

Momentarily forgetting what I’m holding, I lift it with a nod. “Stopped by to see if you were there. She sent me on my way with a delivery. Said this stuff was your favorite. Don’t think she packed bagels though.”

She rolls her eyes, but even that movement is lagging. “I don’t want a bagel anyway. My throat hurts. Is that cream of broccoli in the cup?”

Looking around, I find a spot to set everything down before grabbing the soup and plastic spoon Bea thought to pack. “What’s wrong with you?”

She sits up and accepts the food with a glare, plucking the top open and watching the steam billow from it. “I know your mother taught you better manners than that.”

I huff out a dry laugh and nudge her legs out of the way so I can sit on the edge of the mattress. “You like pointing that out, huh? You’re not wrong. Now answer the question.”

Blowing on a spoonful of the soup, she peeks at me through her lashes. “I caught a cold or something. I’m just run down, that’s all.”

“You sound like shit,” I agree with a single shoulder lifting. “Odd. I seem to recall saying that this would happen not long ago.”

She sips the warm liquid, but it doesn’t hide the small smile that begins tipping the corners of her lips upward. “You always were a smooth talker.”

I peel my eyes away from her to examine her room. If that’s what you can call the shithole with only a few pieces of furniture. It’s basically storage for all the trash they don’t want elsewhere. “You don’t belong down here, Chaos.”

Remaining silent, she focuses even harder on the soup wrapped in her hands. Something on her face shifts, darkening as she slips into her thoughts.

I don’t relent. “There’s gotta be shit growing in here that you don’t need to be inhaling.”