The Certainty of Violet & Luke Page 22

  “I will, baby,” I lie, cringing at my endearing term, but doing what I have to do to smooth things over. I reach for my jacket pocket and take out the small bag of pills. If I’m lucky he’ll try one and then quickly pass out. “But first I need you to pay up.”

  Shifting his weight to the side, he snatches the bag out of my hand and then scoots back so he can sit up. He totters as he sits up straight, then when he gets settled he opens the bag. He glances inside it, pretending like he’s checking to see he’s not getting ripped off, even though it’s too dark to count the pills.

  “You got the cash?” I scan his room, his stereo on the nightstand, the open closet overflowing with clothes, and the closed armoire in the corner. I can’t see a wallet anywhere, so I’m guessing he’s got it tucked in his pocket. Things just got a little complicated if he decides to be a pain in the ass about paying.

  “Cash comes after we play,” he says, but I shake my head, ready to be done with this deal. I’m about to tell him to pay up, when he has an abrupt burst of energy. He throws the bag of pills aside and his fingers quickly jab into my waist. He jerks me toward him and I lose my balance and fall down on him as he collapses back onto the mattress.

  He starts sucking my neck, his wet tongue placing sloppy kisses all over my skin as his hands start to wander up my leg toward the bottom of my dress. His breath reeks of tequila and cigarettes. “God, you smell so good.” His fingers pinch down into my skin and it kind of stings. “I bet you like it wild… you sure as hell look like you do.”

  I roll my eyes. If I had a penny for every time I heard that, I wouldn’t have to be here dealing.

  Turning my head, I lean to the side and try to slip out of his grip. His hold on me starts to loosen, but he continues to kiss my neck, his hands moving all over my ass and slipping between my legs. I’m starting to get bored, my mind wandering to homework, finals, moving back in with Preston in a few weeks.

  J moans against my mouth. “I’m so hard for you right now, baby.” He rubs the evidence that he is against my leg and runs his fingers through my hair.

  I get a little annoyed by his pet name and that I’ve become a humping post. I’m about to gently knee him in the balls and get rid of his hardness for him, ending this tiring situation, when he stops kissing me and slumps backward. He mutters something about me being a cock tease and then his head flops against the mattress. His eyes drift shut and seconds later he’s passed out, his chest rising and falling as he breathes loudly.

  “Thank God.” I slip out from his arms and climb off him.

  Although the situation has gotten more complicated, I’m glad he passed out. After a lot of deliberating on what I should do, I decide it’s best to leave it up to Preston so I take out my phone and dial his number.

  “What’s up, beautiful?” he asks after three rings.

  I climb off the bed and pace in front of it. “I got a dilemma.”

  “What’d you do now?” he asks in that flirty tone he uses on everyone. Even guys. It’s just how he is and I know he really doesn’t mean anything by it. Besides, he’s eight years older than me.

  “I didn’t do anything.” I glance over at J. “Well, not really… J… that guy you were having me deliver to, passed out.”

  “And?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.

  “And I want to know what you want me to do.” I stop pacing and look down at J with his legs and arms sprawled out to the side. “Do you want me to just grab his cash or really screw him over and take the pills, too?”

  It takes Preston a while to answer. I can hear voices in the background, which probably means he’s at a party. “What do you think you should do?” he finally asks me.

  “I know what I want to do,” I answer, biting on my fingernails, a bad habit of mine I can’t seem to break. “But I mean, it’s really your thing. I’m just doing it as a favor to you and I’m done once I finish paying for my tuition. You know that.”

  “A favor to me, huh?” he deliberates. “How disappointing. All this time and I thought you were doing it because you secretly were in love with me.”

  I roll my eyes at his twisted sense of humor. “You did not.”

  “I did, too.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did—”

  “Stop.” I cut him off because this could go on forever and J is starting to stir. “Look, I really want to get out of here. I’ve got a final to study for. And a life to get back to.” The last part is kind of a lie, but it sounds like a good point to make in theory. “So should I take the pills and the cash or just the cash?”

  He pauses. “How much does he have on him?”

  I sigh and pat the front pockets in J’s slacks, but they’re empty. Pressing the phone between my cheek and my shoulder I use both my hands to rotate him on his side and then I check his back pockets and find his wallet in one of them. I take it out and step away from the bed, opening it and counting the money inside.

  “There’s a hundred bucks in his wallet.” I frown, knowing what it means.

  “Well, isn’t that interesting, since I told him it was going to be two hundred bucks for a bag,” Preston replies in a calm voice.

  “So you want me to take the pills, too,” I say flatly. Sometimes when I’m doing something I’m not totally comfortable with, like stealing from an unconscious guy, my conscience tries to wake up on me.

  “I think it’s only fair,” he replies simply. “Especially since he was obviously going to screw you over.”

  “Maybe he has the money somewhere else,” I suggest, but even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

  “Or maybe he was just going to try and fuck you over,” he says. “Literally.”

  I blow out a breath and take the cash out of the wallet, feeling the slightest bit guilty. Then I drop the wallet onto the bed, reach over J, and snatch up the bag of pills. I put the cash and pills into my pocket, then head for the door.

  “Give me like a half an hour and I’ll be at your house,” I tell Preston, opening the door.

  “Sounds good,” he replies as the music in the hall drowns over me. “And, Violet, remember, I’m a nice guy and everything but don’t try to screw me over.” He always says this as a warning, reminding me that business comes before our friendship… our foster-parent bond… whatever the hell we have. He used to not be this intense when I was younger, but now he’ll say just about anything. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable, but I never say anything about it, worried I’ll lose the only family I have.

  “I remember.” I step out into the hall, but halt when I spot a group of guys I’m pretty sure I’ve scammed before, standing at the end of the hall. “Look, I got to go.” I hang up and stuff the phone into my jacket pocket.

  One of the guys with a really thick neck points at me, saying something, and the rest of their gazes wander in my direction.

  “Hey, I know you, don’t I?” the tallest one says as he strolls down the hall in my direction. “You’re that girl, right? The one who sold me the stuff at that party a month ago. The one that fucking screwed me over.” I spot anger in his eyes at the same time I note the thickness of his arms that can easily hurt me. For a moment, I just stand there, letting the group of them get close to me, feeling the beat of my heart accelerate inside my chest, alive and thriving—finally awake.

  But when they’re almost within arm’s reach, I whirl around and run back into the bedroom where J’s sleeping. I lock the door and then search through the dark for a solution.

  “Open the door, you fucking cunt!” One of them bangs on the door as they shout loudly over the music and J lets out a loud snore.

  It’s not the first time I’ve been in this kind of situation, and I doubt it will be my last. I wonder what my mom and dad would think of me if they were here now? Would they be ashamed? But they’re not here and there’s no one else in the world that really gives a shit what I do with my life. I can’t just wait around here and wait for something—or someone to show up and miraculous
ly help me. I’m in this on my own, which is for the story of my life.

  Striding over to the window, I pry it open and pop the screen off. Tossing it onto the floor, I lean over the edge and look down the two-story drop to the wooden fence right below the window. It’s not that far of a fall, but if I land on the fence things could go badly, like one of the pieces of wood could get lodged in my body or I could land the wrong way and hit my neck or head on it. They’re such morbid thoughts, but my mind always goes to that dark place. The what-ifs of death. Those random occurrences that no one can control. Most of my life has been based on one random occurrence of death.

  I know if I jump, either I’ll safely land on the grass just over the fence or I’ll mess up and get hurt, maybe even killed if random occurrences really hate me. Either way, I don’t care what the hell happens to me, so I climb up onto the windowsill, letting destiny take over as I slide my legs over the edge. I hear the lock on the door click and open. My time here at this place is up.

  My heart speeds up and I breathe in the rush of knowing that something tragic could happen to me. It makes me feel alive and without any hesitation, I jump.

  Luke

  (Freshman year of college)

  My night has been filled with shot after shot. Empty glass after empty glass. I knock back one after another as the sound of the music vibrates inside my chest. With each scorching swallow of Bacardi, tequila, Jäger, I feel more at ease, letting all my worries and the fact that I haven’t checked my insulin slowly erase from my mind. My tongue becomes numb. My lips. My body. My heart. My mind. It’s a fucking beautiful state of mind to be in and I wish I could never leave it—most days I don’t.

  After I lose count of how many shots I’ve downed and how many asses I’ve had grind up against me, I ditch the club with the woman I’ve been dancing with for the last two songs, debating what to do—fuck, wander around, go find a place to gamble. There’s a familiar burn inside my chest as I drown in a sea of alcohol, where nothing bothers me. I relax and breathe the cool night air and just exist without all the weight of my past inside me. I’ve been drinking more frequently, especially since my past has been forcing its way into my life again. Stuff’s been happening with my sister, Amy, specifically questions about her suicide that happened eight years ago. I thought it’d been put to rest, but it was brought up a month or so ago, questions mainly about what really drove her to throw herself off the roof that night. Plus, on top of it, my dad’s decided he wants to become a huge part of my life again, after being pretty much absent since I was five. It’s bullshit and I don’t want to think about it or deal with it. I just want to get trashed, fuck as many women as I can, and live my life the way that I want to.

  I lose track of how much time has gone but somewhere along the lines I stop walking and end up with my back against the tree. I’m not aware of too much going on but there are three things I’m sure of: (a) It’s nighttime, since I can see the stars, (b) I feel very relaxed and in control at the moment, and (c) there’s a blonde kneeling down in front of me with her mouth on my cock.

  I have a fistful of her hair as she sucks me off, muttering something incoherent every once and a while. As she moves her mouth back and forth I feel myself verging closer to exploding and I let myself go as I approach it. It’s the only few moments of peace that I have, where I don’t have to think about the past, the future, just the God damn moment. Once I’m done, though, the silence of the night tears at my chest as there’s nothing left to do but think. I’m back to that place where my past and who I am haunts me. The only thing that gets me through is the fact that my body is numbed by the potent amount of alcohol in my bloodstream.

  I zip up my pants as the blonde gets back up to her feet. She mutters something about that being amazing, biting her lip as she tracks her fingers up my chest, looking like she’s waiting for me to return the favor. I’m not going to, though. I only do things for myself and no one else. I spent too much time when I was younger living under restrictions, never living for myself, never enjoying things, and I refuse to go back to that place again.

  I shove her hand off and head down the sidewalk, hoping she’ll just stay behind. But she follows, her high heels clicking against the concrete as she rushes to keep up.

  “God, it’s such a beautiful night,” she says with a contented sigh.

  “If you say so,” I say. “Don’t you need to go back to the club and catch a ride home?”

  “You said you were going to take me home,” she reminds me, rushing to keep up with me.

  “I did?” I sway as a maneuver around what looks like a bush in the middle of the sidewalk… no, that can’t be right. I bump my hip on a fence and stumble off the grass and back onto the sidewalk

  “Yeah, you said you’d love to give me a ride.” She braces herself by grabbing my shoulder, then giggles. God, I hate gigglers. I really need to start paying more attention when I pick them up to avoid getting stuck with a Miss Fucking Giggles.

  “I’m pretty sure you misunderstood me.” I move my shoulder out from under her hand, stepping back onto the grass, and causing her to miss a step. She looks stunned, but still grins at me as she adjusts her boobs in her dress, pushing them up so they bulge out. I’m sure she does it on purpose, trying to remind me what she’s giving me if I take her back to my place, but what she doesn’t realize is that I’ve already had it. A lot. And I don’t care about what she gives to me as much as I care about what I took from her back behind the tree.

  There’s a party going on in one of the townhouses nearby and music booms and vibrates the ground. We’re walking in the ritzier side of town, made up of two-story townhouses, the yards matching, and the sidewalk is lined with trees and a fence. I’m not even sure how I got here, nor do I know the way back to my dorm. Sometimes I wonder how the hell I get into these messes.

  I really need to stop drinking.

  I laugh at my own absurd thought as I stop to retrieve my cigarettes from my shirt pocket. The only time I can actually deal with the chaotic aspects of life is when I’m drunk, otherwise I panic for some structure. I never had structure when I was a kid. I had a crazy mom who did crazy shit and dragged me into her crazy world, making me feel crazy with her. I still have nightmares about some of the stuff I saw or heard her do and I need order, otherwise the vile, sick feeling I experienced when I was a kid owns me.

  I pop a cigarette into my mouth and light the end with a lighter I dig out of the back pocket of my jeans. I light the end, deeply inhale, and blow out a cloud of smoke. I start walking again, zigzagging back and forth between the sidewalk and the grass just to the side of it, running into the fence a few times

  “Where are we going?” the blonde asks as she tugs on the bottom of her dress, hurrying to keep up with me.

  I graze my thumb on the end of the cigarette and ash it onto the ground. “I’m going to my place.”

  “That’s cool,” she says with a slight slur to her speech, not taking my not-so-subtle hint. “We can just walk wherever.”

  She doesn’t look that drunk and she only drank girly fruity drinks at the club, but her voice is portraying otherwise. She’s putting a lot of trust in me at the moment, to get her wherever it is she’s going and whatever it is she’s looking for. Maybe sex. The best orgasm of her life. A fleeting escape from reality. Maybe she’s looking for love or someone she can connect with. From the needy, I’ll-do-anything-you-want look in her eyes, I’m guessing it’s the latter. And if it is, she’s not going to get it from me.

  I consider my two options. I can take her back behind a tree again and just bang the shit out of her until she’s crying out my name and I get a few more moments away from the helpless, drowning feeling inside me—get the control I need. Or I can call my friend and roommate, Kayden, to come pick my drunken ass up, because I’m getting exhausted.

  I’m battling my indecisiveness when I hear this strange swooshing sound coming from above me. I look up just in time to see something tumble out the w
indow of the townhouse we’re passing.

  I stagger back onto the grass as it falls toward me and stick out my arm out to push Blondie back. The tips of a pair of clunky boots clip my forehead and I stumble over my feet as something lands on the grass in front of me and rolls down the shallow incline toward the sidewalk.

  “What the hell,” Blondie says as she rolls her ankle and her foot slips out of her shoe. She quickly works to fix her hair, smoothing her hands over it.

  Catching my breath, I shake my head, which is going to hurt like hell in the morning when I sober up. Usually when I’m this wasted my heart goes still, but my pulse has forced its way through the multiple shots I hammered back and suddenly I feel sober.

  Blowing out a tense breath, I focus on whatever the hell just fell from the window as I mentally tell my heart rate to shut the fuck up. At first I think I’m seeing things, so I blink my eyes a few times at the… person… a girl lying on her back, groaning as she clutches her ankle.

  “God damn it… that hurt,” she moans, rolling to her side.

  My heart is still racing and I move my hand toward my mouth to take a drag, hoping nicotine will settle it down but realize I’ve lost my cigarette somewhere. “Shit, are you okay?” I drag my fingers through my cropped brown hair as I glance up at the window she fell from, then back at her, wondering if I should help her up or something.

  She releases a grunting breath as she gets up on her hands and knees and pushes to her feet. Her legs wobble as she gets to her feet, then she limps forward, trying not to put weight on her right ankle. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice is tight, and normally I’d back off from her leave-me-the-fuck-alone attitude, but she just fell out of a fucking window and a painful sense of déjà vu hits me square in the chest as I wonder if Amy fell the same way.

  “Did you hurt your foot or something?” I follow after her as she limps down the sidewalk. Blondie calls out that she can’t find her shoe, but I ignore her, walking after the girl. I’m not even one-hundred-percent sure why other than I’m worried she might be hurt or that she might have been trying to hurt herself on purpose, like my sister Amy did, only she never walked away from it.