Ivy's POV

Chapter 1

Ivy's POV

“Miss Carter! open the damn door, i don’t have all day!”

I groaned and dragged myself out of bed, still in the oversized t-shirt that had belonged to my aunt. the fabric smelled faintly of her laundry soap, though it had been washed a hundred times since she passed. My feet hit the linoleum, cold and cracked, and I winced at the shock.

“I'm coming,” I muttered, though Jenkins never listened.

His fist hammered again. “rent’s overdue! you’ve got two days, ivy. two! or you’re out!”

I undid the chain and opened the door a crack. the hallway smelled of cigarettes and mildew, and there he was: Jenkins, in his yellowed undershirt, his belly straining against it, gray hair wild like a bird’s nest. His eyes narrowed as soon as he saw me, sharp and judgmental.

“I just need a little more time,” I said, voice small. “I will have the money.”

He snorted. “That's what you said last month. and the one before. You think I'm running a charity? pay up or pack up.”

he jabbed his finger toward my face, so close I flinched. Then he stomped down the hall, his boots echoing like drumbeats.

I shut the door and pressed my forehead against it, breathing out slowly. same threat, different day.

The apartment looked even smaller when I turned back to it. a shoebox with peeling wallpaper, a heater that wheezed more than it worked, and a bathroom crawling with roaches. I hated it, but it was the last thing I had left.

The sink groaned when I turned the faucet. Brown water spat out before clearing. I splashed my face and studied my reflection in the cracked mirror. Dark circles hung under my eyes. my lips were dry and split. my hair stuck out in tangled knots. I was only twenty-three, but I looked like I had lived twice that long.

Most girls my age had parents. or at least someone who cared.

I didn't.

my aunt had been the only one, she took me in when my mom ran off and my dad disappeared into a bottle. She gave me everything she could. She called me her “little fighter,” and said I could get through anything. but cancer didn’t care about that. two months ago, I held her hand while she slipped away, and since then, the world had been too quiet.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. The lines spread like a spider web, and sometimes I pretended they were roads on a map, leading anywhere but here. My stomach growled, a low, angry sound. I ignored it.

coffee first. food later. if there was food.

I filled the kettle and set it on the hot plate. It whistled when it boiled, too loud for the tiny room. I poured water over instant powder and sipped too quickly, burning my tongue. The bitter taste was harsh, but it reminded me I was still alive.

The stack of bills on the table caught my eye. rent. water. electricity. all stamped with red letters overdue. i lined them up neatly, pretending that made them easier to face.

“you’re fine, ivy,” i whispered, clutching the chipped mug with both hands. “you’ve been through worse.”

It was my aunt’s phrase. It didn't sound as strong when I said it alone.

a sharp tap at the window startled me. My heart raced until I saw it was only a pigeon, pecking at the glass. “You scared me,” I muttered, shooing it away.

the silence returned. My eyes drifted to the only photo on the wall. It was me and my aunt at the county fair when I was twelve. She had cotton candy in one hand and her arm wrapped around me, her smile bright and wide. She looked so alive it almost hurt to look at her now.

“Don't cry,” I whispered. “not today.”

but my eyes burned anyway, and the tears slipped out before I could stop them.

I wiped my face fast. Crying never fixed anything. What I needed was food.

I opened the cupboard. empty. just a half-bag of rice and a dented can of beans. not enough. not for long.

I pulled on my hoodie and shoved my feet into sneakers with holes in the toes. The cold hit me as soon as I stepped outside, cutting through the thin fabric.

Sterling heights in the morning were gray, unfriendly. Trash cans overflowed on the sidewalks. a dog barked in the distance. Sirens wailed somewhere far off. People hurried past with their heads down, like they didn’t want the city to notice them.

the bell above the corner store door jingled when I pushed it open. The clerk barely looked at me. I walked down the narrow aisle and grabbed a loaf of bread and the cheapest noodles I could find. My stomach clenched at the sight of food, growling louder.

At the counter, I dumped the items down and dug through my pockets. coins. That was all I had. I counted them twice, praying they would be enough.

the total blinked on the register. too much.

“I don't… I don't have enough,"I whispered.

the clerk sighed, impatient. “then put something back.”

my cheeks burned. People lined up behind me, shifting and staring. I set the bread aside, hands shaking. I paid for the noodles with my handful of change.

“next,” the clerk said sharply, already waving me off.

I grabbed the noodles and hurried out, face burning hotter than the wind was cold. humiliated. over bread.

Back in my apartment, I dropped the package on the counter. One meal. That was all.

I sat down on the bed again, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, wishing I could slip into them and disappear. My aunt would have told me to hold on, to keep fighting. But some days, fighting just felt like drowning.

The room was too quiet. that kind of quiet that makes your thoughts too loud.

That's when I heard the sharp snap of metal in the hallway.

I froze.

it wasn’t jenkins. He always made noise, always wanted me to know he was coming. This was different. quiet. careful.

I pressed my ear to the door. footsteps. slow. heavy. right outside.

my chest tightened. Nobody came here. nobody knocked except jenkins.

Then the doorknob rattled.

I stumbled back, grabbing the empty bottle from the counter. My heart raced so fast I felt dizzy.

the knob twisted again. metal scraped. someone was working the lock.

“Who is there?” my voice cracked.

no answer. just more scraping.

the lock clicked, my breath caught in my throat.

I backed toward the window, bottle clenched in my hand, every muscle tight. The door creaked open, and a shadow stepped inside.