Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.
Almost one year had passed since Ivy had thought about the sun.
And so she sat, with quite the clouded judgment, trying to decide whether or not to go through with what she was about to go through with.
As she sat at her vanity, she stared at someone she didn't recognize. Someone stared back, and Ivy suffered to understand who the person was. Ivy knew her; she just couldn't remember her.
The girl was young and quite beautiful. Her black hair fell in curtains and framed her face; her eyes were the color of moss; her lips were full and red and her cheeks held the faint blush of an eternal winter's day.
And it dawned on Ivy that she was looking at herself. At this realization, Ivy suddenly grabbed the closet thing to her, a silver hairbrush, and threw it as hard as she could.
The deafening crash resonated with Ivy for a few moments before she even knew what she had done, but stayed with her for a long time after. Now she stared at the thousands of shards of reflective glass, and a thousand Ivys stared back at her.
She slammed her fist down on the table in anger, ignoring the sharp pain in her hand as a few shards of glass broke through her skin. The reflection had been so innocent, but Ivy was not. No, Ivy had her innocence taken from her, and she scowled at the thought of how cruel and unforgiving her reflection had looked.
Suddenly there was a pounding of footsteps, and Ivy's door flung wide open.
"Ivy!"
Ivy turned around and found her mother standing in the doorway, her hand still grasping the doorknob tightly. At first Ivy was confused, and then she noticed her mother's lipstick running in a crooked line across her cheek. Oh.
"Mom," she said. "It's okay. I fell. The mirror broke… That's all. It was an accident."
Such an obvious lie. Ivy sat in her chair, perfectly unharmed, the hairbrush a glaring reminder of what had actually just happened. But Ivy's mother seemed to accept the lie; probably because she didn't want to accept the truth. She let out a sigh and seemed to relax. Ivy noticed that she didn't loosen her grip on the doorknob.
"Oh," her mother said breathlessly. "Oh, I'm sorry Ivy. I guess I'm just nervous, that's all…"
She looked at Ivy. Ivy thought she looked frightened.
"Nervous?" Ivy tried to continue casually. "About what?"
"Well," her mother started. "I… Well I know you're starting at your new school today, and I thought maybe you might have gotten a little excited… Maybe your powers…?"
There was a moment of silence, and then Ivy stood up.
"What?" she seethed. Her mother took a step back. "You think I can't control myself? Like I'm some kind ticking time bomb that's going to suddenly explode?"
Ivy's mother started to shake her head furiously. "No, Ivy, no! That's not what I—it's just—well it wouldn't be the first time that you—that your emotions got the better of you. I mean, for God's sake try to remember how this all happened in the first place! Wasn't that your temper?"
Ivy gaped at her, appalled. "My temper? You think it was my temper that did this to me? I'm so sorry that I was being fucked against my will by a disgusting pig!" Ivy took a step toward her mother. Again, her mother took a step back. "My temper had nothing to do with this… this—atrocity! It was that fucking one-night-stand that got you pregnant with me in the first place! Whoever fucked you that night did this to me! How else would it have fucking happened? You're way too fucking weak to have ever given me this—ability."
She looked at her mother in disgust for a moment then smiled. "I should probably thank him, you know. My father. If it wasn't for him, I would have been fucked silly, and then there'd be more than one weak whore in this house."
Ivy's mother opened her mouth, then closed it again. Slowly, and without a sound, she turned and walked away, shutting the door quietly behind her. Ivy was alone. She ran up to the door and shrieked, pounding on it with all her might.
"And another thing!" she screamed. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE EXCITED ABOUT GOING TO A SCHOOL FOR FREAKS!"
And then she fell to her knees.
Ivy tried desperately to control her breathing, but after a few moments, found she could fight it no more; she didn't want to. Ivy began to sob; great sobs that racked her body. She hadn't cried in so long, because there had never been a need to cry; because she had never thought about the sun.
But she thought about it now. She thought about it's light; about it's grace; the way it rose in the morning and set in the evening; how it looked that day that everything changed; how it felt, warm on her face…
And Ivy let the warmth consume her as she felt herself be consumed by sadness; and she sat on the floor and cried as she thought about the sun.