What Went Wrong After I Killed Him

Chapter Seven: Twelve Hours

Ava's POV

Waking up six a.m felt earlier right now, I've barely closed my eyes, I had to stay awake in case anyone tried anything funny with me in this building, that has no windows.

I walked down the quiet hallway, my own footsteps sounding too loud against the concrete, and Ivy was already there when I walked in, wrapping her knuckles with tape, not looking up.

"You're on time," she said. "Didn't expect that.” I had to come on time, most especially because I didn't want to offend my ‘tutor’.

"I told you I learn fast.” I said.

“Learning fast and showing up on time are two different things." She finished the tape and finally looked at me, eyes doing that same sweep from yesterday, quick and assessing, and I'm being honest if a say, I don't like it one bit.

"Sit. Before we do anything, I need to see what I'm working with."

I sat on the mat across from her, and that's when I saw the scars properly, I saw them yesterday but I didn't pay much attention. A thin one along her collarbone, pale against her skin, like it had healed a long time ago. Another curving over her forearm, newer, still faintly pink at the edges. She caught me, but didn't cover them. If anything, she seemed almost amused that I'd noticed.

"Go ahead and ask," she said. "Everyone wants to."

"I wasn't going to." That, was a lie because, I really wanted to know how a lady got all those scars.

"Sure you weren't." Rolling her eyes, like the truth was obvious. "Most people can't help themselves. They see this" she tapped the one on her collarbone, "and they want the story. Like it makes them feel better about their own mess if they know someone else's is worse."

I didn't say anything, because she was right, even I wanted to do that. Ivy just kept looking at me like she expected an apology for existing in her space.

"You think you're the only one who walked in here carrying something," she said. It wasn't a question. "You're not. Everyone in this house is trying to survive something. Some of us just got a head start on hiding it."

Something in her voice shifted when she said it, some crack under the flatness, gone before I could be sure I'd actually heard it, I'm not sure how this conversation started, but I'm sure I don't want to carry on, because I can't handle an emotional Ivy, when I know she doesn't even like me.

"I wasn't assuming that," I said carefully.

"Good." She stood, rolling her neck. "Keep it that way. This isn't group therapy, Ava. It's training. What's underneath stays underneath, yours and mine both."

She said it like a rule, like something she'd had to remind herself of more than once.

Maybe she was right, but they made their choice to stay here, but I was being forced, like a kid who wasn't old enough to make decisions for themselves. I wanted to say it to her, but I swallowed it back the same way I'd swallowed the question about her name the day before.

Whatever she was carrying, she'd built walls around it the way I'd built mine around Ethan, around Maya, around every version of myself I used to be. I recognized the architecture even if I didn't know what it was protecting.

"Up," Ivy said, done with the moment as quickly as she'd allowed it. "Let's see if you can throw a punch without hurting yourself first."

I got up. Whatever was buried in her, she wasn't going to hand it to me, not on day one, maybe not ever. And I understood that, more than she probably expected me to.

Some things you didn't dig up. You just learned to recognize the shape of the hole.

Well, learning if I can throw punching, ended up in Ivy punching the living hell out of me, and the results weren't good, I wasn't good at punch, but as a quick learner, I've learnt how to protect my face.

It's currently 2p.m, a little rest would do, but I can't rest, because Mr Voss, asked Ivy to teach me some basic skills, I'll be needing.

Ivy didn't ease into anything. The next hour was drills stance, breathing, how to fall without breaking something, and every time my concentration slipped, she caught it before I did.

"You just flinched," she said, watching me reset for the third time. "Why?"

"I didn't"

"You did. Small, in the shoulder. If I were watching you across a room instead of two feet away, I still would've caught it." She circled me slowly. "That's the first thing you unlearn, flinching and reacting. Every little thing your face wants to do the second you're scared or caught off guard, you bury it."

"That's not exactly something I can just turn off." I said trying to defend myself

"No. But you can practice it until it's not a switch anymore, it's just how you exist." She stopped in front of me. "Say someone corners you, someone who suspects something. Doesn't matter if it's Victor, a cop, a stranger on the street. The second your face gives something away, it's over. Not just for you, but for all of us."

I nodded, and she must have seen something in it that wasn't convincing enough, because she kept going.

"Even if they push and even if they ask the same question five different ways trying to trip you up. Even if it starts feeling like an interrogation—" she said the word carefully, like she'd been on that side of it before, "—you don't break. You don't confirm anything, you don't panic, you don't let them see the crack. It's not over until there's evidence in their hands, not before. Suspicion isn't proof. Fear isn't proof. Remember that."

"And if there is evidence?" I asked.

"Then we're having a very different conversation," she said flatly, and didn't elaborate.

We moved through the rest of it that way, short bursts of instruction, corrections sharp enough to sting, no wasted praise when I got something right, just a small nod that told me to move to the next thing.

Stance and breath control, how to keep your hands from shaking by focusing on something small and physical, the seam of your sleeve, the pressure of your own thumbnail against your palm, anything to anchor yourself when everything in you wanted to unravel. From all this practicing, I've realised, that my boss, is really not what I thought he was, if I to practice so much to fool him, then Mr Cole definitely has another side, which i haven't met.

I finished another practice, there was no windows, or any clocks around, but I knew it was pass afternoon, cause my body really needed rest.

"That's enough for today," Ivy finally said, checking a clock, she brought out from her bag, who on earth, puts a clock inside a bag, it was six in the evening. Twelve hours had disappeared, with me punching and practicing, if things continued this way, then I might be nominated for the best actress very soon.

I straightened, everything in me aching in ways I didn't know muscles could ache.

"Tomorrow," Ivy said, already turning to gather her things, "we're not staying in the building."

That got my attention faster than anything else had all day. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you've had enough theory. Tomorrow you see what it actually looks like." She glanced back at me, and for once there wasn't anything cold in it just something closer to assessment, like she was deciding whether I was ready to hear the rest.

"We're going out on amission, a small, low-risk, that should test you too hard." A pause. "Should."

"Should," I repeated.

"Nothing's ever guaranteed the moment you step outside these walls." She said it simply, like a fact she'd made peace with a long time ago. "Get some sleep, Ava. Tomorrow you stop practicing being calm, and you actually have to be it.”

She walked passed me, heading for the door but paused.

“And Roman would like to see you first thing tomorrow morning, he don't like waiting” she said, without looking back.

Roman, why would Roman want to see me, I don't like admitting it, but I feel quite intimidated around that Roman guy.

“Why does he wa–” I wanted to ask Ivy, but she left whil I was lost in thought.

Something deep inside me, told me, tomorrow was going to be a lot harder, than today.