The Certainty of Violet & Luke Page 5

  Please, just let her be okay.

  I’m halfway there when I get a text. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I see it’s from Greyson.

  Greyson: Hey, I have something of yours.

  Me: Huh???

  Greyson: A girl with black and red hair, a pierced nose, tattoos, a smartass personality. Goes by the name of Violet.

  Relief washes over me. She’s with Greyson. Thank God.

  Me: Glad she’s with you. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her.

  Greyson: Yeah, she’s been busy. With what I have no clue, but she showed up here in wet clothes, with a swollen eye, a cut on her wrist, and drunk beyond comprehension … It’s really bad, Luke. I’m not going to lie. Something must have set her off today. Not sure what though since I can’t get her to talk about it.

  A ripple of guilt sweeps through my body, so powerful I have to pull over the truck and collect myself before driving down the road to avoid getting into an accident.

  Me: Where are u guys exactly?

  Greyson: At the diner. Thankfully the bars pretty empty so I can keep an eye on her, but it’s going to pick up around three or so. Can u pick her up? I’d take her home myself but we’re understaffed as it is.

  Me: On my way now.

  I drive like a bat out of hell down the streets of Laramie, breaking too many traffic laws to count. But I’m flipping worried, not just about Violet being drunk, but because she showed up at the diner with wet clothes and bruises. I know enough about Violet to understand that she could have done this to herself. I thought she’d been taking it easy on the adrenaline seeking, but now I’m not so sure.

  It takes me half the usual time to get to the diner and by the time I get there, I’m all jacked up on my own adrenaline, my mind racing with a ton of ideas of what Violet was doing while I was at class. I never should have left her home alone. I should have stayed with her.

  I hop out of the truck and hurry to the back door of the diner. It’s cloudy, the sky grey, the wind chilly, and I swear to God I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance like a goddamn omen. When I open the door and walk inside the diner, the first thing I notice is how quiet it is. It’s unsettling and the feeling only amplifies when the first noise I hear is the muffled sound of cries. I turn the corner and step out into the shelf area that’s tucked between the kitchen and the bar and find Violet huddled in the corner with legs pulled to her chest. Her hair is a tangled mess and there’s dirt on her clothes. Her bloodshot eyes are focused on empty space and tears are streaming down her cheeks. So much sadness pouring out of her yet she looks so empty inside.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ I don’t even mean to say it aloud. It sort of slips out, but it’s a little bit of a shock to see her like this. I’ve only seen her cry a couple of times and she hated that even I saw it. Out here in the open where anyone can see her … whatever happened must have been bad.

  I approach her like she’s a skittish cat can’t but she doesn’t even notice me until I’m pretty much standing in front of her. Then she tips her chin back and looks up at me, eyes big and water, so lost, swarming with confused.

  I have to work to keep myself composed. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, crouching down in front of her. When she doesn’t respond right away, I reach for her, but she shakes her head and hovers back, turning her face to the side. I see the swollen area Greyson was talking about. Already deepening to a bluish purple, which means whatever happened, she was probably hit hard.

  ‘Please don’t touch me,’ she whispers. ‘Not right now.’

  I’m feeling about as lost as she looks when I spot the scratch on her wrist Greyson told me about, only it’s not a scratch but a wound, jagged and open across her flesh and still bleeding a little. A switch flips inside me and I nearly lose control over myself as I grab her arm.

  ‘What the fuck happened right here?’ I demand, not meaning to sound so angry, but I can’t help it. I hate that she does this to herself, hurts herself. She’s deserves so much better than that, yet she can’t see it.

  She winces from my grip and I realize how roughly I’m grasping onto her, so I loosen my fingers a little. ‘Sorry, but …’ I swallow hard and shake my head. ‘It looks like you did this to yourself … like you cut yourself.’

  ‘I did,’ she responds hollowly. ‘I’m sorry … but I tried to turn it off another way, but this time … this time it was too much and I couldn’t deal with it … couldn’t make the pain stop no matter how hard I tried, so I went further … did things I never thought I’d do.’

  I grind my teeth as I attempt to keep myself composed, but the idea of hurting herself makes me sick and angry. Not angry at her but at everyone else that helped destroy Violet over the years. All her foster parents that abandoned her. Preston. My mother.

  ‘What happened?’ I sit down on the floor in front of her, still holding her arm. I can hear someone in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around, but Violet seems to not notice. ‘And where’s Greyson?’

  ‘He’s working in the bar,’ she tells me, staring at the space of floor in front of her feet. ‘He doesn’t know I fell apart like this … I waited until he got too busy to check on me.’ She sucks in a breath, attempting to stop the tears, but they keep pouring out.

  ‘How did you …’ I gently brush my finger across her wrist where remnants of the wound are. ‘How did this happen exactly?’

  She inhales then exhales before finally her gaze resides on me. Her expression is empty – so detached it’s chilling. ‘I cut myself.’ She slides her arm out of my hold, tugs the sleeve of her jacket over it, then hugs her wrist against her chest. ‘I tried everything … standing on the top of a building, leaning over the edge, dangling my feet over it. When that didn’t work, I tried to cut myself.’ She shrugs indifferently. ‘But it didn’t help.’

  I’m trying to ignore the fact that she’s acting way too nonchalant over the fact that she hurt herself, but it’s really fucking difficult. I just want to yell at her, tell her to stop, tell her she’s too important and too good to be doing that shit to herself. ‘How did you get the bruise on your face?’ I gently brush the spot with my fingers.

  Her face twists with perplexity as she reaches for her cheek, almost as if she’s forgotten it was there. ‘Oh that … I bumped it on a rock when I dove into the river.’ I notice she has a hospital band on her wrist. ‘It kind of hurt.’

  I slip my fingers through the hospital band, my eyes widening. ‘What the hell is this?’ I ask, but she just shakes her head, refusing to tell me. Shaking my own head, I move my hand to her face and cup her cheek, trying not to be so angry, but I can’t help it, not when she doesn’t seem to care about herself. Doesn’t she know how important she is … to me? How could she, though, when I’ve never actually told her … told her … that I …

  That I love her.

  ‘Your skin is freezing …’ My hands travel down her body, to her neck, arms, her fingers, which are equally as chilled. ‘You’re freezing baby … What happened to you?’

  ‘It’s cold outside and I walked here in damp clothes from the hospital.’ She contemplates something. ‘But I think the alcohol numbed me for the most part because I can’t even feel it.’ She pauses, head angling to the side as her brows furrow. ‘It’s weird, but I don’t even remember walking here very well.’

  I hate that she’s clearly blacked out, either from the adrenaline overload or the alcohol and that in the middle of it she somehow ended up at the hospital. God, so many thoughts race through my mind about what the hell happened while I was at school. But what drives me even crazier is that she was wandering around alone when she’s got a stalker after her. And while she’s drunk. Not only is it dangerous but all the drinking she’s been doing is bad for her health. Something I discovered firsthand almost a month ago after I’d made the decision to quit drinking. I’d gone to the doctor to get put on a pill that would help me go through detox. He did a check up and said that with my diabetes, I was pretty much lucky as fuck to still be
walking around with all the binge drinking I’ve been doing. I think a year ago, I wouldn’t have gave a shit, but now, with Violet around, with someone that I care for needing me, it makes me want to get better.

  I just wish I could get her better too.

  ‘Let’s get you home.’ I wind my arms around her to pick her up. She doesn’t put up a fight and pretty much sinks into my arms with a heavy sigh, as if she’s been waiting for me to do exactly this.

  ‘This feels nice,’ she murmurs as I carry her toward the door, her eyelids fluttering as she fights to keep them open. ‘Luke … please don’t ever leave me.’ Her voice cracks in a way that rips my heart open. ‘I don’t have anyone anymore.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You have me and I promise I’m not going anywhere. Ever.’ I say without as much as an afterthought. I kick the door shut then start across the parking lot toward my beat up truck parked out back.

  ‘You say that now … but you might change your mind after …’ She yawns and buries her head into my chest.

  ‘After?’ I ask as I try to get the passenger door open without putting her down.

  ‘After what’s about to happen … so much stuff … ahead … for us …’

  I pause, tension filling my body. What the hell happened today? ‘What’s about to happen?’

  She doesn’t answer, passing out in my arms, leaving me clueless as hell. Why would she think I’d leave her? And what could have possibly set her off this bad today? Could the two possibly go together?

  God, what if I’m the reason she’s breaking apart?

  Chapter 8

  Violet

  When I open my eyes again I’m tucked in my bed, the sunlight sparkling through the window, which means that I must have slept through at least a day. I’m wearing one of Luke’s t-shirts, the scent of him overwhelming my nostrils in the best way possible and for a moment, everything is okay. But then I take in the rest of myself; tangled hair that smells like dirty water and my entire body that feels like I’ve gone through the ringer with a champion boxer. At first I can’t remember how I got here, but then slowly, bits and pieces come rushing back to me. The call from Detective Stephner … what happened … what he needs me to do … how I reacted to it all …

  I lift my wrist up and examine the spot where I started to cut my wrist with a shitty pocketknife I’ve had for a while, but I ended up backing out. Then I touch the side of my head where I hit the rock in the river. I can’t even remember how I got out of the rapids. I think the person swimming toward me pulled me out … Then a bunch of people showed up and there were sirens there to take me to hospital. I lied through my teeth to the nurse about what happened; that I was standing on the edge trying to take a picture of a nearby bridge when I fell in. I think because I don’t have insurance or anything it was easier for them to let me leave without questioning too much what happened. Plus, I can be a damn good liar when I need to.

  After the hospital, I walked. And walked. And walked. So confused about life and what I wanted from it, because clearly I wanted something, otherwise I’d have let myself drown and join my parents in the ground. But I couldn’t figure it out, just kept thinking of Luke. Then I found the diner. And Greyson … And then Luke was there in person, seeing me like that …

  ‘Shit. Luke.’ I blow out an exhausted breath as my emotions, the ones I was trying to get rid of, come rushing back to me, along with everything else. I pick up my phone from the nightstand and check the date – yep I’ve been out for a day. ‘Fuck.’ I rub my hand across my face, wincing from the pain, but then freeze when I notice the silver bracelet with the word Sempre engraved on it. ‘I swear I took this off,’ I mutter. ‘What the hell?’ I force myself to sit up, but it’s like I’ve stepped onto a merry-go-round on crack. The room spins round and round and I nearly pass out and topple onto the floor. I grab the edge of the nightstand to brace myself and in the process, bump the lamp. It falls to the ground, not breaking but making a loud noise.

  As I’m trying to get myself back up to sitting position, the door swings open and in walks Luke. ‘What are you doing?’ he asks, taking in the lamp on the floor and then me hunched over, attempting to get to my feet.

  I wince as I collapse back down on the bed. ‘Trying to stand up.’ I fake a light tone. ‘But it seems as through my legs have forgotten their purpose in life.’

  He scowls at me. ‘This isn’t funny, Violet.’

  ‘What? Me not being able to walk.’ I’m uncertain how to react to his anger because it’s not typical of him. ‘It is kinda, sorta funny, don’t you think?’ I hold up my finger and thumb about an inch apart. ‘Just a little bit.’

  He shakes his head, clearly still irritated with me. ‘Stop making jokes.’ He sinks down on the bed, causing the mattress to concave and me to slide toward him. ‘I don’t even … I can’t even …’ When his gaze welds with mine, I want to shrink back and hide under the blankets. I’ve been scolded many, many times by people throughout my life, but never like this, never with so much passion, disappointment, terror and worry in their eyes. ‘What the hell were you thinking? Leaving the house … going into the water … God dammit! ‘His hands ball into fists and he looks like he wants to break something.

  I flinch from the harsh tone of his voice, but still sit up straight even though my back hurts. ‘I was thinking how much I didn’t want to think anymore. How much it hurts to think. How hard it is.’

  ‘You promised me you wouldn’t leave the apartment and you’d check in with Seth, none of which you did.’

  ‘I don’t need a babysitter, Luke. I’ve told you this time and time again.’

  With a hard expression, he raises my arm and flicks the hospital band. ‘Clearly you do … do you know how fucking worried I was when I couldn’t get a hold of you.’ He shakes his head, his jaw set tight, and his balled up fists are trembling. ‘And then I find you drunk, soaking wet, with a hospital band on your wrist, and that makes it that much worse.’

  I slip my hand from his hold, feeling ashamed of what I did. Luke knows, like knows, knows my dirty little secret. Unlike the nurse at the hospital, I can’t just lie to him and tell him everything was an accident. And honestly I don’t want to. ‘I fucked up. It’s what I do, Luke. I’m sorry, but there’s not much else I can say.’

  His gaze bores into me as he scoots closer on the bed until our knees touch Then he rests his forehead against mine, like he needs to touch me. ‘Why did you fuck up?’ he says, his voice much more gentler.

  One simple question. But it’s packed with so much emotion and I feel like I’m drowning again. I open my mouth to tell him I don’t want to talk about it, but then I realize that whether I want to or not, I need to. I made my choice when I decided to fight instead of drown that I was going to deal with this.

  ‘Detective Stephner called today,’ I say quietly. ‘Something’s happened with the case.’

  He’s struggling to keep a neutral expression as I lean back from him. ‘Okay … What is it?’ he asks.

  Everything I felt when I heard the voicemail rushes through me. The fear. The relief. The worry. The excitement. The disappoint of realizing that even if they to solve my parent’s case, my parents will still be gone – nothing will change that. I still have no one. No mother. Father. No relatives. Nothing. And that the past still exists, that this didn’t free me, that I might never be free. And then the revelation and the fear that I could lose him also set me off, what was what nearly killed me.

  But I chose to live. Chose not to drown. That has to mean something, right? That I don’t want to die.

  ‘They arrested your mother two days ago and transferred her here.’ My voice unsteady as I feel my life shifting and altering, to something that’s unfamiliar and terrifying. ‘They want me to come down and do a lineup, see if I recognize her … I don’t think I will be able to but it’s something I have to do.’ I shrug like I’m talking about something as casual as the weather. ‘If all goes well, they’ll be a trial. She’ll be in prison
… if all goes well, they’ll figure out who killed my parents.’ I swallow hard. ‘Nothing’s ever going to be the same again … I know it isn’t … it’s going to change everything … and I know … I know I’m going to end up alone.’ I feel so vulnerable admitting the truth, ashamed, weak, so many things. ‘I just want to be stronger,’ I admit. ‘Why can’t I be stronger, like I used to?’ Because I didn’t have anything to lose to begin with.

  His eyes skim every inch of me, making me tingle all over and he’s not even touching me and it seems like he wants to say something, but can’t figure out what it is. The silence stretches between us. It seems like the longest silence ever, the kind that seems like it’s never going to end and I know that the longer it goes on, the worse the words that follow it will be.

  Finally his lips part and words spill out. ‘I love you.’

  At first I think I’ve heard him wrong, but his eyes widen as I process what the fuck he just said.

  ‘Huh?’ I blink, stunned as shit. ‘W-what did you just say?’

  More silence stretches between us, only this time it’s filled with our erratic breathing. It makes me want to retract my initial statement. This is the longest silence that’s ever existed. And it’s awkward as hell. Luke looks utterly perplexed, his brows dipped in, his thinking face on as if he’s replaying what he just said over in his head while thoughts race through my flabbergasted mind. Did he just say he loves me? Loves me? No one’s ever said that to me since I was five, since my parents were still alive.

  ‘Oh my God.’ They’re the first words that leave my mouth. I don’t know where they came from or what I mean by them. All I know is that feels like the wind’s been knocked out of me and I feel like I’m being strangled.

  ‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ he finally says, but it doesn’t seem like he regrets saying them either. He’s way too calm. Way, way to calm while I’m freaking out. ‘I mean, I did mean to say it, just not right now.’ He forces a half smile as he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. ‘Way bad timing, right?’