WORTHWHILE

Chapter 9

In the city, fourteen-year-old Ivy was dealing with five-year-old Genesis.

“Don’t talk to me like that! I’m older than you!” Ivy snapped.

“I’ll tell Mom you hit me! She’s going to punish you when she comes back if you don’t do what I want!” the little girl threatened.

Ivy stared at her incredulously. Where did such a tiny human learn this?

“You can tell her whatever you want. I’m not doing what you say. Instead, you’ll do what I say, and if you cuss at me again, I’ll actually hit you. Now go to the living room. You can use your tablet or watch TV if you want.”

“I won’t!” Genesis refused.

Ivy sighed, dragging her to the living room as the girl screamed. She didn’t mind; by now, she was used to it.

A few hours later, Ivy found herself kneeling as punishment. She was fuming. Aunt Stella had believed her daughter over her. The little trickster had fulfilled her threat, and Ivy couldn’t stop herself from thinking it: she hated this family. Childish feeling or not, she did.

At school, things weren’t much better.

She sat in class, trying to follow the teacher’s lesson, but her classmates were gossiping loudly, ignoring the board entirely. Pecks of a government school, she thought bitterly. The chatter grew louder, and she couldn’t concentrate.

“If you guys could tone it down, or at least respect the teacher and keep quiet!” Ivy finally said, mustering all her courage.

“Look at this one,” sneered a student.

“It’s none of your business. Or are you looking for a fight?” Ivy snapped, her patience gone.

She had never fought before, mostly because she didn’t socialise enough, and anxiety kept her cautious- and today she wasn’t going to start. So she kept her anger in check and refocused on the board, ignoring the provocations.

Back in her hometown, a few years after she had come back from the city, Ivy’s mind continued wandering.

Come to think of it, I don’t even remember one person I might miss from the city. All those years… it was a terrible life. Always living in caution.

Even now, with more freedom, she realised the habits of caution had become part of her. She didn’t know if she wanted to let go of them; it had shaped her survival.

She remembered days when she had walked for hours because she was frustrated and had nothing to do, while her aunt’s family went out to enjoy themselves. She sneered. During times like these, she would leave the house, wandering aimlessly, trying to escape the suffocating chores and constant oversight.

Back to the present...

Her hand drifted to a scar along her chest and stomach. The dark brown mark was faint now, but she remembered enough. Aunt Stella had poured hot water on her once-whether by mistake or punishment, Ivy couldn’t fully recall. When asked at school, she was told to say she had burned herself. The worst is that she couldn't even come to hate Aunt Stella, maybe because she couldn't remember things from then vividly or because her mind actively chose to block it all.

Of all the memories of her city life, that one still made her flinch. She pushed the thought aside when her father’s voice called out sharply.

“What is it this time?” she muttered under her breath as she stood to answer. She hated it when they screamed her name like that. Must the whole neighbourhood always know she was being called? Annoyed, she went to answer the call.