BACK AT THE BISTRO
Irene’s chest heaved slightly, suppressing her anger. “You are such a daredevil. You know how your claim riles me up, and you keep repeating it over and over again….” she said through gritted teeth, her face scrunched up in annoyance.
They were staring at each other, just a few inches apart. The air was filled with heavy tension and unspoken emotions. Ivy still had her hand on her cheek; her fingers began sliding down her face as her gaze remained fierce.
She walked closer to her, each step reverberating with defiance. “I will keep saying it until you finally see the truth… our father was never a murderer…” she said, her tone firm and provocative.
Irene raised her hand again to slap her, but Ivy quickly predicted her action. Swiftly, she gripped Irene’s hand, her eyes shooting daggers at her.
“Let go of my hand,” Irene warned, her eyes twitching from sheer anger.
A smirk curved up Ivy’s lips, a smug reflection visible in her eyes. “You know what your problem is, Irene? You never knew how to control your emotions, and it is getting the better of you; that will destroy you slowly…”
Irene’s contorted face relaxed, her eyes glinting with self-awareness. She retracted her hand forcefully from Ivy’s tight grip, averting her eyes as if hiding her shame.
An oppressive silence fell, filling the whole room with underlying emotions yet to be unleashed. But Ivy didn’t let the impasse last for more than a few seconds.
“Haven’t you wondered why I never fought back, despite you flailing around looking for attention?” Ivy said, her smirk widening. “It was because you were too predictable, Irene. Well, that was since I found out you used Dave against me. That’s also when I started seeing you from a different angle.”
Irene remained silent, inwardly seething, but she couldn’t deny that sometimes it felt as if Ivy had the upper hand while she was the only one pulling the strings.
“What? Why are you silent now, huh?” Ivy scoffed, shortening the distance between them in one stride. “Are you now lost for words?”
Irene’s lips twitched, her eyes responding with a hostile glare. Ivy smiled at her reaction, truly enjoying seeing her defenseless against her bluff.
Irene snapped out of her annoyance, tightening her grip on her purse. With one last-ditch effort, she tried to balance the power dynamic. “I will always have the upper hand, Ivy, and you will keep falling off my trail…”
With a deep snort, Ivy waved her hand casually, refuting her feeble claim. “You never had the upper hand, so I can’t see why you will have it now…”
Irene frowned at her annoying undertone; still, her words echoed in her ears: “You know what your problem is, Irene? You never knew how to control your emotions, and it is getting the better of you; that will destroy you… slowly…”
Irene masked the worry on her face, refusing to feel intimidated by her younger sister. “I doubt that…” she snapped, slamming her hand on the table.
Ivy chuckled instantly, her amusement hinting at her words from before.
Irene slid her hand off the table, her gaze softening with a feigned superiority as she realized again that Ivy’s words were indeed the truth.
Irene’s mouth quivered to speak, but Ivy interrupted with a dismissive wave. “You can leave now; I’m done with you…” she said, sitting gracefully in her chair, an air of pride swirling around her.
Irene wanted to interject but found no words to reply with; she was defeatedly speechless, not knowing how to strip Ivy of her self-esteem.
With one final shooting glare, she turned around, departing the bistro through the glass door that reflected the warm glow casting upon Ivy from above.
Ivy watched her leave in silence, keeping the boldness plastered on her face. Just as soon as she disappeared from sight, Ivy’s face dropped, her loft fading.
Every painful word spoken by her sister came rushing back from her memory, her mind racing with overwhelming feelings of hurt. Despite all those distressing reminders of more troubles to come from Irene, Ivy never fretted, despite feeling the emotional impact of pain.
Her fingers intertwined on the table as she took deep breaths, subduing her daunting emotions. Pain, resentment, diluted anger, and sheer bewilderment all clouded her mind at once. Pain of betrayal from a loved one, resentment for all the troubles and downtrodden circumstances of the unfortunate events that had taken place in her life, anger stemming from her sister’s undeniable acceptance of the fact of hurting her with no remorse, and bewilderment about not recognizing her as the culprit…
Irene may have admitted to the drugging, but it seemed she was oblivious to the recent one, which left Ivy puzzled.
Her fingers began digging into her palms as she felt the urge to go all out to express her emotions; it kept rising to the surface despite her suppressing it. It was just too overwhelming to control.
A tear threatened to escape her eyes, but as usual, she blinked it back, refusing to shed a tear-all for a promise she made to herself nine years ago. The past ages were a time she wept uncontrollably to the extent that she hit depression, leading to trauma. Those were the times she wouldn’t forget, and that propelled her to be strong, hard as steel, resilient to her adversaries’ strikes, and callous to her enemies’ misfortunes, be they there or not.
However, she was finding it difficult to be hard as steel with all the unfortunate incidents that had happened lately, coupled with the event from a few minutes ago.
Her mind was on the brink of breaking, dissipating from the intense situation.
Then she remembered her breathing exercises. With deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling, she slightly conquered her emotions.
As she attempted to rise to her feet, a voice sounded from her earpiece.
“Aren’t you coming out yet?” She instantly recognized the voice to be Zack’s.
“I’m coming…” she replied, straightening up her clothes and fastening the buttons that had a tiny camera in them. Before leaving, she glanced at the bistro one more time, reminiscing the words of her mother-the sentence that made her choose this meeting point in the first place.
“When we get rich, or maybe get our hands on a free wad of cash, we will all visit that upscale French bistro… and I’ll stuff your mouths with plenty of food until you all turn into balloons…” Giggles followed after, the sound of mirth swooping into her mind as she basked in the last memory of her deceased mother.