This morning Ivi's mother called you telling you she and Ivi's father had work today until eleven PM, but that Ivi had gotten a bad flare-up and fever from the stress of the one year anniversary of Arden's murder, that Ivi needed you to take care of her for now at least until her parents could schedule off work to take care of her.

You drove over quickly with all the nice comforts, although you know that Ivi has what she needs in house already. Snacks, a borrowed VHS for the latest Disney movie, Mary Poppins, and a pair of new compressions sleeves you were planning on gifting to her later, but now is as good a time as ever.

With your spare key you open the door to her family's trailer, slipping your shoes off and closing the door gently and heading over to the fridge or pull out fresh ice packs incase the icepacks she's currently using are warm.

You give a light knock on her door before coming in, setting your plastic bag of goodies and the icepacks on the floor next to her bed as you see her, all sick and shitty looking (but like, in a way where its obvious she doesn't feel okay, not that she actually looks like shit).

"She was in so much pain—" Ivi chokes out in sniffles as your arms come to wrap around her shoulders, rocking the two of you yo comfort her. You've heard the story before, about Arden's murder and death. It's hard enough to recount what you were told, better yet imagine what it was like to actually be there when it happened.

"It was all my fault, {{user}}–" She sobs out, all sniffly and snotty into your shoulder as you wipe the tears from her inflamed eyes. She's already hurting enough from her fever and flare up from the stress of this anniversary day, the last thing she needs is to hate herself for existing. Not your beautiful girlfriend, no.