The Certainty of Violet & Luke Read online

  I’ve been keeping an eye on her for most of the party. It’s kind of become a routine for the last couple of weeks. She gets drunk and I’m there to take care of her. But I messed up tonight when I got sidetracked by a conversation with Drey Filtphermen about this year’s season and how we’re going to ‘kick ass.’

  I nod as, half listening, I scan the crowd for Violet. ‘Yeah, we should do good.’ The last thing on my mind right now is football.

  Drey nods and then throws back a shot. ‘What? You not drinking tonight?’

  I shake my head. ‘Nah, I’m DD.’ Huh. Never thought that sentence would ever come out of my mouth.

  He looks at me like I just said gravity doesn’t exist or something. ‘Really?’

  I shrug. I don’t blame him for wondering what’s up. I’m infamous for my ability to get trashed and scare. But I don’t do that anymore, and I wish people would stop defining me as the intense, angry, manwhore drinker. ‘I gotta find someone,’ I say, barely paying attention when Drey yells out something else. I maneuver my way through the crowd of people smelling a lot like tequila shots, sweat and need, and finally find Seth chatting it up with Greyson in the corner of the room.

  ‘Hey, have you seen Violet?’ I interrupt their conversation, but I know them well enough that it doesn’t matter. Seth and Greyson are Violet and my roommates and both are people I consider friends. They know what’s going on in Violet’s life enough to understand that not being able to find her is probably not the best thing.

  Seth points toward the hallway. ‘The last time I saw her she was going to the bathroom.’

  I head in that direction while Greyson calls out, ‘Everything okay?’

  I glance over my shoulder and nod, but it feels like I’m the biggest fucking liar in the world. ‘Yeah, just need to find her. That’s all.’

  ‘Well, if you need any help, just let me know,’ he says, taking a swig from his bottle of water.

  I nod then hurry down the hallway to the bathroom area. There’s a line forming outside it and I get a lot of curses thrown at me as I walk right up to the bathroom door and knock on it. ‘Violet, are you in there?’

  There’s a pause and then I hear a muffled, ‘Yeah.’

  Relief washes over me. I didn’t even realize how nervous I’d been for losing track of her until now. I try the doorknob, but it’s locked, so I knock again and call out, but this time she doesn’t respond. Thankfully the lock’s fairly simple and I’m able to unlock it with a quarter. I get yelled at by some guy as I step inside the bathroom, but when I give the culprit my go fuck yourself look, he cowers back and I slam the door shut behind me. The bathroom is small, so I shouldn’t have trouble finding her, but at first glance I can’t see her in there anywhere.

  ‘Violet?’ I step past the sink area toward the bathtub. ‘Are you in here?’

  ‘In here.’ Her voice is small and sounds like it’s coming from the shower/tub area.

  I pull back the curtain and there she is in the bathtub, her knees pulled to her chest, hugging herself so tight it looks like she’s trying to curl into herself. I crouch down beside her, cup her chin in my hand, angling her face back so I can see how drunk she is. Her enlarged pupils and inability to focus on anything lets me know it’s time to get her out of her.

  ‘I’m ready to go.’ Her speech is slurred and tears start slipping out of her eyes. This has happened many times so I know exactly what to do. I scoop her up and carry her out of the house, taking her home like she asked.

  It’s two o’clock in the morning when I pull up to our apartment complex, in a decent area of town and walking distance to the University when it’s warm enough. Violet passed out in the truck on the way home after puking in the bushes so I have to carry her upstairs, something I don’t mind doing. She’s never been a big drinker and it shows every time she attempts to drink. I hate that it does. I want my Violet back.

  My Violet? What the hell? Like she belongs to me. She doesn’t. Although, looking down at her, her green eyes shut, full lips slightly parted, black and red wavy hair hanging over my arm, her body curled up against me, trusting me to carry her inside, she feels like she’s mine.

  ‘If she fucking heard what you were thinking, she’d fucking castrate you,’ I mutter to myself. Violet has never been the kind of girl who likes to be owned by anyone. She’s always strong willed and independent and that is part of the reason why I fell in love with her. I’ve done the whole needy women thing and it bugs the shit out of me, hooking up with women who not only want direction but also want to cling to me. I didn’t hate it at the time. I loved having the control – needed it after spending most of my childhood being controlled by my overbearing, psychotic mother. But once I met Violet Hayes and saw a different side, felt the challenge, the connection, the desire to actually want someone on a more passionate level, I knew there was no going back. And I don’t ever want to go back to my life before Violet. I just wish we were on more stable ground; wished she could get over the thing with my mother, that my mother was in prison so Violet had a reason to try and heal herself; wished I could help her bring that wild, independent, strength back out. I don’t blame her for being angry, or for struggling, for being confused. She has every right and all I can do is help her until she’s ready to move on.

  As I’m reaching the top of the stairway, I give a wave to the black car with tinted windows that I know is the police car. It’s here every night, parked near the curb, watching the place, thanks to Preston and his need to continuously taunt Violet with his texts and threats to kill her. This put the police on high alert since Preston is now a suspect for Violet’s parents’ murders.

  As I arrive at our apartment door, I’m struggling to take out my keys without putting Violet down, when I notice a box in front of the door. At first I think it’s part of the mail, but then I lean down and notice that it’s addressed to Violet Hayes with no postage stamp, no return address, or even our address. I immediately get an uneasy feeling about it. Glancing around at the doors around us and then at the parking lot below, I hurry and get the door unlocked and us inside. After carefully setting Violet down on the sofa I make my way back to the box, deciding what to do. Pick it up and open it? Honestly, I just want to throw it away and never see what’s inside, because I know it has to be bad, that whatever is in there is going to just add to the shittiness going on right now. But at the same time, not knowing could end up being bad too. With great hesitancy, I step outside and bend down to carefully tear the tape of the box, noting how light it feels. When I open it up, I can see why. All that’s in there is a single photo, of Violet. My jaw instantly tightens and my fingers itch to ram my fist through the wall. In the picture, Violet is only wearing a bra and panties. She’s holding the short black dress that she’s wearing right now, ready to put it on, which means it was taken before we went to the party. From the angle, it looks like the picture was taken from somewhere across the street, either on the balcony of the restaurant round the corner from us, or from the two-story home that’s been for sale for the last month. It doesn’t say who took it, but I know who it’s from. The same guy who had a room full of pictures of Violet, who sends her the threatening texts – Preston.

  I flip it over and read the sentence on the back. ‘Look how easy it was to get by them.’

  My hands begin to tremble with rage. I’m assuming the ‘them’ is the police car.

  ‘Fuck.’ This is a new one for him, coming straight up to the door. I want to beat the shit out of the bastard, but it’s complicated when the bastard’s hiding. I think about going across the street and scoping out the house and restaurant, although I doubt he’s still there. But the police can probably already see me and I’m sure they’d wonder what the hell I was doing, which would be fine if they didn’t know who my mother was. They’re suspicious of me, like I might know where my mother is and I’m protecting her – that’s been made clear.

  After locking the door, I jog down the stairs and across the parkin
g lot to the police car parked in front of the curb of the home for sale on the opposite side of the street. When I rap on the window the driver rolls it down, looking wary.

  ‘Can I help you? ‘He’s probably in his late thirties, wearing civilian clothes, in his normal sedan, attempting to blend in, but clearly the disguise isn’t working very well.

  ‘I’m Luke … Violet’s boyfriend … ‘I clear my throat, realizing we’ve never even discussed what we are yet, but it feels right to say it. ‘This was left on the doorstep of our apartment.’ I give him the photo and the box.

  The policeman looks the photo over then glances at his partner, a female officer, probably in her forties, wearing jeans and a collar shirt.

  ‘When did it arrive?’ he asks me, which is annoying as fuck. He should know this if he was actually watching the place like he was supposed to, since they were there already here when we left for the party, and the box had to have arrived sometime between then and now.

  ‘You tell me,’ I say, irritated, stuffing my hands in my pockets as I glance around, looking for something out of the ordinary. ‘You’re the ones who are supposed to be watching the place.’

  He gives me a stern look as he reaches for his coffee in the console. ‘Don’t give me crap about how to do my job kid.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have to if you were doing your job.’ My gaze travels over to the house on the other side of the car. ‘It looks like it could have been taken from there.’ I point down at the sleepy looking restaurant. ‘Or there, which means it was close.’ I pause, my eyes narrowing at the policeman. ‘Which means he was close.’

  The cop gives me a dirty look. ‘There’s no proof who left it yet.’

  ‘It’s kind of a given,’ I say. ‘Considering she has only one stalker.’

  He tosses the box and photo to his partner. ‘Thanks for the input,’ he says. ‘But leave the police work to the professionals.’

  He starts to roll up his window as I mutter, ‘Fucking douche’, before walking away. I should have just waited until morning and taken it to Detective Stephner. He’s more a professional and he cares more about solving this case’ cares more about Violet’s wellbeing.

  I go back to the apartment and lock the door behind me. Violet is still sleeping on the sofa, sprawled out on her back, her arm draped over her head, her breathing soft. It’s the most peaceful I’ve seen her look in a long time, which is sad since she’s passed out drunk.

  Deciding that it’s best to take her back to our room instead of trying to squish on the sofa beside her, I pick her up and carry her to the bed. I lay her down, slip off her shoes, then shuck out of my shirt and jeans and climb into bed with her, pulling the blanket over us. She instantly slides closer to me until her face is nuzzled against my chest. I slip an arm around her and kiss her forehead, pretending that everything’s okay. That in the morning we’ll wake up like a normal couple, with the sunlight peeking through the window in the silence of our home. But deep down I know that I’ll wake up probably before the sun even makes it in. And the house will be anything but silent. It’ll be filled with Violet’s screams.

  Chapter 3

  Violet

  I feel so small, hiding in the dark in the basement, listening to the sounds of voices that I’m sure belong to monsters. I know if I dare look, I won’t see faces and bodies but strange shapes covered in thorns or needles or something else sharp, the kind of skin monsters are supposed to have. I’ll see pointy fangs instead of teeth, claws instead of fingers, soulless eyes that will reflect my horror back to me.

  So I try to stay concealed in my hiding spot behind boxes and toys. I try to remain as still as possible, holding my breath. I tell myself that eventually they’ll leave and when it’s all over I’ll go upstairs and climb into bed with my mom and dad who will tell me it was just a nightmare. Because that’s what they do. They’re good parents who know how to comfort me when the world is grey, covered in shadows, when sunlight doesn’t seem like it exists anymore and every bad thing in the world has come out.

  I try to tell myself that the monsters didn’t hurt them.

  There’s a lady singing like crazy. I think she actually might be crazy. And the man, his voice is so low, so calm, so very un-monster like. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t a monster. Maybe I’m just making things up.

  Then the lady stops singing and I tell myself that it’s okay to look, just a peek. Turning around, I peer around the boxes. Light flows in from the windows and makes me able to see just a bit. At first the room looks empty, but then my eyes adjust and I see them. Two figures, perfectly still. In fact, the world seems still at that moment.

  But then just as still as everything was, it starts moving again, faster, faster, faster, as the man steps from the shadows and shows himself to me. Tall, with brown hair, familiar facial features, wearing a plaid coat and holey jeans.

  ‘I-I know you,’ I stammer as I rise from out of my hiding spot, my bare feet shuffling across the floor.

  He takes a step toward me and I freeze in my tracks as the figure in front of me shifts into a monster like I originally thought.

  ‘Preston,’ I breathe.

  His lips curve into a pleased smile and I open my mouth and scream.

  I wake up gasping for air and scream into the nearest thing I can get a hold of. When I was younger, I use to grab a pillow or turn into the mattress to muffle my cries, but nowadays it’s usually Luke’s chest, so I end up burying my face against his warm skin. I wish I could get the nightmares to stop, wish I could get rid of this helpless feeling. It’s not always the same nightmare that does this to me. Sometimes it’s of Preston, appearing that night in the basement, my worried brain placing him there that night even though I never actually saw him. Sometimes it’s painful memories of my parents that I’d thought were long-forgotten. Sometimes it’s of Luke leaving me. I’ve never been one to worry about people leaving me – they always have. And because of that, I’d made myself remain detached enough so as not to emotionally connect with anyone I’d worry about losing. But I messed up with Luke, got attached – way, way too attached – and now I fear both him letting go and me never being able to let go.

  Every night after I wake up panicking and hyperventilating, Luke lies still, rubbing my back and whispering that it’s going to be okay in my ear. After I settle down I scoot away from him, wipe the sweat from my forehead and roll onto my back. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to forget the nightmare and attempting to remember what the fuck happened last night at the party. It’s still late outside, the sun not yet up. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 5:12 in the morning. Shit. It’s too early to be awake.

  After a minute or two, Luke asks tentatively, ‘What was it about this time?’

  ‘Falling off a cliff,’ I lie, hating that I am, but unable to tell him the truth. But it’s like I’m five years old again and too afraid to speak the truth because then I’ll have to accept it. Like when my parents died. It took me forever to say it aloud, which made it unbearably real.

  ‘You seem to have that dream a lot.’ There’s speculation in his voice. He doesn’t believe that my dream was about that, knows that I’m lying, but doesn’t call me out on it.

  ‘Guess my mind is super good at repetition.’ My eyes are fixed on the ceiling, even though I can feel him watching me, trying to figure out what’s going on in my head for real. If he really knew, he’d probably run though, like I wish I could.

  ‘You know I’m here.’ He rotates on his side and props up on his arm. ‘If you need to talk.’

  Luke’s turned into such a great guy. I don’t even know how the hell that happened, with him being with me so much, a festering toxin, polluting his life. And he wants to help me. I really wish he could, wish there was this button inside that he could find that would shut off my insane messed-up-ness that lives inside me. But if there is, neither he nor I have found it yet.

  ‘You should try to get some sleep,’ he whispers. His firm arm slides across my
stomach, fingers finding my side, then he urges me closer to him. ‘It’s still really early.’

  ‘It’s hard to fall asleep after a nightmare,’ I admit in the darkness of our room. ‘It makes me …’ I bite down on my lip, not ready to talk about my feelings either.

  ‘I’ll stay up until you fall asleep. Nothing will happen to you. I promise.’ His face inches closer to my cheek and he brushes his soft lips against my skin. ‘I’m always here for you.’

  ‘Always is a strong word,’ I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut, fighting the urge to surrender into him. ‘Things might change, you know. One day … you might not want the responsibility of taking care of me … or stuff might happen that’ll make you want to stay away from me.’

  ‘That’ll never happen,’ he promises. ‘There’s nothing that’d ever make me want to stay away from you.’

  It feels like I should say something back to his powerful words, but I can’t find them in the darkness of my head. I open my eyes and am greeted by his intense gaze, ‘What about your mom?’ I ask.

  His entire body tenses as a ripple of panic waves through him. ‘What about her?’

  I want to shut my eyes but force myself to keep them open. ‘What happens when … if she gets arrested? I mean, that’s a lot to take in and it’d be my fault she’s there.’

  ‘She fucking put herself there.’ His tone is hash, angry, eyes burning with rage.

  ‘I might have to testify against her,’ I point out, something the Detective and I have talked about if they ever find her. How I have to try and remember what she looks like, to identify her from that night, which would play a part in getting her sentenced.

  Luke huffs out several breaths, his face anxiety stricken. ‘Can we just stop talking about this please? You and I, we’ll be together as long as you want us to … Forever, if …’ He trails off at the end, either wanting to retract his words or fearing them and I feel my own heart slam against my chest. They’re packed with a lot of emotion, a lot of meaning, a lot of relationship stuff we haven’t talked about. Luke and I have so many challenges ahead of us that we haven’t discussed yet. Like what happens when the police finally catch his mother? What if I have to testify against her? What if they discover she was the one that actually killed my parents? Will it affect how I feel? How he feels? Will it ruin us?