Find Me : The Poison Ivy Series Book One

Prologue

The beat of the music reverberates inside of my chest as my body moves in sync with those around me. I’m inside of a sea of people, an ocean of sweaty bodies, groping hands, and flashing lights. Smoke thickens the air around me, and the glow of blacklights adds a purple hue to my skin. I can’t help but feel a wave of excitement wash over me at the idea of melting into the crowd, swaying my hips to the beat of the music, and forgetting my problems, at least for tonight.

Clubs have never been my go-to place to let loose, and I’d much rather spend my time at home with a paintbrush in hand, working on my next piece. But even though I know I don’t fit in here, with flecks of paint still in my hair and clothes that are just old enough to be out of style, I somehow feel like I belong. I know I’m good at blending in, and even better at dancing with people I don’t even know.

Another drink is placed in my hand, and just like the four before it, it’s not long before the glass is empty and I’m on another level of tipsy. I manage to find my friend Sam, who I’m now seeing two of thanks to the last shot of tequila I did, and we dance together, letting the stress of the last two weeks melt away.

It’s not long before I’m stumbling up to the bar to get another drink, anything to help me let loose. It’s not every day that I decide to drop out of law school and give up on my father’s dreams of me becoming the next bigshot lawyer in the family. Today was the day I finally told him. Well, kind of. I sent him an email and am now waiting for all hell to break loose once he gets it. And while I wait for his response, I’m here, forgetting my problems and trying to convince myself that I made the right choice.

I turn around from the bar, my drink in hand, before colliding with a tall, dark-haired man. “Oh, sorry,” I say, my words barely audible above the blaring music. A hand with a rose tattoo grabs my wrist to steady me, and I look up at him, meeting his gaze. Suddenly, my drunken haze clears, and all I can do is stare at him. His eyes are otherworldly, and his jacket is unzipped, revealing a black T-shirt that fits him like a glove. He looks like he walked straight out of a movie, and I can’t help but feel drawn to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and smooth. I think he has an accent, but I’m too drunk to place it on my own, and too embarrassed to ask.

I nod, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” I repeat again, not wanting to come off as rude and not sure what else to say. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.” Something tells me my words are coming across as more slurred than I intend.

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “You’re alright. It’s a crowded place.”

I smile, feeling my hand still in his grip, electricity sparking between us. “I’m Evi,” I say, wanting to somehow connect with him.

“Nice to meet you,” he responds, and I can’t help but feel sparks run down my spine at the sound of his voice.

We stand here for a moment, and even though neither of us speaks, the air between us is charged.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you’re already holding one,” he says, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

I smile sheepishly and find myself trying to explain that I don’t usually drink this much, but I’m on a mission to let loose and forget everything in my life for a few hours, my words all jumbling together.

“We’ve all been there,” he says with a wink, his other hand delicately brushing a piece of my hair out of my face while his eyes seem to look inside of me. I must be more drunk than I realize because I swear I can feel the electricity between us, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if his hands were touching other parts of me. I take a sip of my drink, and as the amber liquid burns my throat and causes my eyes to water, I realize how hard I’m trying to fight off the double vision and foggy head that’s enveloping me.

“I shouldn’t have had so much to drink…” I trail off, trying desperately to fight the blackout that I know is inevitable. My eyes close, and I feel him still holding my hand as I breathe in his scent, leather mixed with warm citrus. Then, my world goes black.

*

My eyes openslowly, trying to focus on the world around me. The room is spinning, my head is pounding, and with each shallow breath I take, nausea threatens to overwhelm me. I focus on steadying my breathing as I attempt to roll over, my body screaming in protest at even the smallest of movements. As hungover as I feel, relief sweeps over me as I realize I’m in my bed, but the feeling is short-lived as I realize I have no memory of how I got here. I lay in bed trying—and failing—to piece together the events of last night until the need for water overrides my desire to stay curled up, hidden beneath the sanctuary of my duvet. My body groans as I sit up, and it takes everything to calm the churning of my stomach and the throbbing in my head as I assess the damage from the night before.

I glance around my room before looking at myself, and I release a breath I didn’t even know I was holding as I realize I’m here alone and nothing seems out of place. That is until I realize what I’m wearing. Confusion sweeps over me as I realize I’m in a hideous matching flannel pajama set, a gift from my stepmother two Christmases ago that has never seen the light of day until now. I look around my room again and find my outfit from last night sitting neatly in my laundry basket. Alarm bells go off in my head as I’m not one to usually wear pajamas, preferring to sleep in my underwear or an oversized T-shirt, and I am definitely not one to wear clothes that my grandmother would consider fashionable. My heart starts to beat faster as I try to figure out what happened last night, and how exactly I ended up in these pajamas.

I make my way to the bathroom, my thoughts swirling as my feet drag on the floor beneath me. My hands are shaky as I turn on the tap, desperate for water to wash away the tacky feeling in my mouth. The cold water feels like a breath of life, the relief it brings me almost instantaneous, and I feel slightly more human again as the fogginess of my hangover starts to dissipate.

I wander aimlessly around my room as I try to piece together the events of last night. Vague images slowly creep into my head, reminding me of smoke-filled air, dancing with strangers, divine eyes, and tattooed hands holding mine. I spot a little piece of paper folded neatly on my dresser and my breath hitches as I realize I never put it there. Butterflies make their way into my chest as I tentatively pick it up and am met with a surprisingly elegant scrawl, ‘sweet dreams love’ it reads. My heart pounds in my chest as I read it over and over again, and something deep within me stirs.

I jump as a knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. My apartment is old, and the floorboards creak beneath my weight as I make my way downstairs toward the front door. It’s a loft apartment with a small kitchen and living room on the main floor, and my bedroom and bathroom upstairs. The exposed brick walls and wooden floors give the place a rustic feel, and my artwork scattered throughout makes it feel like home. I’ve been painting since I was little, and the evidence is all over my apartment. Finished paintings hang on the walls, blank canvases are stacked in every corner, multicolored speckles of paint decorate the floor, and my kitchen sink is full of dirty brushes.

I answer the front door to find Sam standing there, coffees in hand and a concerned look on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

I shake my head. “Last night is a bit of a blur. I remember dancing with you and then going to get drinks before talking to someone for a bit. What else happened?”

Sam’s expression softens. “Yeah, we were having a really good time… well, until you disappeared.”

I feel a knot form in my stomach. “What do you mean disappeared?”

Sam hesitates before answering. “You were dancing with some guy, and then he led you outside. I followed you, but by the time I got out there, you were gone. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. I was worried sick until you texted me that you got home okay.”

I feel a pang of guilt as I realize I abandoned her in the middle of a packed club downtown. She must have been so worried about me, not knowing where I was. I make a silent pact with myself to never drink this much again as I try to find any memory of texting her.

I usher Sam inside my apartment, and we walk towards the couch. Sam places the drinks on the rustic coffee table in front of us, and mine barely touches the wood before I scoop it up, quickly taking a sip to help me wake up. We sit facing each other, our legs crossed and coffees in hand, as we fill each other in on everything that happened last night.

“I honestly can’t believe I drank so much,” I say, my cheeks red with embarrassment. “I don’t even know how I got home or the name of the guy I was talking to at the bar, but I’m pretty sure he brought me back here…” I trail off, catching the look on Sam’s face.

“He brought you home? The guy who you were dancing with?” She looks shocked and concerned.

“I think so, he left me a note…” I trail off again.

“I find it hard to believe that the bad boy god-like model who looks like he’s been to jail and is covered in tattoos tucked you under his wing and brought you home safely just to tuck you into bed… did anything happen?” she asks, her tone suddenly serious.

“I hope you’re right about his looks.” A mischievous smile pulls the corner of my lips upwards. “I’m kind of upset about the fact I can’t remember much about him, especially if you’re describing him as a ‘god-like model’.” I laugh lightly.

“After everything I said, this is what you’re concerned about?” She lets out an exasperated sigh before continuing, “If I were you, I’d try to be more careful with who you bring home, especially someone who looks like he breaks hearts for a living.”

“I don’t know what else to say, Sam,” I say, suddenly feeling defensive.

I take another sip of coffee, the warm liquid comforting despite my hangover.

“I know I was drunk, and I know I don’t remember much about last night,” I start slowly, “but I do remember what I felt holding his hand, Sam. It was… different. As if there were actual sparks jumping between us. I’ve never felt this with anyone before. But I don’t even know his name.” I put my coffee down before dramatically throwing my hands over my face. “God, I wish I didn’t drink so much last night! I want to remember everything about him and see what else that supposedly god-like body can do besides put me to bed.”

Sam laughs at my lust-filled proclamation, placing her coffee on the table before reclining back on the couch.

“As unfortunate as your alcohol-fuelled memory loss is,” she says sarcastically, “at least you can focus all your energy on your next steps instead of on some guy now. What’s your plan, Evi?”

“Plan?” I laugh. “For once in my life, the plan is that there is no plan.”

“Cheers to that!” Sam says.

Morning turns into afternoon as we stay on my couch, watching rom-coms and fueling ourselves with coffee and pizza, waiting for our hangovers to disappear. I pick up another slice of Hawaiian pizza and glance at Sam, who is totally engrossed in the movie flickering on the TV screen. I can’t help but envy her and how much she seems to have her shit together. Not only is she in one of the most prestigious programs at our school, but she has also already lined up jobs for when she graduates. And then there’s me, with no plan and no idea of what I want to do with my life. I take a bite of the pizza in my hand, savoring the flavor as I chew slowly, and I’m caught off guard by the realization that no one has ever asked me what I want to do with my life, and I’ve never even asked myself. Ever since I was a kid, I had always known it was expected that I’d follow in my parent’s footsteps. I swallow, the pizza a lump in my throat, as I try to think about what I want, about what makes me happy.

A few minutes later, it dawns on me: painting. All I want is to paint, and to somehow make a living off my artwork. Excitement builds in my chest at the idea of becoming an artist well-known enough that people pay for my work.

Sam squeals in excitement at the TV, and my attention darts back to the movie playing just as the two main characters lean in for a romantic first kiss before they hold hands, walking down the beach as the end credits begin to roll.

Something in me stirs, and I can’t help but think about last night, about his hand holding mine and the shivers it sent down my spine. Perhaps even thinking about him is playing with fire, but for some reason, I can’t resist.

Sam leaves as the sun starts to set and darkness begins to envelop the city outside, casting shadows throughout my apartment. I close the door behind her, the deadbolt clicking into place loudly, before I trudge upstairs to shower. Even though I’m tired, it doesn’t take long before I’m stepping out from under the water and wrapping a towel around me tightly. I run my hands through my hair before tying it up in an elastic, water still dripping from it onto the nape of my neck, sending a shiver through me. The hot water washed away the remainder of my hangover, and I feel refreshed as I walk into my bedroom in search of fresh clothes. I pull a baggy sweater and leggings out of my drawer just as my phone starts to buzz, the screen flashing brightly as I’m notified of a new email.

My stomach sinks immediately, wondering if it’s my dad responding to the news that I’ve dropped out of school. I pick up my phone, slowly typing my password in so it unlocks.

My breath catches and my heart begins to race as I see an email from my parents’ assistant sitting in my inbox. I take a deep breath as I begin to read.

Hello Evi,

I hope this email finds you well. Please note that your father and stepmother have received your email and have asked me to transcribe their response to you. Their message to you is as follows:

Evangeline,

We are shocked to hear that you have chosen to drop out of your university program, and we hope that you are fully aware of the gravity of your choices and the repercussions that will result from your actions. While we are not surprised by your ability to disappoint us, we were hopeful that you would know to contact us prior to making any decisions that will impact the family. We have given you everything in life, including the tools to become a very successful lawyer, carrying on a family tradition and maintaining the status we have worked so hard to achieve. As you have decided that our path for you is subpar, please note that you are henceforth cut off from all family funds and benefits, including the use of your trust fund, club memberships, and your old bedroom at the house. Should you decide to regain any semblance of common sense and re-enroll into school, we can set up an appointment to discuss reinstating you into the family again. Until then, do not contact us, as we do not support the decision you have made.

Regards, Father and Mother.

My hands start to shake as I hold my phone closer, reading and rereading the message in front of me.

I knew they’d be disappointed in me, angry even, but I did not expect this.

My phone dings again, and I see a text from my oldest brother, Garrett, on the screen.

My chest starts to cave, and hopelessness threatens to crumble everything inside of me as I read his message, where he details how he’s been instructed not to speak to me anymore. Unable to risk being cut off, he explains he won’t be reaching out for a while, our weekend coffees together a thing of the past, at least until he can convince our parents to change their minds.

I throw my towel and phone on the floor, not bothering with the clothes I selected, as I crawl beneath my duvet and hide from the world around me. Alone. I am completely cut off from my family and all alone. The thought swirls through my head constantly until I fall into a fitful sleep.