-The Twisted Vines of Ivy- Chapter 1

I DO NOT own the rights to the character Ivy from DC comics, it is merely a coincidence and not intended to be a fanfiction about Pamela Isley. This is an original piece/concept by the author!

"Get me OUT OF HERE—"

Her shrill demand was cut short with a bloodcurdling wail, followed by the sound of someone sliding down the door, presumably in defeat. Or I hoped in defeat.

She had been screaming that over and over for the past few hours, slightly muffled by the door she was locked behind. Accompanying that were bangs and scratches, intense crying and wordless shrieking that made my blood run cold. She was really off her hinges now, slowly going mad. I was assigned to guard the door and make sure she didn't escape. Sanitation duties were starting to look good now compared to this.

We had been called to pick her up from her apartment and drag her —kicking and screaming— off to the Institution.

It was her boyfriend that called us in a few days ago; scared out of his mind by her senseless mumblings, wild eyed twitchy demeanor, and the fact she tried (and almost succeeded) to kill him with a kitchen knife when he tried to help her. Apparently, it had never happened before, and he didn't know how to defuse the situation. Some would say it was overkill to use us as first resort but from what I gathered while hauling her off, I'd say he made the right choice.

I noticed her shrill demands and wails have gone quiet, and there was no more banging and scratching. The relief that I felt was tremendous, grateful for the peace at last.

Ms. Pamela is the fiercest patient I have encountered in my time working here. I'm not saying all the people we take care of are mousy and compliant; but even the wildest ones did not react violent right away. It was more gradual, and even at their worst they couldn't hold a candle to her. When they unloaded her off the van in handcuffs, she managed to incapacitate 3 guards before they could tag her and shoot tranquilizers into her system.

When I saw her, I knew she was bad trouble. From her wild crimson curls to her calm, inviting nature. She would be the death of me.

Before being put in her cell, she informed me while winking, "You can call me Ivy."

And then she gave me the sweetest, demented smile before they closed and locked her door. I looked for her information they kept on the clipboard next to me and saw her name was Pamela Isley. Her parents must've had a great sense of humor. At the thought of her parents my mind once again went to trying to figure out what drove her to rock bottom. I didn't have much to go on, but from bits and pieces I gathered by observing her I would guess it had to do with the relationship. Well, no shit sherlock.

But what exactly? My curious nature has been obsessing over it while being stationed here. I couldn't very well open the door and ask her. That would no doubt get me fired. Something brought me to the present, snapping me out of my reverie. It sounded like knocking. At first it was faint and tentative but when I didn't say anything it became louder and more confident.

"Ivy?" I said, hoping she would speak. Anything. It would help paint her as trying to get better, and I was dying to hear her thoughts and opinions. Strange.

What followed was a few minutes of silence and some rustling sounds, sounds clothes make when you move. I waited patiently for her to start, crossing my arms in front of my chest and pressed my ear against the door to better hear. Maybe I imagined the knocking. Maybe the crazy was rubbing off on me. Who knows?

I shrugged to myself and moved away from the door, leaning against the wall instead. Oh, I wish we were allowed books, magazines, or devices. The time would go by much faster. I was literally counting the seconds to when I could go home. The absence of distractions can drive you crazy.

Drive you crazy…imagine, me the next inmate.

The thought made me snort.

I heard a quiet, croaky voice go, "What's so funny out there?"

The unexpected question made me jump. I didn't know I snorted that loud, but I was grateful she was talking.

I tried for a casual tone,

"Just thinking about the silence, how it can make you go absolutely mad…"

I paused as my words sunk in, realizing how it would sound to an actual Institute patient. After a few awkward beats I continued,

"I hope you didn't read into that, I meant when I'm alone with my thoughts they don't end well."

I hear faint laughter and strong relief floods through me. At least she doesn't hate me. I wish we could talk face to face, I want to see her facial reactions. I wonder how it looked on her face.

I hear a hard cough and then a warm, raspy voice,

"It's the same for me, buddy. I bet it's hard being a guard in the Asylum, huh? I'm sorry for making all that noise these past few days. I just hate being treated like an animal. You get it, right? I bet you do, 'cus you don't sound so sane yourself."

I feel myself start to get angry at her accusations. Being treated like an animal would be way worse off then this. Don't they get food? Don't we try and help them? Don't we take them in, in the broken condition they are? I want to grab her and visit the mentally ill people in society to hear their stories. After all, society is very judgmental and hypocritical towards their supposed "own kind".

I try and explain all this to her,

"Well, everyone has various stages of mentality, I'm at Barely Holding it Together. You're at the Rock Bottom stage or very well near it. I always use this scale on people, and I find it very effective. Society has a very low tolerance for people like you and me. They cast us out like rejects and expect us to keep away when we need them for food, and security, and such. Did you know everyone is insane in one way or another? They just mastered hiding it from public eye, lucky bastards. You and me, we slip sometimes. I was supposed to be a prison psychologist, I went to school for it...one slip up and I got demoted to security guard. Although I'm not complaining, you have it much worse."

I somehow forgot I was talking with someone, not in my head. Embarrassment runs through me quick and hot; I can feel my cheeks heat up and turn vivid red.

"I could rant for hours on this subject, sorry if I'm boring you. I'd gladly shut up, just tell me when."

I can almost picture the confusion on her face when she replies,

"I'm listening, don't worry; you're quite interesting. I was just wondering, are you a guy or a girl? I'm getting signs of both and it's confusing the hell out of me…" She trails off lets out an appealing laugh and I can tell she wasn't trying to be rude. It was an earnest question, and I like the fact that she can be bluntly honest. Some people can't and it really annoys me. I smile to myself and wish to see her again.

I always get asked the gender question, so I'm just used to it now. I speak in a male way and behave like one, but my body is physically female, and my voice sounds like one as well. I like to think of myself as both genders, but it's sort of hard to explain to people. I have a feeling she would understand though, thankfully.

"I sort of feel like both. I got the body and voice of a girl, but I got the soul and mind of a guy. I go by Cary because it sounds so gender neutral. You can call me whatever you want. It's nice to meet you, by the way."

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Cary. I understand how you feel, I feel like that myself to be honest. It's refreshing to meet someone who isn't confined to the suffocating idea that there are only two genders. I used to resent hearing that, I was raised in a religious family. They did everything but kick me out. Bullied, abused, neglected, and told dark, nasty things about myself. I got told it so often I started to believe it. The reason I snapped with my boyfriend is he didn't want to accept me for who I was. He wanted me to be female, but I didn't feel that way. It reminded me of my childhood, and I went crazy. I'm so glad they took me here though, or else I wouldn't have met you. I wish you were my mandatory therapist here; I'd talk to you about this more."

Her words got my wheels turning, maybe I can arrange to be her therapist. I would have to talk to my supervisor and then the Institution warden. That'll be super fun, I thought sarcastically. But in all honesty, I want to hear her story. I wanted to spend more time with her. Ivy was worth the trouble to arrange this, somehow. I barely know this person and it feels like I knew her all my life.

"Ivy, if you'd like then I could arrange that. I'd love to be your therapist. I'm here all night if you'd like to talk more…"

I heard more quiet rustling and the rusty creak of poor bedsprings; no doubt uncomfortable.

"I'm actually pretty tired, I'm gonna go to sleep now. Nighty night, Cary."

I sat on the floor with my back against the door.

"Night, Pamela. Sleep well."

I looked at the clock, announcing it was a little past nine in the evening.

The rest of the night was peaceful. There were miraculously no noises from the other inmates. I knew my shift ended at midnight for sleep and then I was back here at nine o' clock. The time went by fast, somehow.

When midnight rolled around and the other guard came over to cover me, I almost felt like waving them off. I was fully ready to sleep on the ground and not complain. Again, if I did that I would undoubtedly get fired.

Guards aren't supposed to get attached emotionally (and obviously physically) to inmates. It was an unheard-of thing. Usually, if they did get attached it was for sexual purposes. I didn't want rumors started about this. No sire, I wouldn't let that happen to either of us.

I simply nodded at the guard and threw in for extra measure,

"I'd be careful; she's a wild one. Screams like a banshee."

He scowled and grumbled in a —what I thought as sarcastic— tone,

"I didn't know I needed earmuffs, damn it!"

I really hope she wasn't listening; it was just for protection. I'd explain to Ivy tomorrow if she was awake still. After clocking out and walking out to my car, the tiredness suddenly hit me like a train. Collapsing in the front seat, I wearily put my seatbelt on and drove home, aware I was supremely unfit to drive but didn't care anyways.

The run-down little apartment seemed like Heaven now. The only problem was I had to stumble up ten flights of stairs. My feet were killing me, and I was weaving up those steps like I just drank the whole city dry. I felt massively drunk and drained. After feeling my way around the apartment in the dark and narrowly avoiding tripping over the edge of my bed, I stripped down and climbed under the cool sheets.

Finally.

In an afterthought, I grabbed my quilt and pulled it over me, the warmth of it making me slip into the soft oblivion of sleep.

I forgot to set my alarm, so I woke up at a quarter to eight o' clock on my own. Damn it, I was supposed to talk to my superiors before work! I thought, frazzled. Rushing through the morning routine, I was finished and out the door at quarter to nine. At least I didn't live far away from the Institution, only a couple minutes away.

When I park the car (somehow, the parking situation here is nuts) and walk through the sallow, deserted looking halls to get to my watch post, I can't help but feel melancholy for the people bound here. It was difficult to walk through here every day, seeing all these mentally ill people and the poor conditions we have them in. I mean hell, they don't even get a decent bed or healthy food. They really do live likeanimals, Ivy was right. I was an idiot to think otherwise.

When I get to her cell, it is apparent that she's pissed off. I hear her shrill tone before I can get closer to make out what exactly she was saying. When it hits my ears finally, I was internally kicking myself.

"THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE, I HATE HIM…FUCK OFF, WILL YOU? I'M LOOKING FOR CARY."

A nervous looking rookie guard was standing there trying to calm her down. The idiot had the flipping door open as well, what the hell was he thinking? I walk over, lightly push him back and block the doorway with my body. I'm pretty sure she could just step over me though, seeing as she had about a head on my five foot nothing self. Nonetheless, she backed away and crossed her arms, her face wary and aggravated.

I still don't know what I was thinking, but I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me.

It was really a "spur of the moment" kind of action, in my defense. I didn't think obviously.

I looked around the room and immediately felt pity. It was cramped and barely lit by the bare bulb, smelling of mold and sweat. There was a plain unmade bed bolted to the ground, metal desk bolted to the ground, a metal chair that spun (an unexpected bonus), a singular barred window, and a nondescript toilet with a thin toilet paper roll, exposed. There wasn't any wallpaper or posters or anything. Bare, white walls. Tiled floors. These people deserved better.

It startled me how uncared for they were by the nurses and guards.

My head throbbed painfully as I sat in the chair and motioned for her to sit on the bed. I pinched the bridge of my nose with my forefingers and closed my eyes,

"What were you talking about, what did they do to you?"

After a pause,

"They took me to this wacked out psychiatrist. He was so mean. When I was talking about my past, he seemed so doubtful…it hurt. He tried to turn my history around and pin it on me."

I heard some sniffling, like she was crying,

"Made me feel bad for being 'mentally unstable' to quote him. I don't want to ever visit or talk to him again, Cary."

I opened my eyes and looked up at her heartbroken expression and felt some sort of unexplained anger and the need to protect her.

"Don't worry, you won't talk to him again. I'll talk to my superiors about it and get them to make me your psychiatrist. I'm sorry you had to go through that, it sucks, I know."

She smiled at me tentatively and uncrossed her arms, resting her hands on her knees.

I misjudged the distance; the bed and chair are hyper close to each other; it looks like all she has to do is extend her arm a little and she would be touching me.

I didn't notice before, but her eyes were a muted green with small gold flecks; like the fall grass after the first rainfall. That, and her light smattering of freckles across her face made for a dangerous combination, already noticing myself becoming attracted to her. This was a dangerous situation. I don't know if she feels the same way, probably not. My hand finds my hair, twirling the strand around my finger and unfurling it again, a bad habit when I get nervous.

She noticed and grabbed another strand, rubbing it between her fingers softly while she talked,

"I always wanted to have black hair; it looks so good on others. You don't see many redheads these days. Natural, anyways. Too many people dye their hair red. It looks horrible unnatural."

I knew what she meant so I said,

"No, it's completely natural. You're not the first one to think it was fake. I know hair isn't supposed to be this glossy…"

I start because Ivy was looking at me intensely, some foreign emotion playing across her face as she stared at me. My heart thumped unevenly, and it felt like I was about to faint. Her lips parted slightly, and I yearned to kiss her. She leaned in close and whispered,

"Cary, I want to do an experiment with you..."

I swallowed and noticed my breathing was shaky.

"What kind of experiment?"

She smirked and took my chin in her fingers, tilting my head up slightly. Her eyelids closed slightly, and she stroked my lower lip with her thumb. Oh, the feeling that gave me. I felt the tingling from the crown of my head to my toes, my stomach quivering in anticipation.

I felt myself move closer, angling my face up to meet hers and she moved her thumb, meeting my lips halfway. The sensation was incredible; her lips were soft, warm, delicious, and addicting. Something bloomed inside me in that moment, and I felt a powerful sense of need and belonging to her. I felt a love I never felt before for anyone, ever and it scared the hell out of me. Nevertheless, I continued kissing her, pausing to touch my forehead to hers to catch my breath. Ivy had her eyes closed, a small smile playing at her lips. She seemed triumphant when she joked,

"Well, now we know; you're a hell of a kisser and my theory was correct."

I grinned and brushed her hair away from her face, already sure what the theory was but curious how she'd explain it. Nonchalantly, I asked,

"What theory?"

She moved to grab my hand, bringing it down and squeezing it lightly in her lap.

"Oh, I had a feeling that you liked women. I was testing the theory out… and maybe because I wanted to kiss you."

Her words made me feel happy. I felt my heart expand and I guess it showed on my face because she continued,

"I can see what I do to you, and you do a lot to me… I felt it from the moment we first met. I was tempted to escape my cell and run off with you. I don't have much experience with relationships and getting into another one scares me."

(Editors note: Sorry if my chapters are too long! Don't forget to leave a review, good or bad it really helps us writers out.)